#bethnalgreen — Public Fediverse posts

Huge grass fires break out in east London amid ‘exceptionally high’ wildfire threat

The vehicle provides off-road capability enabling the transportation of additional equipment closer to fires on open ground. Each…
#NewsBeep #News #UnitedKingdom #BethnalGreen #firefighters #Gardens #GB #GreatBritain #Met-Office #Romford #Thamesmead #UK #Wildfires
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/717952/

Huge grass fires break out in east London amid ‘exceptionally high’ wildfire threat

The vehicle provides off-road capability enabling the transportation of additional equipment closer to fires on open ground. Each…
#London #UnitedKingdom #UK #GB #England #Headlines #News #Europe #EU #BethnalGreen #Britain #firefighters #Gardens #GreatBritain #london #MetOffice #Romford #Thamesmead #Wildfires
https://www.europesays.com/uk/1118700/

The Lesson, Avebury Estate, Bethnal Green

1958

Franta Belsky

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#postwar #art #bethnalgreen #london

The Lesson, Avebury Estate, Bethnal Green

1958

Franta Belsky

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#postwar #art #bethnalgreen #london

The Lesson, Avebury Estate, Bethnal Green

1958

Franta Belsky

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#postwar #art #bethnalgreen #london

The Lesson, Avebury Estate, Bethnal Green

1958

Franta Belsky

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#postwar #art #bethnalgreen #london

The Lesson, Avebury Estate, Bethnal Green

1958

Franta Belsky

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#postwar #art #bethnalgreen #london

The illegitimates

By Christine Swan

One of the biggest challenges faced by genealogists is that of researching ancestors where you only know half of the story. I recently read an article in Who Do You Think You Are magazine, on this very theme. This prompted me to reflect on my discoveries and minor research triumphs when, at last, another piece of the puzzle is laid down.

On my maternal side of the family, finding out about my ancestors has been straightforward. Couples were married, children came along, some more quickly than others, but, I can follow the family line without too much digging.

My paternal side has been more of a headache. Both of my great grandfathers were illegitimate, and even further back, the phrase “it’s complicated” describes the situation perfectly well. Therefore, my research is not completely reliable or whole. My late father knew his grandfather, George Betts, very well, and was a favourite grandchild. He told me many stories and anecdotes that painted a vivid picture of him. So much so, that he lives in my memories as mapping those spoken words to a virtual manifestation of them. George’s wife, Rebecca Betts, doted on my father, and the whole family idolised her for her kindness and generosity, never realising that she too, was illegitimate.

However, my father did not know his paternal grandfather, David Deighton Taylor, as he had died nine years before he was born. We have a photograph and I can confirm that he physical resembled my own paternal grandfather Albert, who I can recall now, with his thick silver hair, leathery skin, nicotine-stained fingers, and regimental tattoos.

My great grandfather, David Deighton Taylor

In modern times, families raise children and as long as there is love and care, children can thrive. In my many years of working in the field of education, I have learned that it doesn’t matter what that relationship is, as long as there is plenty of love and care. Even this week, we have learned of more terrible stories where babies were wrenched away from their birth mothers and kept in church-run baby homes, where untold died of preventable disease, almost without trace. Mothers were treated as outcasts and shamed, leading to a lifetime of trauma and guilt, that no apology can erase. It is only now that we recognise their dreadful mistreatment, and the weekly episodes of Long Lost Family on television, leave me a blubbering wreck of happy tears.

Buit what have I learned about my own Victorian era ancestors and their lives? David Deighton Taylor was a curious name to me. When I began on my quest, I noticed that this was how he had addressed himself at the time of his marriage to Julia Cooke, in Bethnal Green in 1893. Taylor is an incredibly common family name, but Deighton less so, and therefore more attractive for a researcher. At that point, I did not know who his mother was and have never found a birth record. On David’s marriage certificate, he named his father as David Taylor, a builder. I have found no record of this person and suspect that this is a lie. It would have been humiliating to have left this field empty on the marriage record and I can imagine the vicar of St Peter’s, Bethnal Green, asking the question, and him reaching for an answer. David definitely knew his mother, Mary Ann, but she had died of Tuberculosis when he was eleven years old. It was after this date that his life was thrown into chaos. David’s stepfather, William English, sent him to the workhouse and married his domestic servant. For over ten years, he was in and out of institutions, initially the Metropolitan Board of Guardians school, then the workhouse and infirmary. Marriage was the key to family life for David, but even that was cut short by Tuberculosis.

David’s marriage record led me to the name of Deighton (or Dyton)

Mary Ann herself, appeared to be illegitimate too. As I recounted in my last post, Daniel Crudgington married Jane Vincent in 1842, after his return from Australia. This was the year of Mary Ann’s birth, and she continued to use her birth surname, Deighton, at various points of her adult life. Her mother, Ann Deighton, married Daniel Crudgington in 1844, in a marriage which I believe was bigamous on his part. Mary Ann was not baptised until 1853, and her birth date given as a respectable 1845 – one year after her parents married. Was Daniel actually Mary Ann’s father? I suspect yes and my reasoning is based on the fact that he left Jane and chose to marry Ann. If Ann became pregnant and then gave birth to Mary Ann, she was, as far as I am aware, his first born. He stayed married to Ann until she died, even though there seemed to be several reasons to assume that this was not always a happy union. David described Ann as his grandmother and Daniel as his grandfather, and continued to live with the latter until his death.

Mary Ann was baptised in 1853 but actually born in 1842

My other great grandfather, George Betts, was the son of a domestic servant and her master. I know very little of his mother and father. I know that his birth name was Mead, which I suspect was his mother’s surname. My father told me that George’s paternal grandmother doted on him as her grandson, and saw that he was well-provided for and educated. My father remembered seeing a photograph of young George, dressed in a miniature sailor suit, with a slate board to practise writing. When his grandmother died, George was unofficially adopted into the Betts family, William Betts, his adoptive father, a tripe dresser. As far as my father was aware, the Betts were a good family, and he thrived. Years later, when his biological father died, he left a legacy for his son, but George refused to claim it, despite protestations from his children. He wanted nothing further to do with the name Mead. Unfortunately, this also caused him difficulties when he needed to claim disability benefit as he developed cataracts which slowly caused blindness. There were no official records of George Betts – only George Mead, a name that he had not used for over seventy years. No records existed of his adoption or that his name was ever legally changed.

George Mead listed as a “visitor” in 1871, but ten years later, he was listed as a son to his adoptive parents

George’s wife, Rebecca, was also illegitimate. I was shocked to discover this but, despite searching for the birth of a Rebecca Bull, I was unable to locate a matching record. Instead, I found a record for a Rebecca Mayes born in September 1869. No father’s name was provided, and the occupation field was left empty. Eliza Rosina Mayes had decided to go it alone, with the support of her family. Rosina married William Henry Bull in December 1870. Rebecca was listed as his daughter in the 1871 census, and I suspect that this was true. I am unsure why it took over a year to marry Rosina. Maybe Rebecca was unaware that she had been baptised with her mother’s name. My father never knew and would have been absolutely horrified.

Rebecca Mayes baptism record of 1869, one year before her mother married

More than one hundred and fifty years later, none of this matters. Life was difficult enough for Victorian women, but a single woman with a child attracted stigma. She was a fallen woman, an unfortunate, immoral, and impure in the eyes of Victorian society, but I see instead, strong women, who managed, survived and did their best with what they had. The woman that I worry about most, was George Betts’ mother. I imagine a young domestic servant, pregnant, afraid and abandoned.

I acknowledge that my illegitimate ancestors would have faced more challenges, as did their mothers. The purpose of this blog was to remember them and to share their stories. I hope that in some small way I have recognised their struggle.

The illegitimates

By Christine Swan

One of the biggest challenges faced by genealogists is that of researching ancestors where you only know half of the story. I recently read an article in Who Do You Think You Are magazine, on this very theme. This prompted me to reflect on my discoveries and minor research triumphs when, at last, another piece of the puzzle is laid down.

On my maternal side of the family, finding out about my ancestors has been straightforward. Couples were married, children came along, some more quickly than others, but, I can follow the family line without too much digging.

My paternal side has been more of a headache. Both of my great grandfathers were illegitimate, and even further back, the phrase “it’s complicated” describes the situation perfectly well. Therefore, my research is not completely reliable or whole. My late father knew his grandfather, George Betts, very well, and was a favourite grandchild. He told me many stories and anecdotes that painted a vivid picture of him. So much so, that he lives in my memories as mapping those spoken words to a virtual manifestation of them. George’s wife, Rebecca Betts, doted on my father, and the whole family idolised her for her kindness and generosity, never realising that she too, was illegitimate.

However, my father did not know his paternal grandfather, David Deighton Taylor, as he had died nine years before he was born. We have a photograph and I can confirm that he physical resembled my own paternal grandfather Albert, who I can recall now, with his thick silver hair, leathery skin, nicotine-stained fingers, and regimental tattoos.

My great grandfather, David Deighton Taylor

In modern times, families raise children and as long as there is love and care, children can thrive. In my many years of working in the field of education, I have learned that it doesn’t matter what that relationship is, as long as there is plenty of love and care. Even this week, we have learned of more terrible stories where babies were wrenched away from their birth mothers and kept in church-run baby homes, where untold died of preventable disease, almost without trace. Mothers were treated as outcasts and shamed, leading to a lifetime of trauma and guilt, that no apology can erase. It is only now that we recognise their dreadful mistreatment, and the weekly episodes of Long Lost Family on television, leave me a blubbering wreck of happy tears.

