Petticoat Lane - Spittafields & Brick Lane

I jumped off the tube at Liverpool Station… I hadn’t expected Liverpool Station to be quite like it was… ENORMOUS! There were people everywhere, and seven different exists that apparently led to seven different places. I stood in the centre of the hall, looking up at the glass paned ceiling and wondering which way to turn – I wanted to get to the markets but had no idea that simply getting out of the train station would be a feat in itself. As familiarity dictates I headed toward the McDonald sign, I assumed if there was a McDonald sign there was bound to be tourists, and thereby, markets… Unfortunately I was wrong.

After exiting the station I went left… and walked, for 10 minutes, realising that I was going in the wrong direction. I turned and went right for 10 minutes – no luck there either. I looked at my map which wasn’t very helpful at all and so decided to take a side street and simply hope for the best. It seemed to work quite well previously, just wandering about and then all of a sudden I’d be where I wanted to be.

Luckily this worked out quite well, as rain started to pour down I came across a sign advising “Petticoat Lane this way”. Perfect. I had heard of Petticoat Lane from a television show Nigel and I would watch most summer evenings, having seen the hubbub on the TV I decided it would be fabulous to be in amongst it all. You cant let the rain deter you in London… if you did, you would never leave the house. So, hat atop my head, and coat securely braced around my neck I followed the sign down another back alley way, and then another, a left and a right and a feeling of concern and frustration – where was it? Surely a key tourist attraction couldn’t be this hard to find? (I was to discover later that this was not really a tourist attraction, but more a place for locals to go bargain hunting…). Along my walk I came across a café called “TIFFINBITES”, finding that quite amusing I took a photo and made a mental note to send it to my sister. With the Georkin Building rising up on my right I was at a loss as to where I was situated. I’d some how thought I was on one side of the river, rather than the other, and not so close to the business district… London is smaller than one originally thinks, everything is within proximity… unusually, I was enjoying working out my bearings when finally, finally… after half an hour wandering aimlessly with hopeful eyes and very cold hands, I came across the back of the market.

Petticoat lane takes up a very long stretch of road, rammed with people running down the centre, taking in the hundreds of food, clothing and tat stalls. I was not overly impressed with the merchandise or the vibe. The people browsing seemed to be there with purpose, knowing where they were going and what they were getting. It was scary at times as well, feeling a little like the minority. I was hungry so decided to grab myself a hot dog and then find somewhere else to wander too. As I took my hot dog from the stall lady a gust of wind blew, the tarpolen roof of the stall slid and water poured on top of me and my hotdog. I was saturated and the poor woman didn’t know what to do, suddenly I was being pressed with toilet paper and an old wash cloth and shivering while advising that “It’s fine, its fine… don’t worry about it”, while the lady tried her best to dry me off. I continued through the market, bouncing off people and getting increasingly annoyed at the situation. I finally found a corned and tucked myself in, under a window pane in the hopes of preventing any further dousing of rain.

Chomping away on my wet hot dog I took a short video to remember the moment. I think that all the good should be recorded, along with all the ironic and the frustrating. I wasn’t mad, so much as concerned, considering it had taken me 45minutes to get here, I wanted to make the most of my day out. I’d made the effort to leave the warmth of the house and I had no intention of going home until I’d made a discovery of some sort.

Wandering along the road I found a sign, “Bishops Court”, this advertising Spittafields Market. Mark had made a comment about Spittafields being a nice area to wander through, not any further information other than that… I, personally, thought it was a very unfortunate name for something that was considered classy.

Well, I thought to myself, cant be worse than this, as I looked over at the rubbish along the road and the sound of fish heads being chopped from their boddies and people heckling over the price of a fake-leather jacket while the wind blew water through the street. Finding a rubbish bin I disposed of the serviets I’d been given to wipe myself off and continued in the direction of “Spittafields”.

As I turned onto a main street, people dressed elegantly and umbrella’s dancing in the air, I saw a beautiful white church at the end of the street, almost overlooking the crowd below. I walked toward it, hoping to take a moments solace in the warmth of the old building, when to my left a surprise greeted me.

A hall opened up, first with stores… flowers, jewellery, paintings, vases… all very to do, with marble floors and open, white, welcoming lighting. Long windowed stores and in the centre, shows of cartoonists and artists, sculpture. People dressed in their best, and milling around with smiles on their faces. As I continued down the white stone walkway I came to an opening, and beyond a great open space filled with beautiful stores with shining merchandise, delicious smelling foods from around the world, laughter and music, bars along the sides, and restaurants on the storey above over looking the hubbub. It was magnificent. For the first time that day I smiled and my heart skipped knowing that I’d be here for hours, exploring the ins and outs of this wonderful gallery. This was exactly what I wanted… but first, I needed money.

