The London Nobody Knows (1968) - full transcript

Give us “The Boy I Love”!

This theatre,

the Old Bedford in Camden Town

used to be the favourite

theatre of Marie Lloyd,

the famous music hall singer.

Now, it’s just a mess.

For the last few years,

it served as a shelter

for pigeons, and tramps,

and vagrants.

It’s not a very good shelter,

either,

because there’s a bloody

great hole in the roof

and the rain comes pelting in.

Old plaster decoration

that used to be up there,

pretty masks and the nymphs

and shepherds

and the fancy scroll work is

just a lot of rubble on the floor.

When a theatre has served

its purpose

and there are no longer any

people with inclination

to come to it, by all means,

send for the wreckers,

have it knocked down.

But the sad thing about this place

was that it was dead on its

feet for so long,

putrefying.

Particularly sad because

once upon a time,

it must have contained such a welter

of laughter, and life, and joy.

Because on this stage there

appeared most of the great

music hall artists of the time.

And most of the not so

great music hall artists.

Among whom you may find

the name of Belle Elmore,

whose ghost may very well

still be flapping around backstage

because she was the

wife and eventual victim

of Dr Crippen.

Who, somewhere in Camden Town

not too far from this theatre,

done the poor lady in.

There’s another reason

for feeling very tender about

this theatre and that is,

that it was one of the favourite

haunts of Walter Sickert.

He used to come here

night after night

with a sketching pad on his knee

and sketch away,

while Bessie Bellwood and

Marie Lloyd

would set the cockneys singing.

All together now.

Camden Town is named after

the Earl of Camden

whose family owned the estate in the

18th and 19th centuries.

The area, although it’s changing,

is still recognisable

as the world of Sickert.

Here, seedy terraces are

coming up in the world

after years of neglect.

Like Rome, London has its catacombs.

These, beneath the

Camden Freight Terminal,

were once used for the

movement of dray horses

across the yards.

The yard is more or less as it was

when the railway people used

the horses

to carry packages and

parcels across London.

There were about 300 horses

and a blacksmith and a

saddler had workshops here.

Within easy reach of the

stables at the railway sheds.

Trains passed quite close by,

just as they still do today.

This is the Roundhouse.

A giant turntable for railway

engines

which was built at a time when

engine drivers still wore top hats.

Actually, it was partially designed

by George Stephenson himself,

the Father of the Railway

and the inventor of the

famous engine, the Rocket.

Having once given steam

engine its initial shove,

he was obliged to apply

his creative genius

to inventing all the other gadgets

that went with railway traffic.

All these bits and pieces meant

something, once upon a time.

They are what you might

call the crumbling images of a past

but we’d be foolish

to mourn them too readily.

That was the romantic age of

railways.

The Age of Steam.

And, to my way of thinking,

they finally put an end to that

with the ritual tearing

down of Euston station

a couple of years back.

But you can still pick up

some of the old atmosphere

in some of the London termini.

For instance, Broad Street

has a working model of a

Victorian railway engine,

which can be activated

by a penny in the slot.

The street markets still have

a certain Victorian boisterousness.

They are London’s free

entertainers.

One of the best of them is here in

Church Street, Edgware Road.

A nice, quiet street you might say,

but you should see it on Saturday

morning.

Here, give me a plum packet.

Have a feel.

Here you are, have a feel.

Don’t forget to give ’em back.

That’s how we got hold of ’em.

Now, I said just now that

I wouldn’t do it again

but I apologise if you paid more.

I’ve’ve got to clear stock

and let’s be quite truthful, people.

We haven’t come down here

for the bloody benefit of

our health.

What can you lose, ladies?

It’s a fantastic bargain,

it really is.

Look, Sheffield-made chutney,

one price and one price only.

Yours or I’ll clear ’em out the way.

Jack and Jill went up the

hill to fetch a pale of water,

poor old Jill forgot her pill

and come down with a daughter.

All registered on the day.

Over there two and three.

Rhubarb, governor!

You’ll give me two

pound for it, won’t you?