Buit what have I learned about my own Victorian era ancestors and their lives? David Deighton Taylor was a curious name to me. When I began on my quest, I noticed that this was how he had addressed himself at the time of his marriage to Julia Cooke, in Bethnal Green in 1893. Taylor is an incredibly common family name, but Deighton less so, and therefore more attractive for a researcher. At that point, I did not know who his mother was and have never found a birth record. On David’s marriage certificate, he named his father as David Taylor, a builder. I have found no record of this person and suspect that this is a lie. It would have been humiliating to have left this field empty on the marriage record and I can imagine the vicar of St Peter’s, Bethnal Green, asking the question, and him reaching for an answer. David definitely knew his mother, Mary Ann, but she had died of Tuberculosis when he was eleven years old. It was after this date that his life was thrown into chaos. David’s stepfather, William English, sent him to the workhouse and married his domestic servant. For over ten years, he was in and out of institutions, initially the Metropolitan Board of Guardians school, then the workhouse and infirmary. Marriage was the key to family life for David, but even that was cut short by Tuberculosis.

David’s marriage record led me to the name of Deighton (or Dyton)

Mary Ann herself, appeared to be illegitimate too. As I recounted in my last post, Daniel Crudgington married Jane Vincent in 1842, after his return from Australia. This was the year of Mary Ann’s birth, and she continued to use her birth surname, Deighton, at various points of her adult life. Her mother, Ann Deighton, married Daniel Crudgington in 1844, in a marriage which I believe was bigamous on his part. Mary Ann was not baptised until 1853, and her birth date given as a respectable 1845 – one year after her parents married. Was Daniel actually Mary Ann’s father? I suspect yes and my reasoning is based on the fact that he left Jane and chose to marry Ann. If Ann became pregnant and then gave birth to Mary Ann, she was, as far as I am aware, his first born. He stayed married to Ann until she died, even though there seemed to be several reasons to assume that this was not always a happy union. David described Ann as his grandmother and Daniel as his grandfather, and continued to live with the latter until his death.

Mary Ann was baptised in 1853 but actually born in 1842

My other great grandfather, George Betts, was the son of a domestic servant and her master. I know very little of his mother and father. I know that his birth name was Mead, which I suspect was his mother’s surname. My father told me that George’s paternal grandmother doted on him as her grandson, and saw that he was well-provided for and educated. My father remembered seeing a photograph of young George, dressed in a miniature sailor suit, with a slate board to practise writing. When his grandmother died, George was unofficially adopted into the Betts family, William Betts, his adoptive father, a tripe dresser. As far as my father was aware, the Betts were a good family, and he thrived. Years later, when his biological father died, he left a legacy for his son, but George refused to claim it, despite protestations from his children. He wanted nothing further to do with the name Mead. Unfortunately, this also caused him difficulties when he needed to claim disability benefit as he developed cataracts which slowly caused blindness. There were no official records of George Betts – only George Mead, a name that he had not used for over seventy years. No records existed of his adoption or that his name was ever legally changed.

George Mead listed as a “visitor” in 1871, but ten years later, he was listed as a son to his adoptive parents

George’s wife, Rebecca, was also illegitimate. I was shocked to discover this but, despite searching for the birth of a Rebecca Bull, I was unable to locate a matching record. Instead, I found a record for a Rebecca Mayes born in September 1869. No father’s name was provided, and the occupation field was left empty. Eliza Rosina Mayes had decided to go it alone, with the support of her family. Rosina married William Henry Bull in December 1870. Rebecca was listed as his daughter in the 1871 census, and I suspect that this was true. I am unsure why it took over a year to marry Rosina. Maybe Rebecca was unaware that she had been baptised with her mother’s name. My father never knew and would have been absolutely horrified.

Rebecca Mayes baptism record of 1869, one year before her mother married

More than one hundred and fifty years later, none of this matters. Life was difficult enough for Victorian women, but a single woman with a child attracted stigma. She was a fallen woman, an unfortunate, immoral, and impure in the eyes of Victorian society, but I see instead, strong women, who managed, survived and did their best with what they had. The woman that I worry about most, was George Betts’ mother. I imagine a young domestic servant, pregnant, afraid and abandoned.

I acknowledge that my illegitimate ancestors would have faced more challenges, as did their mothers. The purpose of this blog was to remember them and to share their stories. I hope that in some small way I have recognised their struggle.

The illegitimates

By Christine Swan

One of the biggest challenges faced by genealogists is that of researching ancestors where you only know half of the story. I recently read an article in Who Do You Think You Are magazine, on this very theme. This prompted me to reflect on my discoveries and minor research triumphs when, at last, another piece of the puzzle is laid down.

On my maternal side of the family, finding out about my ancestors has been straightforward. Couples were married, children came along, some more quickly than others, but, I can follow the family line without too much digging.

My paternal side has been more of a headache. Both of my great grandfathers were illegitimate, and even further back, the phrase “it’s complicated” describes the situation perfectly well. Therefore, my research is not completely reliable or whole. My late father knew his grandfather, George Betts, very well, and was a favourite grandchild. He told me many stories and anecdotes that painted a vivid picture of him. So much so, that he lives in my memories as mapping those spoken words to a virtual manifestation of them. George’s wife, Rebecca Betts, doted on my father, and the whole family idolised her for her kindness and generosity, never realising that she too, was illegitimate.

However, my father did not know his paternal grandfather, David Deighton Taylor, as he had died nine years before he was born. We have a photograph and I can confirm that he physical resembled my own paternal grandfather Albert, who I can recall now, with his thick silver hair, leathery skin, nicotine-stained fingers, and regimental tattoos.

My great grandfather, David Deighton Taylor

In modern times, families raise children and as long as there is love and care, children can thrive. In my many years of working in the field of education, I have learned that it doesn’t matter what that relationship is, as long as there is plenty of love and care. Even this week, we have learned of more terrible stories where babies were wrenched away from their birth mothers and kept in church-run baby homes, where untold died of preventable disease, almost without trace. Mothers were treated as outcasts and shamed, leading to a lifetime of trauma and guilt, that no apology can erase. It is only now that we recognise their dreadful mistreatment, and the weekly episodes of Long Lost Family on television, leave me a blubbering wreck of happy tears.

Buit what have I learned about my own Victorian era ancestors and their lives? David Deighton Taylor was a curious name to me. When I began on my quest, I noticed that this was how he had addressed himself at the time of his marriage to Julia Cooke, in Bethnal Green in 1893. Taylor is an incredibly common family name, but Deighton less so, and therefore more attractive for a researcher. At that point, I did not know who his mother was and have never found a birth record. On David’s marriage certificate, he named his father as David Taylor, a builder. I have found no record of this person and suspect that this is a lie. It would have been humiliating to have left this field empty on the marriage record and I can imagine the vicar of St Peter’s, Bethnal Green, asking the question, and him reaching for an answer. David definitely knew his mother, Mary Ann, but she had died of Tuberculosis when he was eleven years old. It was after this date that his life was thrown into chaos. David’s stepfather, William English, sent him to the workhouse and married his domestic servant. For over ten years, he was in and out of institutions, initially the Metropolitan Board of Guardians school, then the workhouse and infirmary. Marriage was the key to family life for David, but even that was cut short by Tuberculosis.

David’s marriage record led me to the name of Deighton (or Dyton)

Mary Ann herself, appeared to be illegitimate too. As I recounted in my last post, Daniel Crudgington married Jane Vincent in 1842, after his return from Australia. This was the year of Mary Ann’s birth, and she continued to use her birth surname, Deighton, at various points of her adult life. Her mother, Ann Deighton, married Daniel Crudgington in 1844, in a marriage which I believe was bigamous on his part. Mary Ann was not baptised until 1853, and her birth date given as a respectable 1845 – one year after her parents married. Was Daniel actually Mary Ann’s father? I suspect yes and my reasoning is based on the fact that he left Jane and chose to marry Ann. If Ann became pregnant and then gave birth to Mary Ann, she was, as far as I am aware, his first born. He stayed married to Ann until she died, even though there seemed to be several reasons to assume that this was not always a happy union. David described Ann as his grandmother and Daniel as his grandfather, and continued to live with the latter until his death.

Mary Ann was baptised in 1853 but actually born in 1842

My other great grandfather, George Betts, was the son of a domestic servant and her master. I know very little of his mother and father. I know that his birth name was Mead, which I suspect was his mother’s surname. My father told me that George’s paternal grandmother doted on him as her grandson, and saw that he was well-provided for and educated. My father remembered seeing a photograph of young George, dressed in a miniature sailor suit, with a slate board to practise writing. When his grandmother died, George was unofficially adopted into the Betts family, William Betts, his adoptive father, a tripe dresser. As far as my father was aware, the Betts were a good family, and he thrived. Years later, when his biological father died, he left a legacy for his son, but George refused to claim it, despite protestations from his children. He wanted nothing further to do with the name Mead. Unfortunately, this also caused him difficulties when he needed to claim disability benefit as he developed cataracts which slowly caused blindness. There were no official records of George Betts – only George Mead, a name that he had not used for over seventy years. No records existed of his adoption or that his name was ever legally changed.