I headed across the road to a cash machine at Barclays Bank… the line was phenomenal, never has a line been so long! Or atleast that’s how it felt at the time, I wanted to get in there and play! There was so much to see and do and possibly, buy if the urge hit me. I took my place, taking in the area, looking over at the church that I would investigate later on. To the right of the church there was an entrance to what used to be an underground club, and was now a homeless / youth haunt (I made a mental note not to head in that general direction, the persons in attendance didn’t look overly welcoming).

As the line moved forward and I was the third next, I gave some money to the homeless woman that sat next to the cash machine, she said “Bless you, lady” in a husky voice as she pulled the thin blanket back over her hands. A man appeared from the street, dressed somewhat similar to Michael Jackson – the dark red coat with buttons, appearing somewhat like a member of the Red Coats back during the wars with the Jacobites. He looked slightly worse for wear, hair mangled with grease, face unshaven, dirt on his collar and boots. He wandered up in an unassuming manner with every intention of jumping the enormous cue.

“What you doin’? said a relatively robust woman, “You aint jumping the line”,
“I need to”, was his mumbled response,
“No! We been waitin’ here, you go to the back”, she said, getting slightly closer to the man,
“I need to get money”, he slurred,
“eh! Just because you had a night out, you aint got no right. Don’t make me get all negro up in ya face”, her voice was raised,

I looked at the people next to me, they looked back, shock and amazement. The crowd seemed to move forward to take in the exciting moment at hand. The man just shoved his way infront of her. She grabbed him, and swung him out of her way… He fell, or was forced to, the ground… mud being strewn across his jacket. The crowd continued to look on.
He hobbled back to his feet, slightly swaying after re-erecting himself.
“I’ll go behind you then”, he said, shuffling behind her in the que,
“No you aint!”, she said again… suddenly another, more robust and intimidating man presented himself – seeing his face, he actually looked jolly enough, it was the size of him that was intimidating,
“Come on mate”, the large man said, taking the Michael Jackson cue-jumper by the arm, “Just come to the back, eh?”
The cue-jumper mumbled and pulled his arm back and wandered off to the other side of the street, disappearing around the corner.
The lady who had protected the rights of all polite line standers finally got to the cash machine and started to take her money out when the crowd started to laugh and clapped, some people saying thankyou or commenting on her performance, she bowed and laughed shouting,
“Don’t be underestimating woman, I say”.

Well! What a wonderful show… almost better than going to the theatre. My spirits were high and my adrenalin running, the day was working out particularly well in a very unusual manner.

I headed back to markets, smiling at my compatriots as I left, everyone still discussing the exciting event. Spittafields Markets is lovely, its welcoming and filled with great bits and pieces from wine glasses made from Wine Bottles, to old 78 records, incense and incense holders, games and toys and clothes and oh so much delightful food. There is music playing on every corner. The light seeps through the glass roof, and stars were hanging from the ceiling along with Christmas lights and decorations. It was simply lovely… perfect.

I strolled around contentedly, buying some incense, a small wallet that would more easily fit in my pocket and thereby discourage the potential robber… I tasted different cheeses and chatted to a man selling his photography. A woman from Italy discussed her lovely coats with me, and an asain man with an English accent sold me a white 1960’s hat. My fingers were freezing and so I bought some very cheap gloves before chatting about records and CDs with another stall runner.

It was as if all these people were friends… I know that is the point, if you are friendly you will sell more, but for me, it was nice to feel so welcomed, so un-alone. If you caught another shoppers eye, they would smile back. Since that day I’ve been back to Spittafields twice, each time enjoying the vibe the area gives off, you are cloaked with a sense of relaxation. I don’t much like shopping, but give me a good market and I will be most content.

While taking a breather I’d heard some people discussing Brick Lane Markets,
“It’s just in the street behind”, said a woman
“Oh really? We could go for some food later”, said the gentleman with her.
Taking in this information I thought that I should go and have a look myself, considering I was in the vicinity. Brick Lane is quite famous for its Curry and also, Bars. Was definitely worth a look and I was in the investigative mood.

Heading away from the markets I almost felt the need to say goodbye, as if the market and I had become the greatest of friends. I headed across the street and popped into the church I’d seen earlier.