George Mead listed as a “visitor” in 1871, but ten years later, he was listed as a son to his adoptive parents

George’s wife, Rebecca, was also illegitimate. I was shocked to discover this but, despite searching for the birth of a Rebecca Bull, I was unable to locate a matching record. Instead, I found a record for a Rebecca Mayes born in September 1869. No father’s name was provided, and the occupation field was left empty. Eliza Rosina Mayes had decided to go it alone, with the support of her family. Rosina married William Henry Bull in December 1870. Rebecca was listed as his daughter in the 1871 census, and I suspect that this was true. I am unsure why it took over a year to marry Rosina. Maybe Rebecca was unaware that she had been baptised with her mother’s name. My father never knew and would have been absolutely horrified.

Rebecca Mayes baptism record of 1869, one year before her mother married

More than one hundred and fifty years later, none of this matters. Life was difficult enough for Victorian women, but a single woman with a child attracted stigma. She was a fallen woman, an unfortunate, immoral, and impure in the eyes of Victorian society, but I see instead, strong women, who managed, survived and did their best with what they had. The woman that I worry about most, was George Betts’ mother. I imagine a young domestic servant, pregnant, afraid and abandoned.

I acknowledge that my illegitimate ancestors would have faced more challenges, as did their mothers. The purpose of this blog was to remember them and to share their stories. I hope that in some small way I have recognised their struggle.

The illegitimates

By Christine Swan

One of the biggest challenges faced by genealogists is that of researching ancestors where you only know half of the story. I recently read an article in Who Do You Think You Are magazine, on this very theme. This prompted me to reflect on my discoveries and minor research triumphs when, at last, another piece of the puzzle is laid down.

On my maternal side of the family, finding out about my ancestors has been straightforward. Couples were married, children came along, some more quickly than others, but, I can follow the family line without too much digging.

My paternal side has been more of a headache. Both of my great grandfathers were illegitimate, and even further back, the phrase “it’s complicated” describes the situation perfectly well. Therefore, my research is not completely reliable or whole. My late father knew his grandfather, George Betts, very well, and was a favourite grandchild. He told me many stories and anecdotes that painted a vivid picture of him. So much so, that he lives in my memories as mapping those spoken words to a virtual manifestation of them. George’s wife, Rebecca Betts, doted on my father, and the whole family idolised her for her kindness and generosity, never realising that she too, was illegitimate.

However, my father did not know his paternal grandfather, David Deighton Taylor, as he had died nine years before he was born. We have a photograph and I can confirm that he physical resembled my own paternal grandfather Albert, who I can recall now, with his thick silver hair, leathery skin, nicotine-stained fingers, and regimental tattoos.

My great grandfather, David Deighton Taylor

In modern times, families raise children and as long as there is love and care, children can thrive. In my many years of working in the field of education, I have learned that it doesn’t matter what that relationship is, as long as there is plenty of love and care. Even this week, we have learned of more terrible stories where babies were wrenched away from their birth mothers and kept in church-run baby homes, where untold died of preventable disease, almost without trace. Mothers were treated as outcasts and shamed, leading to a lifetime of trauma and guilt, that no apology can erase. It is only now that we recognise their dreadful mistreatment, and the weekly episodes of Long Lost Family on television, leave me a blubbering wreck of happy tears.

Buit what have I learned about my own Victorian era ancestors and their lives? David Deighton Taylor was a curious name to me. When I began on my quest, I noticed that this was how he had addressed himself at the time of his marriage to Julia Cooke, in Bethnal Green in 1893. Taylor is an incredibly common family name, but Deighton less so, and therefore more attractive for a researcher. At that point, I did not know who his mother was and have never found a birth record. On David’s marriage certificate, he named his father as David Taylor, a builder. I have found no record of this person and suspect that this is a lie. It would have been humiliating to have left this field empty on the marriage record and I can imagine the vicar of St Peter’s, Bethnal Green, asking the question, and him reaching for an answer. David definitely knew his mother, Mary Ann, but she had died of Tuberculosis when he was eleven years old. It was after this date that his life was thrown into chaos. David’s stepfather, William English, sent him to the workhouse and married his domestic servant. For over ten years, he was in and out of institutions, initially the Metropolitan Board of Guardians school, then the workhouse and infirmary. Marriage was the key to family life for David, but even that was cut short by Tuberculosis.

David’s marriage record led me to the name of Deighton (or Dyton)

Mary Ann herself, appeared to be illegitimate too. As I recounted in my last post, Daniel Crudgington married Jane Vincent in 1842, after his return from Australia. This was the year of Mary Ann’s birth, and she continued to use her birth surname, Deighton, at various points of her adult life. Her mother, Ann Deighton, married Daniel Crudgington in 1844, in a marriage which I believe was bigamous on his part. Mary Ann was not baptised until 1853, and her birth date given as a respectable 1845 – one year after her parents married. Was Daniel actually Mary Ann’s father? I suspect yes and my reasoning is based on the fact that he left Jane and chose to marry Ann. If Ann became pregnant and then gave birth to Mary Ann, she was, as far as I am aware, his first born. He stayed married to Ann until she died, even though there seemed to be several reasons to assume that this was not always a happy union. David described Ann as his grandmother and Daniel as his grandfather, and continued to live with the latter until his death.

Mary Ann was baptised in 1853 but actually born in 1842

My other great grandfather, George Betts, was the son of a domestic servant and her master. I know very little of his mother and father. I know that his birth name was Mead, which I suspect was his mother’s surname. My father told me that George’s paternal grandmother doted on him as her grandson, and saw that he was well-provided for and educated. My father remembered seeing a photograph of young George, dressed in a miniature sailor suit, with a slate board to practise writing. When his grandmother died, George was unofficially adopted into the Betts family, William Betts, his adoptive father, a tripe dresser. As far as my father was aware, the Betts were a good family, and he thrived. Years later, when his biological father died, he left a legacy for his son, but George refused to claim it, despite protestations from his children. He wanted nothing further to do with the name Mead. Unfortunately, this also caused him difficulties when he needed to claim disability benefit as he developed cataracts which slowly caused blindness. There were no official records of George Betts – only George Mead, a name that he had not used for over seventy years. No records existed of his adoption or that his name was ever legally changed.

George Mead listed as a “visitor” in 1871, but ten years later, he was listed as a son to his adoptive parents

George’s wife, Rebecca, was also illegitimate. I was shocked to discover this but, despite searching for the birth of a Rebecca Bull, I was unable to locate a matching record. Instead, I found a record for a Rebecca Mayes born in September 1869. No father’s name was provided, and the occupation field was left empty. Eliza Rosina Mayes had decided to go it alone, with the support of her family. Rosina married William Henry Bull in December 1870. Rebecca was listed as his daughter in the 1871 census, and I suspect that this was true. I am unsure why it took over a year to marry Rosina. Maybe Rebecca was unaware that she had been baptised with her mother’s name. My father never knew and would have been absolutely horrified.

Rebecca Mayes baptism record of 1869, one year before her mother married

More than one hundred and fifty years later, none of this matters. Life was difficult enough for Victorian women, but a single woman with a child attracted stigma. She was a fallen woman, an unfortunate, immoral, and impure in the eyes of Victorian society, but I see instead, strong women, who managed, survived and did their best with what they had. The woman that I worry about most, was George Betts’ mother. I imagine a young domestic servant, pregnant, afraid and abandoned.

I acknowledge that my illegitimate ancestors would have faced more challenges, as did their mothers. The purpose of this blog was to remember them and to share their stories. I hope that in some small way I have recognised their struggle.

The illegitimates

By Christine Swan

One of the biggest challenges faced by genealogists is that of researching ancestors where you only know half of the story. I recently read an article in Who Do You Think You Are magazine, on this very theme. This prompted me to reflect on my discoveries and minor research triumphs when, at last, another piece of the puzzle is laid down.

On my maternal side of the family, finding out about my ancestors has been straightforward. Couples were married, children came along, some more quickly than others, but, I can follow the family line without too much digging.

My paternal side has been more of a headache. Both of my great grandfathers were illegitimate, and even further back, the phrase “it’s complicated” describes the situation perfectly well. Therefore, my research is not completely reliable or whole. My late father knew his grandfather, George Betts, very well, and was a favourite grandchild. He told me many stories and anecdotes that painted a vivid picture of him. So much so, that he lives in my memories as mapping those spoken words to a virtual manifestation of them. George’s wife, Rebecca Betts, doted on my father, and the whole family idolised her for her kindness and generosity, never realising that she too, was illegitimate.

However, my father did not know his paternal grandfather, David Deighton Taylor, as he had died nine years before he was born. We have a photograph and I can confirm that he physical resembled my own paternal grandfather Albert, who I can recall now, with his thick silver hair, leathery skin, nicotine-stained fingers, and regimental tattoos.

My great grandfather, David Deighton Taylor

In modern times, families raise children and as long as there is love and care, children can thrive. In my many years of working in the field of education, I have learned that it doesn’t matter what that relationship is, as long as there is plenty of love and care. Even this week, we have learned of more terrible stories where babies were wrenched away from their birth mothers and kept in church-run baby homes, where untold died of preventable disease, almost without trace. Mothers were treated as outcasts and shamed, leading to a lifetime of trauma and guilt, that no apology can erase. It is only now that we recognise their dreadful mistreatment, and the weekly episodes of Long Lost Family on television, leave me a blubbering wreck of happy tears.

Buit what have I learned about my own Victorian era ancestors and their lives? David Deighton Taylor was a curious name to me. When I began on my quest, I noticed that this was how he had addressed himself at the time of his marriage to Julia Cooke, in Bethnal Green in 1893. Taylor is an incredibly common family name, but Deighton less so, and therefore more attractive for a researcher. At that point, I did not know who his mother was and have never found a birth record. On David’s marriage certificate, he named his father as David Taylor, a builder. I have found no record of this person and suspect that this is a lie. It would have been humiliating to have left this field empty on the marriage record and I can imagine the vicar of St Peter’s, Bethnal Green, asking the question, and him reaching for an answer. David definitely knew his mother, Mary Ann, but she had died of Tuberculosis when he was eleven years old. It was after this date that his life was thrown into chaos. David’s stepfather, William English, sent him to the workhouse and married his domestic servant. For over ten years, he was in and out of institutions, initially the Metropolitan Board of Guardians school, then the workhouse and infirmary. Marriage was the key to family life for David, but even that was cut short by Tuberculosis.

David’s marriage record led me to the name of Deighton (or Dyton)

Mary Ann herself, appeared to be illegitimate too. As I recounted in my last post, Daniel Crudgington married Jane Vincent in 1842, after his return from Australia. This was the year of Mary Ann’s birth, and she continued to use her birth surname, Deighton, at various points of her adult life. Her mother, Ann Deighton, married Daniel Crudgington in 1844, in a marriage which I believe was bigamous on his part. Mary Ann was not baptised until 1853, and her birth date given as a respectable 1845 – one year after her parents married. Was Daniel actually Mary Ann’s father? I suspect yes and my reasoning is based on the fact that he left Jane and chose to marry Ann. If Ann became pregnant and then gave birth to Mary Ann, she was, as far as I am aware, his first born. He stayed married to Ann until she died, even though there seemed to be several reasons to assume that this was not always a happy union. David described Ann as his grandmother and Daniel as his grandfather, and continued to live with the latter until his death.

Mary Ann was baptised in 1853 but actually born in 1842

My other great grandfather, George Betts, was the son of a domestic servant and her master. I know very little of his mother and father. I know that his birth name was Mead, which I suspect was his mother’s surname. My father told me that George’s paternal grandmother doted on him as her grandson, and saw that he was well-provided for and educated. My father remembered seeing a photograph of young George, dressed in a miniature sailor suit, with a slate board to practise writing. When his grandmother died, George was unofficially adopted into the Betts family, William Betts, his adoptive father, a tripe dresser. As far as my father was aware, the Betts were a good family, and he thrived. Years later, when his biological father died, he left a legacy for his son, but George refused to claim it, despite protestations from his children. He wanted nothing further to do with the name Mead. Unfortunately, this also caused him difficulties when he needed to claim disability benefit as he developed cataracts which slowly caused blindness. There were no official records of George Betts – only George Mead, a name that he had not used for over seventy years. No records existed of his adoption or that his name was ever legally changed.

George Mead listed as a “visitor” in 1871, but ten years later, he was listed as a son to his adoptive parents

George’s wife, Rebecca, was also illegitimate. I was shocked to discover this but, despite searching for the birth of a Rebecca Bull, I was unable to locate a matching record. Instead, I found a record for a Rebecca Mayes born in September 1869. No father’s name was provided, and the occupation field was left empty. Eliza Rosina Mayes had decided to go it alone, with the support of her family. Rosina married William Henry Bull in December 1870. Rebecca was listed as his daughter in the 1871 census, and I suspect that this was true. I am unsure why it took over a year to marry Rosina. Maybe Rebecca was unaware that she had been baptised with her mother’s name. My father never knew and would have been absolutely horrified.

Rebecca Mayes baptism record of 1869, one year before her mother married

More than one hundred and fifty years later, none of this matters. Life was difficult enough for Victorian women, but a single woman with a child attracted stigma. She was a fallen woman, an unfortunate, immoral, and impure in the eyes of Victorian society, but I see instead, strong women, who managed, survived and did their best with what they had. The woman that I worry about most, was George Betts’ mother. I imagine a young domestic servant, pregnant, afraid and abandoned.

I acknowledge that my illegitimate ancestors would have faced more challenges, as did their mothers. The purpose of this blog was to remember them and to share their stories. I hope that in some small way I have recognised their struggle.

The 11 London neighbourhood restaurants which have just been named the best in the UK

The Good Food Guide has published its top 100 local restaurants for 2026 and 11 locations in London…
#EuropeSays #Britain #Europe #EU #London #BethnalGreen #Chingford #FoodandDrink #Hackney #Peckham #Putney #QueensPark #StokeNewington
https://www.europesays.com/britain/82278/

https://www.europesays.com/britain/82278/ The 11 London neighbourhood restaurants which have just been named the best in the UK #BethnalGreen #Chingford #FoodAndDrink #Hackney #London #Peckham #Putney #QueensPark #StokeNewington

Yesterday I visited @vagina_museum in London. I've wanted to visit since I found out about it over a year ago. Happy to go there at last. It's a lovely little museum that I highly recommend! It's on Poyser Street and we walked there from Bethnal Green underground station.
#VaginaMuseum #London #PoyserStreet #BethnalGreen

Yesterday I visited @vagina_museum in London. I've wanted to visit since I found out about it over a year ago. Happy to go there at last. It's a lovely little museum that I highly recommend! It's on Poyser Street and we walked there from Bethnal Green underground station.
#VaginaMuseum #London #PoyserStreet #BethnalGreen

‘I’ve lived all over London – this is the reason I will never leave Bethnal Green again’

Emilia Randall has lived in West, North and East London neighbourhoods. She is moving back East and has…
#London #UnitedKingdom #UK #GB #England #Headlines #News #Europe #EU #BethnalGreen #Britain #GreatBritain #london #Londonpubs #property #TowerHamlets
https://www.europesays.com/uk/1038550/

https://www.europesays.com/uk/1038550/ ‘I’ve lived all over London – this is the reason I will never leave Bethnal Green again’ #BethnalGreen #Britain #England #GreatBritain #london #LondonPubs #property #TowerHamlets #UK #UnitedKingdom

‘I’ve lived all over London – this is the reason I will never leave Bethnal Green again’

Emilia Randall has lived in West, North and East London neighbourhoods. She is moving back East and has…
#EuropeSays #Britain #Europe #EU #London #BethnalGreen #Londonpubs #Property #TowerHamlets
https://www.europesays.com/britain/66915/

https://www.europesays.com/britain/66915/ ‘I’ve lived all over London – this is the reason I will never leave Bethnal Green again’ #BethnalGreen #London #LondonPubs #Property #TowerHamlets

A Day Trip to London in the Sunshine

By Christine Swan

I can’t remember the last day trip I took with my son. One thing that prospective parents are never told is how your relationship with your child grows as they become an adult. We have always got along very well, and my son and I are the best of friends. Time spent together is precious and treasured.

Please look after this bear – Good morning Paddington

On what was not quite the hottest day of the week, we headed off in the morning, to arrive at Paddington before lunchtime. We hopped onto the tube to Liverpool Street and began our wanderings at Spitalfields Market, looking for a birthday present. After a thorough scrutiny of potential gifts, we moved on to Shoreditch. Labour and Wait presented a few more choices but, indecision and procrastination led me to leave with just a bar of my favourite laundry soap and a discussion at the pay desk about washboards.

The impressive concourse of Liverpool Street station

On to Brick Lane, past what was the Flower Pot Inn, but now appears to be closed, we walked down as far as the mosque in the former Huguenot Chapel. We engaged in the “Are you hungry yet?” and “What do you want for lunch?” debate, as Brick Lane is synonymous with food. However, we decided to delay our dining, despite my urge to snack on South Asian sweets.

What was the Flower Pot Inn at the top of Brick Lane.

Walking back along Fournier Street, I pointed out the weaver’s trade signs, fire insurance plaques, the shutters, and large attic windows. I explained that our ancestors had been poor and mostly plied their trade from the Bethnal Green side of Brick Lane – in Hare Street, and closer to St Matthews Church.

What was Hare Street, now Cheshire Street, where William Deighton wove silk

Christ Church is the landmark that everybody familiar with Spitalfields recognises. Its imposing presence has loomed over this part of London for three hundred years. If Nicholas Hawksmoor had intended the spire to reflect the wealth of the residents, it would have only reflected a proportion of them.

Looking along Fournier Street, towards Commercial Street

On the opposite corner of Fournier Street is the famous Ten Bells pub. As I usually am only free to visit at weekends, getting near the door of the Ten Bells is a challenge, and getting to the bar is a game of extreme patience. However, on a relatively quiet Wednesday lunchtime, we breezed in and within a few moments, our thirsts were quenched with a cooling pint. The Ten Bells was originally the Eight Bells, but its name updated when the church added to its number, and it was moved from its original location in the mid-nineteenth century. Some of its tiled interior is original, or at least, dates from its moved position, but some are modern. Also some sections of wall are hand painted, to match the pattern of the tiles. The Ten Bells is as much a part of Spitalfields’ history and landscape, so if the queue is manageable, a visit is a must.

The iconic Ten Bells pub

By this time, my stomach was reminding me that it had been several hours since we had eaten so we headed for my son’s favourite casual dining spot, Boxpark. The pavements were hot and the sun quite strong, so we were grateful to find a shady table to eat our chosen street food items from the wide range of options. Once again, I have not visited Boxpark at lunchtime midweek, so was rather surprised how quiet it was. It has been earmarked for closure which I think is a shame. In a time when young people are struggling to find meaningful employment, the hospitality industry that will not be so greatly impacted by AI. Entrepreneurs can develop a concept and start small, which is the whole idea behind a mini-mall. With so many large shopping centres becoming empty, in my opinion, that model does not work in the twenty-first century, app-ordering generation. I believe that there is plenty of scope to offer small, affordable units, with shared eating and drinking space, plus extras such as weekend and evening DJ and entertainment events. Fortunately, a recent development in my home town of Worcester is replicating the “start small” concept in utilising a sequence of railway arch units, which are becoming a food and drink quarter.