Chatting to the woman at the entrance she told me that it was a mish mash of different eras, a lot of it had been lost during the blitz and, while trying to keep with its original form, they had had to make use of modern materials. The church was beautiful, displays of gold alongside wood, the mish mash worked, old and new. I thanked her for her time and she gave me a pamphlet which has been safely stored away for memories sake and later – for the journal I will someday make of my travels.

As I headed out I noticed a very popular pub on the corner, there were people waiting to get in, “at this time of the day?” I pondered… “It must be a very good pub”, but as I headed across the road to take a photo of it I realised why so many people were frequenting the establishment,

THE TEN BELLS

The Ten Bells is where Jack the Ripper is said to have drunk, one of his victims frequented the place. It was an obvious tourist attraction, and here I was stumbling across it. How very topical, I thought, remembering my tours in the London Dungeons and London Bridge, where they had discussed the crimes and trial of Jack the Ripper.

I carried on merrily down the road, and just as the couple I’d eavesdropped on had said, there infront of me was yet another market. This one a little more alternate than the last, not so aesthetically pleasing, but filled with fun. Booths of oriental food, loud music and DJs rubbing their fingers along 78s, people dancing away while talking to the stall occupants. There was some beautiful jewellery stalls, and a painter who was sitting and painting as I walked past, I watched as he quickly stroked a blank paper with charcoal… suddenly I was staring at a scene from the market… to be here, to see someone do something like that, he was so intently drawing that I doubt he even noticed me.

I liked the feel of this whole area, like the church, with old and new some how merging, becoming something entirely different, not losing anything to modernity, yet not holding on too hard to the past. Ghosts walked along these streets, memories and imagery, life next to murder, poverty next to wealth, light next to dark… So tangible you could almost feel it as you walked through market halls, streets, next to churches and pubs.


I decided to continue down Brick Lane – do some more investigating, it was getting dark and lights starting to flick and flitter along the streets. Carrying on I looked in at the bars and pubs and restaurants, being stopped on the corner by an asian woman that asked if I’d like to purchase some new release DVDs… 5 for 10pound, she looked up and down the street anxiously, as if concerned the police would be along quickly… I wasn’t quite sure whether it was at all appropriate… potentially not legal, but I had a look at what she had and took a few films I’d been wanting to see, she thanked me, after advising which were better than the other and then pushing me on – I must have been bringing too much attention with my general discussion of what was a good film and what wasn’t. I felt liberated – a little sheepish and quite naughty – but liberated none-the-less.

My phone rang, just as I decided to head off, a girl that I’d worked with in Perth was calling to see how I was. I’d written her an email some time before advising of my London arrival. She was in the city and wanted to see if I’d like to go out for a drink,
“I’m in Brick Lane… is that close”,
“Yeah! Completely! Great”… not one for sentences,
“Umm, ok? So… where shall I meet you?”
“Can you see a place called ‘VIBE’?” I looked up and down the street… and then behind me. A large set of gates were behind me and on the red brick wall neon lights flickered ‘VIBE CLUB’,
“Oh! I’m right there! How bizarre!”
“Cool”, she said, “Go in, grab us a pims and I’ll be there in 15, yeah?”
So I wandered in. The Vibe Club is something out of a movie. As you walk in you are greeted by giant cartoons on the walls, music blaring and… as I entered, a cross-dresser smiling back at me. I smiled, and giggled and couldn’t believe my luck – a night out in London, how especially delightful.
Entering the main area of the club, or bar… or pub? I’m still not sure what defines what as what… there were red leather couches strewn here and there, tiny tables and a small stage. It was dark with red and orange lights bouncing on the broken stained wooden floors, I headed to the bar and asked for a ‘Pims’… apparently Pims can be taken in all sorts of manners, the bar woman told me with a laugh… ‘Lemonade then?’, I said, after being given the run down of possibilities,
‘And… umm, just a house wine for me?’
‘White or Red? Dry or Sweet? Large or Small’… never has it been so difficult to order a drink, I thought to myself.
‘Ummm… you know what? Surprise me’, the lady smiled and gave me the drinks for free, saying that I needed to get out more. She was an aspiring actress and said that this was one of the better clubs to make connections. I was quite excited by that possibility, and headed back into the clubs garden to wait for Julia to arrive.

The evening was exciting and like a dream… speaking to professional actors, writers, singers and dancers… it was wonderment. I enjoyed the tapestry of people that Julia and I met through the evening. When getting home I lay on my bed, contemplating the experience, savouring the possibility of making a group of friends and having more similar evenings, of meeting people with dreams like mine, interests like mine… just having fun.

What began as a very confusing and somewhat frustrating day resulted in being a most pleasurable experience, filled to the brim with discoveries… what a day, what an evening… what a world.