Boxpark, Shoreditch

I digress. We were still birthday present-less and this was becoming a priority as our virtual sand-timer was running out. I suggested that we might find something suitable in Leadenhall Market.

At Leadenhall Market

This beautiful covered market has stood for centuries in the heart of the City. Although the ornate ironwork dates from the nineteenth century, the market is much older. It seemed fitting that, with its connection to Harry Potter, we sought a gift for my son’s partner as a memento of our visit. In the spirit of “buying small”, we also visited the SoLo Craft Shop and bought some beautifully scented candles as the perfect birthday present. This shop sells the wares of about ninety small businesses and is open every day of the week. Not only did we purchase our quest, but also a hand-crafted birthday card.

The Guildhall Art Gallery is air-conditioned

The afternoon was still exceedingly warm, and the stone walls of the City buildings did little to offer respite from the blazing sun. I knew that my son had never seen the Roman Amphitheatre nearby, situated in the basement of the Guildhall Art Gallery. I am also wise to the fact that it is beautifully air-conditioned. The security guard commented on my Pellici’s Cafe linen bag, which initiated his memories of cafe culture at both this and Arthur’s Cafe in Kingsland Road. I was unfamiliar with the latter as it closed after the owner’s death. We chatted about my Dad’s work around the area, detecting water leaks and being involved in their repair, cycling around the East End with a big key and a listening stick. The tales that he told me of the old East End have stayed with me – and here we were, the two most recent generations, walking around his manor, remembering.

The Roman amphitheatre at the Guildhall Art Gallery

The security guard had some photos of Arthur’s Cafe, which he shared with us before we left and he went on his break. Away from the sanctuary of air-conditioning, the late afternoon was still decidedly Mediterranean in climate. We had missed the pre-rush hour off-peak deadline, so had time for some refreshment across the way in The Old Doctor Butler’s Head pub in Mason’s Alley. Dating from the seventeenth century, Doctor Butler was a rather eccentric physician who developed “cures” for conditions of the nervous system, including scare tactics for epilepsy by firing duelling pistols, and cold-water plunges for the plague. He also recognised the restorative nature of a pint of good beer and developed a medicinal brew for gastric conditions. This is likely to have been more safe than drinking water at that time and his success led him to own a number of pubs. We raised our glasses to Old Doctor Butler before taking the tube from Moorgate back to Paddington, and thence home.

Sampling the Doctor’s finest at Old Doctor Butler’s Head

The train sped through West London, Berkshire, Oxfordshire and across the green landscape of the Cotswolds. The sun set on a perfect day. More memories made, and we didn’t forget the birthday gift!

More information

Spitalfields Market guide – https://www.spitalfields.co.uk/

The Gentle Author’s guide to the Ten Bells pub – https://spitalfieldslife.com/2010/12/14/at-the-ten-bells/

Boxpark, Shoreditch guide – https://www.boxpark.co.uk/venues/shoreditch

Leadenhall Market guide – https://leadenhallmarket.co.uk/

The Guildhall Art Gallery guide – https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/attractions-museums-entertainment/guildhall-art-gallery

All photos by the author

A Day Trip to London in the Sunshine

By Christine Swan

I can’t remember the last day trip I took with my son. One thing that prospective parents are never told is how your relationship with your child grows as they become an adult. We have always got along very well, and my son and I are the best of friends. Time spent together is precious and treasured.

Please look after this bear – Good morning Paddington

On what was not quite the hottest day of the week, we headed off in the morning, to arrive at Paddington before lunchtime. We hopped onto the tube to Liverpool Street and began our wanderings at Spitalfields Market, looking for a birthday present. After a thorough scrutiny of potential gifts, we moved on to Shoreditch. Labour and Wait presented a few more choices but, indecision and procrastination led me to leave with just a bar of my favourite laundry soap and a discussion at the pay desk about washboards.

The impressive concourse of Liverpool Street station

On to Brick Lane, past what was the Flower Pot Inn, but now appears to be closed, we walked down as far as the mosque in the former Huguenot Chapel. We engaged in the “Are you hungry yet?” and “What do you want for lunch?” debate, as Brick Lane is synonymous with food. However, we decided to delay our dining, despite my urge to snack on South Asian sweets.

What was the Flower Pot Inn at the top of Brick Lane.

Walking back along Fournier Street, I pointed out the weaver’s trade signs, fire insurance plaques, the shutters, and large attic windows. I explained that our ancestors had been poor and mostly plied their trade from the Bethnal Green side of Brick Lane – in Hare Street, and closer to St Matthews Church.

What was Hare Street, now Cheshire Street, where William Deighton wove silk

Christ Church is the landmark that everybody familiar with Spitalfields recognises. Its imposing presence has loomed over this part of London for three hundred years. If Nicholas Hawksmoor had intended the spire to reflect the wealth of the residents, it would have only reflected a proportion of them.

Looking along Fournier Street, towards Commercial Street

On the opposite corner of Fournier Street is the famous Ten Bells pub. As I usually am only free to visit at weekends, getting near the door of the Ten Bells is a challenge, and getting to the bar is a game of extreme patience. However, on a relatively quiet Wednesday lunchtime, we breezed in and within a few moments, our thirsts were quenched with a cooling pint. The Ten Bells was originally the Eight Bells, but its name updated when the church added to its number, and it was moved from its original location in the mid-nineteenth century. Some of its tiled interior is original, or at least, dates from its moved position, but some are modern. Also some sections of wall are hand painted, to match the pattern of the tiles. The Ten Bells is as much a part of Spitalfields’ history and landscape, so if the queue is manageable, a visit is a must.

The iconic Ten Bells pub

By this time, my stomach was reminding me that it had been several hours since we had eaten so we headed for my son’s favourite casual dining spot, Boxpark. The pavements were hot and the sun quite strong, so we were grateful to find a shady table to eat our chosen street food items from the wide range of options. Once again, I have not visited Boxpark at lunchtime midweek, so was rather surprised how quiet it was. It has been earmarked for closure which I think is a shame. In a time when young people are struggling to find meaningful employment, the hospitality industry that will not be so greatly impacted by AI. Entrepreneurs can develop a concept and start small, which is the whole idea behind a mini-mall. With so many large shopping centres becoming empty, in my opinion, that model does not work in the twenty-first century, app-ordering generation. I believe that there is plenty of scope to offer small, affordable units, with shared eating and drinking space, plus extras such as weekend and evening DJ and entertainment events. Fortunately, a recent development in my home town of Worcester is replicating the “start small” concept in utilising a sequence of railway arch units, which are becoming a food and drink quarter.

Boxpark, Shoreditch

I digress. We were still birthday present-less and this was becoming a priority as our virtual sand-timer was running out. I suggested that we might find something suitable in Leadenhall Market.

At Leadenhall Market

This beautiful covered market has stood for centuries in the heart of the City. Although the ornate ironwork dates from the nineteenth century, the market is much older. It seemed fitting that, with its connection to Harry Potter, we sought a gift for my son’s partner as a memento of our visit. In the spirit of “buying small”, we also visited the SoLo Craft Shop and bought some beautifully scented candles as the perfect birthday present. This shop sells the wares of about ninety small businesses and is open every day of the week. Not only did we purchase our quest, but also a hand-crafted birthday card.

The Guildhall Art Gallery is air-conditioned

The afternoon was still exceedingly warm, and the stone walls of the City buildings did little to offer respite from the blazing sun. I knew that my son had never seen the Roman Amphitheatre nearby, situated in the basement of the Guildhall Art Gallery. I am also wise to the fact that it is beautifully air-conditioned. The security guard commented on my Pellici’s Cafe linen bag, which initiated his memories of cafe culture at both this and Arthur’s Cafe in Kingsland Road. I was unfamiliar with the latter as it closed after the owner’s death. We chatted about my Dad’s work around the area, detecting water leaks and being involved in their repair, cycling around the East End with a big key and a listening stick. The tales that he told me of the old East End have stayed with me – and here we were, the two most recent generations, walking around his manor, remembering.

The Roman amphitheatre at the Guildhall Art Gallery

The security guard had some photos of Arthur’s Cafe, which he shared with us before we left and he went on his break. Away from the sanctuary of air-conditioning, the late afternoon was still decidedly Mediterranean in climate. We had missed the pre-rush hour off-peak deadline, so had time for some refreshment across the way in The Old Doctor Butler’s Head pub in Mason’s Alley. Dating from the seventeenth century, Doctor Butler was a rather eccentric physician who developed “cures” for conditions of the nervous system, including scare tactics for epilepsy by firing duelling pistols, and cold-water plunges for the plague. He also recognised the restorative nature of a pint of good beer and developed a medicinal brew for gastric conditions. This is likely to have been more safe than drinking water at that time and his success led him to own a number of pubs. We raised our glasses to Old Doctor Butler before taking the tube from Moorgate back to Paddington, and thence home.

Sampling the Doctor’s finest at Old Doctor Butler’s Head

The train sped through West London, Berkshire, Oxfordshire and across the green landscape of the Cotswolds. The sun set on a perfect day. More memories made, and we didn’t forget the birthday gift!

More information

Spitalfields Market guide – https://www.spitalfields.co.uk/

The Gentle Author’s guide to the Ten Bells pub – https://spitalfieldslife.com/2010/12/14/at-the-ten-bells/

Boxpark, Shoreditch guide – https://www.boxpark.co.uk/venues/shoreditch

Leadenhall Market guide – https://leadenhallmarket.co.uk/

The Guildhall Art Gallery guide – https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/attractions-museums-entertainment/guildhall-art-gallery

All photos by the author

A Day Trip to London in the Sunshine

By Christine Swan

I can’t remember the last day trip I took with my son. One thing that prospective parents are never told is how your relationship with your child grows as they become an adult. We have always got along very well, and my son and I are the best of friends. Time spent together is precious and treasured.

Please look after this bear – Good morning Paddington

On what was not quite the hottest day of the week, we headed off in the morning, to arrive at Paddington before lunchtime. We hopped onto the tube to Liverpool Street and began our wanderings at Spitalfields Market, looking for a birthday present. After a thorough scrutiny of potential gifts, we moved on to Shoreditch. Labour and Wait presented a few more choices but, indecision and procrastination led me to leave with just a bar of my favourite laundry soap and a discussion at the pay desk about washboards.

The impressive concourse of Liverpool Street station

On to Brick Lane, past what was the Flower Pot Inn, but now appears to be closed, we walked down as far as the mosque in the former Huguenot Chapel. We engaged in the “Are you hungry yet?” and “What do you want for lunch?” debate, as Brick Lane is synonymous with food. However, we decided to delay our dining, despite my urge to snack on South Asian sweets.

What was the Flower Pot Inn at the top of Brick Lane.

Walking back along Fournier Street, I pointed out the weaver’s trade signs, fire insurance plaques, the shutters, and large attic windows. I explained that our ancestors had been poor and mostly plied their trade from the Bethnal Green side of Brick Lane – in Hare Street, and closer to St Matthews Church.

What was Hare Street, now Cheshire Street, where William Deighton wove silk

Christ Church is the landmark that everybody familiar with Spitalfields recognises. Its imposing presence has loomed over this part of London for three hundred years. If Nicholas Hawksmoor had intended the spire to reflect the wealth of the residents, it would have only reflected a proportion of them.

Looking along Fournier Street, towards Commercial Street

On the opposite corner of Fournier Street is the famous Ten Bells pub. As I usually am only free to visit at weekends, getting near the door of the Ten Bells is a challenge, and getting to the bar is a game of extreme patience. However, on a relatively quiet Wednesday lunchtime, we breezed in and within a few moments, our thirsts were quenched with a cooling pint. The Ten Bells was originally the Eight Bells, but its name updated when the church added to its number, and it was moved from its original location in the mid-nineteenth century. Some of its tiled interior is original, or at least, dates from its moved position, but some are modern. Also some sections of wall are hand painted, to match the pattern of the tiles. The Ten Bells is as much a part of Spitalfields’ history and landscape, so if the queue is manageable, a visit is a must.

The iconic Ten Bells pub

By this time, my stomach was reminding me that it had been several hours since we had eaten so we headed for my son’s favourite casual dining spot, Boxpark. The pavements were hot and the sun quite strong, so we were grateful to find a shady table to eat our chosen street food items from the wide range of options. Once again, I have not visited Boxpark at lunchtime midweek, so was rather surprised how quiet it was. It has been earmarked for closure which I think is a shame. In a time when young people are struggling to find meaningful employment, the hospitality industry that will not be so greatly impacted by AI. Entrepreneurs can develop a concept and start small, which is the whole idea behind a mini-mall. With so many large shopping centres becoming empty, in my opinion, that model does not work in the twenty-first century, app-ordering generation. I believe that there is plenty of scope to offer small, affordable units, with shared eating and drinking space, plus extras such as weekend and evening DJ and entertainment events. Fortunately, a recent development in my home town of Worcester is replicating the “start small” concept in utilising a sequence of railway arch units, which are becoming a food and drink quarter.

Boxpark, Shoreditch

I digress. We were still birthday present-less and this was becoming a priority as our virtual sand-timer was running out. I suggested that we might find something suitable in Leadenhall Market.

At Leadenhall Market

This beautiful covered market has stood for centuries in the heart of the City. Although the ornate ironwork dates from the nineteenth century, the market is much older. It seemed fitting that, with its connection to Harry Potter, we sought a gift for my son’s partner as a memento of our visit. In the spirit of “buying small”, we also visited the SoLo Craft Shop and bought some beautifully scented candles as the perfect birthday present. This shop sells the wares of about ninety small businesses and is open every day of the week. Not only did we purchase our quest, but also a hand-crafted birthday card.

The Guildhall Art Gallery is air-conditioned

The afternoon was still exceedingly warm, and the stone walls of the City buildings did little to offer respite from the blazing sun. I knew that my son had never seen the Roman Amphitheatre nearby, situated in the basement of the Guildhall Art Gallery. I am also wise to the fact that it is beautifully air-conditioned. The security guard commented on my Pellici’s Cafe linen bag, which initiated his memories of cafe culture at both this and Arthur’s Cafe in Kingsland Road. I was unfamiliar with the latter as it closed after the owner’s death. We chatted about my Dad’s work around the area, detecting water leaks and being involved in their repair, cycling around the East End with a big key and a listening stick. The tales that he told me of the old East End have stayed with me – and here we were, the two most recent generations, walking around his manor, remembering.

The Roman amphitheatre at the Guildhall Art Gallery

The security guard had some photos of Arthur’s Cafe, which he shared with us before we left and he went on his break. Away from the sanctuary of air-conditioning, the late afternoon was still decidedly Mediterranean in climate. We had missed the pre-rush hour off-peak deadline, so had time for some refreshment across the way in The Old Doctor Butler’s Head pub in Mason’s Alley. Dating from the seventeenth century, Doctor Butler was a rather eccentric physician who developed “cures” for conditions of the nervous system, including scare tactics for epilepsy by firing duelling pistols, and cold-water plunges for the plague. He also recognised the restorative nature of a pint of good beer and developed a medicinal brew for gastric conditions. This is likely to have been more safe than drinking water at that time and his success led him to own a number of pubs. We raised our glasses to Old Doctor Butler before taking the tube from Moorgate back to Paddington, and thence home.

Sampling the Doctor’s finest at Old Doctor Butler’s Head

The train sped through West London, Berkshire, Oxfordshire and across the green landscape of the Cotswolds. The sun set on a perfect day. More memories made, and we didn’t forget the birthday gift!

More information

Spitalfields Market guide – https://www.spitalfields.co.uk/

The Gentle Author’s guide to the Ten Bells pub – https://spitalfieldslife.com/2010/12/14/at-the-ten-bells/

Boxpark, Shoreditch guide – https://www.boxpark.co.uk/venues/shoreditch

Leadenhall Market guide – https://leadenhallmarket.co.uk/

The Guildhall Art Gallery guide – https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/attractions-museums-entertainment/guildhall-art-gallery

All photos by the author

A Day Trip to London in the Sunshine

By Christine Swan

I can’t remember the last day trip I took with my son. One thing that prospective parents are never told is how your relationship with your child grows as they become an adult. We have always got along very well, and my son and I are the best of friends. Time spent together is precious and treasured.

Please look after this bear – Good morning Paddington

On what was not quite the hottest day of the week, we headed off in the morning, to arrive at Paddington before lunchtime. We hopped onto the tube to Liverpool Street and began our wanderings at Spitalfields Market, looking for a birthday present. After a thorough scrutiny of potential gifts, we moved on to Shoreditch. Labour and Wait presented a few more choices but, indecision and procrastination led me to leave with just a bar of my favourite laundry soap and a discussion at the pay desk about washboards.

The impressive concourse of Liverpool Street station

On to Brick Lane, past what was the Flower Pot Inn, but now appears to be closed, we walked down as far as the mosque in the former Huguenot Chapel. We engaged in the “Are you hungry yet?” and “What do you want for lunch?” debate, as Brick Lane is synonymous with food. However, we decided to delay our dining, despite my urge to snack on South Asian sweets.

What was the Flower Pot Inn at the top of Brick Lane.

Walking back along Fournier Street, I pointed out the weaver’s trade signs, fire insurance plaques, the shutters, and large attic windows. I explained that our ancestors had been poor and mostly plied their trade from the Bethnal Green side of Brick Lane – in Hare Street, and closer to St Matthews Church.

What was Hare Street, now Cheshire Street, where William Deighton wove silk

Christ Church is the landmark that everybody familiar with Spitalfields recognises. Its imposing presence has loomed over this part of London for three hundred years. If Nicholas Hawksmoor had intended the spire to reflect the wealth of the residents, it would have only reflected a proportion of them.

Looking along Fournier Street, towards Commercial Street

On the opposite corner of Fournier Street is the famous Ten Bells pub. As I usually am only free to visit at weekends, getting near the door of the Ten Bells is a challenge, and getting to the bar is a game of extreme patience. However, on a relatively quiet Wednesday lunchtime, we breezed in and within a few moments, our thirsts were quenched with a cooling pint. The Ten Bells was originally the Eight Bells, but its name updated when the church added to its number, and it was moved from its original location in the mid-nineteenth century. Some of its tiled interior is original, or at least, dates from its moved position, but some are modern. Also some sections of wall are hand painted, to match the pattern of the tiles. The Ten Bells is as much a part of Spitalfields’ history and landscape, so if the queue is manageable, a visit is a must.

The iconic Ten Bells pub

By this time, my stomach was reminding me that it had been several hours since we had eaten so we headed for my son’s favourite casual dining spot, Boxpark. The pavements were hot and the sun quite strong, so we were grateful to find a shady table to eat our chosen street food items from the wide range of options. Once again, I have not visited Boxpark at lunchtime midweek, so was rather surprised how quiet it was. It has been earmarked for closure which I think is a shame. In a time when young people are struggling to find meaningful employment, the hospitality industry that will not be so greatly impacted by AI. Entrepreneurs can develop a concept and start small, which is the whole idea behind a mini-mall. With so many large shopping centres becoming empty, in my opinion, that model does not work in the twenty-first century, app-ordering generation. I believe that there is plenty of scope to offer small, affordable units, with shared eating and drinking space, plus extras such as weekend and evening DJ and entertainment events. Fortunately, a recent development in my home town of Worcester is replicating the “start small” concept in utilising a sequence of railway arch units, which are becoming a food and drink quarter.

Boxpark, Shoreditch

I digress. We were still birthday present-less and this was becoming a priority as our virtual sand-timer was running out. I suggested that we might find something suitable in Leadenhall Market.

At Leadenhall Market

This beautiful covered market has stood for centuries in the heart of the City. Although the ornate ironwork dates from the nineteenth century, the market is much older. It seemed fitting that, with its connection to Harry Potter, we sought a gift for my son’s partner as a memento of our visit. In the spirit of “buying small”, we also visited the SoLo Craft Shop and bought some beautifully scented candles as the perfect birthday present. This shop sells the wares of about ninety small businesses and is open every day of the week. Not only did we purchase our quest, but also a hand-crafted birthday card.

The Guildhall Art Gallery is air-conditioned

The afternoon was still exceedingly warm, and the stone walls of the City buildings did little to offer respite from the blazing sun. I knew that my son had never seen the Roman Amphitheatre nearby, situated in the basement of the Guildhall Art Gallery. I am also wise to the fact that it is beautifully air-conditioned. The security guard commented on my Pellici’s Cafe linen bag, which initiated his memories of cafe culture at both this and Arthur’s Cafe in Kingsland Road. I was unfamiliar with the latter as it closed after the owner’s death. We chatted about my Dad’s work around the area, detecting water leaks and being involved in their repair, cycling around the East End with a big key and a listening stick. The tales that he told me of the old East End have stayed with me – and here we were, the two most recent generations, walking around his manor, remembering.

The Roman amphitheatre at the Guildhall Art Gallery

The security guard had some photos of Arthur’s Cafe, which he shared with us before we left and he went on his break. Away from the sanctuary of air-conditioning, the late afternoon was still decidedly Mediterranean in climate. We had missed the pre-rush hour off-peak deadline, so had time for some refreshment across the way in The Old Doctor Butler’s Head pub in Mason’s Alley. Dating from the seventeenth century, Doctor Butler was a rather eccentric physician who developed “cures” for conditions of the nervous system, including scare tactics for epilepsy by firing duelling pistols, and cold-water plunges for the plague. He also recognised the restorative nature of a pint of good beer and developed a medicinal brew for gastric conditions. This is likely to have been more safe than drinking water at that time and his success led him to own a number of pubs. We raised our glasses to Old Doctor Butler before taking the tube from Moorgate back to Paddington, and thence home.

Sampling the Doctor’s finest at Old Doctor Butler’s Head

The train sped through West London, Berkshire, Oxfordshire and across the green landscape of the Cotswolds. The sun set on a perfect day. More memories made, and we didn’t forget the birthday gift!

More information

Spitalfields Market guide – https://www.spitalfields.co.uk/

The Gentle Author’s guide to the Ten Bells pub – https://spitalfieldslife.com/2010/12/14/at-the-ten-bells/

Boxpark, Shoreditch guide – https://www.boxpark.co.uk/venues/shoreditch

Leadenhall Market guide – https://leadenhallmarket.co.uk/

The Guildhall Art Gallery guide – https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/attractions-museums-entertainment/guildhall-art-gallery

All photos by the author

A Day Trip to London in the Sunshine

By Christine Swan

I can’t remember the last day trip I took with my son. One thing that prospective parents are never told is how your relationship with your child grows as they become an adult. We have always got along very well, and my son and I are the best of friends. Time spent together is precious and treasured.

Please look after this bear – Good morning Paddington

On what was not quite the hottest day of the week, we headed off in the morning, to arrive at Paddington before lunchtime. We hopped onto the tube to Liverpool Street and began our wanderings at Spitalfields Market, looking for a birthday present. After a thorough scrutiny of potential gifts, we moved on to Shoreditch. Labour and Wait presented a few more choices but, indecision and procrastination led me to leave with just a bar of my favourite laundry soap and a discussion at the pay desk about washboards.

The impressive concourse of Liverpool Street station

On to Brick Lane, past what was the Flower Pot Inn, but now appears to be closed, we walked down as far as the mosque in the former Huguenot Chapel. We engaged in the “Are you hungry yet?” and “What do you want for lunch?” debate, as Brick Lane is synonymous with food. However, we decided to delay our dining, despite my urge to snack on South Asian sweets.

What was the Flower Pot Inn at the top of Brick Lane.

Walking back along Fournier Street, I pointed out the weaver’s trade signs, fire insurance plaques, the shutters, and large attic windows. I explained that our ancestors had been poor and mostly plied their trade from the Bethnal Green side of Brick Lane – in Hare Street, and closer to St Matthews Church.

What was Hare Street, now Cheshire Street, where William Deighton wove silk

Christ Church is the landmark that everybody familiar with Spitalfields recognises. Its imposing presence has loomed over this part of London for three hundred years. If Nicholas Hawksmoor had intended the spire to reflect the wealth of the residents, it would have only reflected a proportion of them.

Looking along Fournier Street, towards Commercial Street

On the opposite corner of Fournier Street is the famous Ten Bells pub. As I usually am only free to visit at weekends, getting near the door of the Ten Bells is a challenge, and getting to the bar is a game of extreme patience. However, on a relatively quiet Wednesday lunchtime, we breezed in and within a few moments, our thirsts were quenched with a cooling pint. The Ten Bells was originally the Eight Bells, but its name updated when the church added to its number, and it was moved from its original location in the mid-nineteenth century. Some of its tiled interior is original, or at least, dates from its moved position, but some are modern. Also some sections of wall are hand painted, to match the pattern of the tiles. The Ten Bells is as much a part of Spitalfields’ history and landscape, so if the queue is manageable, a visit is a must.

The iconic Ten Bells pub

By this time, my stomach was reminding me that it had been several hours since we had eaten so we headed for my son’s favourite casual dining spot, Boxpark. The pavements were hot and the sun quite strong, so we were grateful to find a shady table to eat our chosen street food items from the wide range of options. Once again, I have not visited Boxpark at lunchtime midweek, so was rather surprised how quiet it was. It has been earmarked for closure which I think is a shame. In a time when young people are struggling to find meaningful employment, the hospitality industry that will not be so greatly impacted by AI. Entrepreneurs can develop a concept and start small, which is the whole idea behind a mini-mall. With so many large shopping centres becoming empty, in my opinion, that model does not work in the twenty-first century, app-ordering generation. I believe that there is plenty of scope to offer small, affordable units, with shared eating and drinking space, plus extras such as weekend and evening DJ and entertainment events. Fortunately, a recent development in my home town of Worcester is replicating the “start small” concept in utilising a sequence of railway arch units, which are becoming a food and drink quarter.

Boxpark, Shoreditch

I digress. We were still birthday present-less and this was becoming a priority as our virtual sand-timer was running out. I suggested that we might find something suitable in Leadenhall Market.

At Leadenhall Market

This beautiful covered market has stood for centuries in the heart of the City. Although the ornate ironwork dates from the nineteenth century, the market is much older. It seemed fitting that, with its connection to Harry Potter, we sought a gift for my son’s partner as a memento of our visit. In the spirit of “buying small”, we also visited the SoLo Craft Shop and bought some beautifully scented candles as the perfect birthday present. This shop sells the wares of about ninety small businesses and is open every day of the week. Not only did we purchase our quest, but also a hand-crafted birthday card.

The Guildhall Art Gallery is air-conditioned

The afternoon was still exceedingly warm, and the stone walls of the City buildings did little to offer respite from the blazing sun. I knew that my son had never seen the Roman Amphitheatre nearby, situated in the basement of the Guildhall Art Gallery. I am also wise to the fact that it is beautifully air-conditioned. The security guard commented on my Pellici’s Cafe linen bag, which initiated his memories of cafe culture at both this and Arthur’s Cafe in Kingsland Road. I was unfamiliar with the latter as it closed after the owner’s death. We chatted about my Dad’s work around the area, detecting water leaks and being involved in their repair, cycling around the East End with a big key and a listening stick. The tales that he told me of the old East End have stayed with me – and here we were, the two most recent generations, walking around his manor, remembering.

The Roman amphitheatre at the Guildhall Art Gallery

The security guard had some photos of Arthur’s Cafe, which he shared with us before we left and he went on his break. Away from the sanctuary of air-conditioning, the late afternoon was still decidedly Mediterranean in climate. We had missed the pre-rush hour off-peak deadline, so had time for some refreshment across the way in The Old Doctor Butler’s Head pub in Mason’s Alley. Dating from the seventeenth century, Doctor Butler was a rather eccentric physician who developed “cures” for conditions of the nervous system, including scare tactics for epilepsy by firing duelling pistols, and cold-water plunges for the plague. He also recognised the restorative nature of a pint of good beer and developed a medicinal brew for gastric conditions. This is likely to have been more safe than drinking water at that time and his success led him to own a number of pubs. We raised our glasses to Old Doctor Butler before taking the tube from Moorgate back to Paddington, and thence home.

Sampling the Doctor’s finest at Old Doctor Butler’s Head

The train sped through West London, Berkshire, Oxfordshire and across the green landscape of the Cotswolds. The sun set on a perfect day. More memories made, and we didn’t forget the birthday gift!

More information

Spitalfields Market guide – https://www.spitalfields.co.uk/

The Gentle Author’s guide to the Ten Bells pub – https://spitalfieldslife.com/2010/12/14/at-the-ten-bells/

Boxpark, Shoreditch guide – https://www.boxpark.co.uk/venues/shoreditch

Leadenhall Market guide – https://leadenhallmarket.co.uk/

The Guildhall Art Gallery guide – https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/attractions-museums-entertainment/guildhall-art-gallery

All photos by the author

Moment police bust east London drugs gang dealing in children’s parks

Nefur Miah, 38 – Sentenced to 17 years and seven months for conspiracy to supply class A drugs.…
#London #UnitedKingdom #UK #GB #England #Headlines #News #Europe #EU #BethnalGreen #Britain #drugdealing #GreatBritain #london #MetropolitanPolice
https://www.europesays.com/uk/956944/

https://www.europesays.com/uk/956944/ Moment police bust east London drugs gang dealing in children’s parks #BethnalGreen #Britain #DrugDealing #England #GreatBritain #london #MetropolitanPolice #UK #UnitedKingdom

https://www.europesays.com/britain/35345/ Moment police bust east London drugs gang dealing in children’s parks #BethnalGreen #DrugDealing #London #MetropolitanPolice

The Most Controversial Street in London
https://youtube.com/watch?v=RsuFzwUnT7I
#Urbanism #London #BethnalGreen #Corruption #LTN #UKpol #LowTrafficNeighbourhoods #EvanEdinger #WalkableCities

The Most Controversial Street in London
https://youtube.com/watch?v=RsuFzwUnT7I
#Urbanism #London #BethnalGreen #Corruption #LTN #UKpol #LowTrafficNeighbourhoods #EvanEdinger #WalkableCities

The Most Controversial Street in London
https://youtube.com/watch?v=RsuFzwUnT7I
#Urbanism #London #BethnalGreen #Corruption #LTN #UKpol #LowTrafficNeighbourhoods #EvanEdinger #WalkableCities

The Most Controversial Street in London
https://youtube.com/watch?v=RsuFzwUnT7I
#Urbanism #London #BethnalGreen #Corruption #LTN #UKpol #LowTrafficNeighbourhoods #EvanEdinger #WalkableCities

The Most Controversial Street in London
https://youtube.com/watch?v=RsuFzwUnT7I
#Urbanism #London #BethnalGreen #Corruption #LTN #UKpol #LowTrafficNeighbourhoods #EvanEdinger #WalkableCities

One of London’s best pizza restaurants is closing next month amid ‘spiralling’ costs

The Bethnal Green spot has seen 30 per cent of its turnover lost to government taxing One of…
#London #UnitedKingdom #UK #GB #England #Headlines #News #Europe #EU #BethnalGreen #Britain #Business #Foodanddrink #GreatBritain #london
https://www.europesays.com/uk/844060/

https://www.europesays.com/uk/844060/ One of London’s best pizza restaurants is closing next month amid ‘spiralling’ costs #BethnalGreen #Britain #Business #England #FoodAndDrink #GreatBritain #london #UK #UnitedKingdom

A King Edward VII Type B Pillar Box in Bethnal Green, England is now on the map. View it here: https://postboxmap.co.uk/postbox/69b34e0af83c74c81c506c20 #PostboxMap #UKPostboxes #Postbox #KingEdwardVII #PillarBox #TypeB #StandardRed #BethnalGreen

https://www.europesays.com/uk/705770/ The London Underground station where a World War II crush killed 173 – it was kept quiet for years #BethnalGreen #Britain #England #GreatBritain #london #LondonHistory #LondonUnderground #SecondWorldWar #UK #UnitedKingdom

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB78C #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB78C #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB78C #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB78C #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB78C #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB6GV #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB6GV #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB6GV #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB6GV #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Network Rail engineers worked over Christmas on railway upgrades http://dlvr.it/TQB6GV #Alstom #Barking #BethnalGreen #Cambridge

Anthony Thomas Lambrianou (15 April 1942, #BethnalGreen, London – 26 March 2004, Kent) was an English criminal known for his association with the #KrayTwins. He was born to a Greek Cypriot father and English mother from #Consett. Lambrianou served 15 years in jail for his part in the murder of #JackTheHatMcVitie in 1967.

Next time you go to E Pellicci, skip the fried breakfast and have this secret sandwich instead

E Pellicci is famous for its fried breakfasts. The British-Italian cafe…
#dining #cooking #diet #food #Breakfast #Italianbreakfast #BethnalGreen #breakfast #British-Italian #EPellicci #friedbread #Italia #Italian #italiano #italy #RoastBeefSandwich #spaghettibolognese
https://www.diningandcooking.com/2295372/next-time-you-go-to-e-pellicci-skip-the-fried-breakfast-and-have-this-secret-sandwich-instead/

Next time you go to E Pellicci, skip the fried breakfast and have this secret sandwich instead

E Pellicci is famous for its fried breakfasts. The British-Italian cafe…
#dining #cooking #diet #food #Breakfast #Italianbreakfast #BethnalGreen #breakfast #British-Italian #EPellicci #friedbread #Italia #Italian #italiano #italy #RoastBeefSandwich #spaghettibolognese
https://www.diningandcooking.com/2295372/next-time-you-go-to-e-pellicci-skip-the-fried-breakfast-and-have-this-secret-sandwich-instead/

Next time you go to E Pellicci, skip the fried breakfast and have this secret sandwich instead

E Pellicci is famous for its fried breakfasts. The British-Italian cafe…
#dining #cooking #diet #food #Breakfast #Italianbreakfast #BethnalGreen #breakfast #British-Italian #EPellicci #friedbread #Italia #Italian #italiano #italy #RoastBeefSandwich #spaghettibolognese
https://www.diningandcooking.com/2295372/next-time-you-go-to-e-pellicci-skip-the-fried-breakfast-and-have-this-secret-sandwich-instead/

Next time you go to E Pellicci, skip the fried breakfast and have this secret sandwich instead

E Pellicci is famous for its fried breakfasts. The British-Italian cafe…
#dining #cooking #diet #food #Breakfast #Italianbreakfast #BethnalGreen #breakfast #British-Italian #EPellicci #friedbread #Italia #Italian #italiano #italy #RoastBeefSandwich #spaghettibolognese
https://www.diningandcooking.com/2295372/next-time-you-go-to-e-pellicci-skip-the-fried-breakfast-and-have-this-secret-sandwich-instead/

Just in case anyone happens to be in Bethnal Green on Sunday and is at a loss...

I'll be doing my first ever solo performance at this little showcase concert that my singing teacher is putting on (just one song! Other students too):
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/voice-and-piano-studio-summer-showcase-tickets-1487083981219?aff=oddtdtcreator

This is me challenging myself to do scary things, and Do The Thing because... We don't know how much time we have. So why not sing more?

#singing #livemusic #London #LondonGigs #BethnalGreen #Whitechapel #Stepney #EastLondon

Just in case anyone happens to be in Bethnal Green on Sunday and is at a loss...

I'll be doing my first ever solo performance at this little showcase concert that my singing teacher is putting on (just one song! Other students too):
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/voice-and-piano-studio-summer-showcase-tickets-1487083981219?aff=oddtdtcreator

This is me challenging myself to do scary things, and Do The Thing because... We don't know how much time we have. So why not sing more?

#singing #livemusic #London #LondonGigs #BethnalGreen #Whitechapel #Stepney #EastLondon

Just in case anyone happens to be in Bethnal Green on Sunday and is at a loss...

I'll be doing my first ever solo performance at this little showcase concert that my singing teacher is putting on (just one song! Other students too):
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/voice-and-piano-studio-summer-showcase-tickets-1487083981219?aff=oddtdtcreator

This is me challenging myself to do scary things, and Do The Thing because... We don't know how much time we have. So why not sing more?

#singing #livemusic #London #LondonGigs #BethnalGreen #Whitechapel #Stepney #EastLondon

Just in case anyone happens to be in Bethnal Green on Sunday and is at a loss...

I'll be doing my first ever solo performance at this little showcase concert that my singing teacher is putting on (just one song! Other students too):
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/voice-and-piano-studio-summer-showcase-tickets-1487083981219?aff=oddtdtcreator

This is me challenging myself to do scary things, and Do The Thing because... We don't know how much time we have. So why not sing more?

#singing #livemusic #London #LondonGigs #BethnalGreen #Whitechapel #Stepney #EastLondon

Community Centre and Laundry, Parkview Estate, Bethnal Green

1953

De Metz & Birks

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#modernism #architecture #london #bethnalgreen

Community Centre and Laundry, Parkview Estate, Bethnal Green

1953

De Metz & Birks

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#modernism #architecture #london #bethnalgreen

Community Centre and Laundry, Parkview Estate, Bethnal Green

1953

De Metz & Birks

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#modernism #architecture #london #bethnalgreen

Community Centre and Laundry, Parkview Estate, Bethnal Green

1953

De Metz & Birks

https://www.modernism-in-metroland.co.uk/lcc-glc-mini-guide.html

#modernism #architecture #london #bethnalgreen