No? I’ll make you say yes,

I will, I’ll make you say yes.

I’m going to charge you 30 shillings,

is that all right?

It’s got four compartments,

four compartments.

One of the compartments has got a

zip.

Always nicks the last of the butter.

Now, come and see, to wash it

through,

wash it in Momo, Oxo, Bisto, Polo,

any ‘O’ you like.

If you’d like it off

of me, there they are.

Come and see.

If you can make use of

them they can cover up

all your rude bits when

you get out of the bath.

But if you’d like them

off of me, there they are.

There’s a pair in blue for

dirty buggers.

there’s a pair, they’re in ice blue.

Got a pair here in pink.

What colour would you choose for

a pair?

Billy Gramme, help me out,

put money in their purses

and take the moth balls out.

Hallelujah.

15 bob a time.

You’ll pay 35 bob in

the shop, a pound in …

This is Romano House.

On the side of Romano’s Restaurant,

which in its time must have

been one of most swinging.

There used to be a tank

of goldfish in the window

and the story is that one of

the Bohemians

once relieved himself in the tank,

which must have pleased the

inhabitants.

Which reminds me of another story,

of the gold fish a former attendant

kept in one of these tanks

in the Holborn gents.

A fish that went down in the world

when the water level dropped.

These fish don’t live here,

of course,

we just popped them in

by way of illustration.

This public convenience

dates back to 1897.

It’s one of the few in which the

original fittings are preserved.

It’s an outstanding survival

of Victorian London,

it’s quite clear that a

Victorian loo

is quite a work of art.

Here, one might say,

one finds the only true democracy

because all men are equal

in the eyes of a lavatory attendant.

This lavatory in Star Yard

is also typically Victorian.

As are the fine gas lamps

in many parts of London.

There’s one in

Carting Lane, which is quite unique.

This is Carting Lane,

it’s in The Savoy,

a name which is synonymous with

Gilbert and Sullivan operas

and the D’Oyly Carte Company

which performed them.

Here’s the lamp.

What makes this so

special is that it says,

“Sewer Ventilating Lamp.”

The heat of the lamp at the

top draws up the vapours

through this … hollow stem.

We don’t want to lose this,

it’s not only beautiful but unique.

As unique, almost,

as this gentleman,

who is among the last of the

old-fashioned lamplighters.

Men go and come, but Earth abides.

And with it, the river,

without which, of course, no great

city like London

can hope to survive.

Just a little way down river of here

where London Bridge now stands,

in approximately 43 A.D,

the Romans managed to

flood the River Thames

and established what according

to all available evidence

was a trading centre.

Until a few years ago,

there was a very real danger

that London Bridge might fall down,

something to do with the

river bed being a bit soft,

but they’ve managed to

prop it up successfully,

I hope.

There’s a handy egg Breaking Plant

for anyone who might be interested.

Somewhere down in that direction

the old Clink Prison stood.

However, this prison is no

longer referred to as ‘Clink’

and it’s only the oldest

and most inveterate lag

who’d use the expression.

“He’s just out of Clink,”

you might hear somebody saying.

A bit further down the river

from here,

pirates at low tide were

chained hand and foot

and left to drown.

Some people found it fun to

sit and drink and watch them.

Not a very agreeable sight.

Not too happy about this, either.

At one time there must have

been an almost perfect view

of St Paul’s from here,

but you could hardly say so now.

The partial destruction

of the city of London

in the Second World War,

offered us a great opportunity

to reconstruct in a way

that was not only practical,

but also aesthetic,

but somehow we blew it.

But even that doesn’t

account for that monstrosity

on the left with the green roof.

Ick.

At any rate,

while Sir Christopher Wren

was building St. Paul’s,

he chose to live in this house here,

which offered an unrestricted view

of the work in progress.

Although it has an 18th century

facade,

if you go inside you will see

that there are parts of it

which date back to the 1500s.

If Christopher Wren was still

the occupant of this house,

his address would be

Cardinal’s Wharf.

And his garden, such as it is,

would back on to Cardinal Cap Alley,

Southeast one.

This man is a street entertainer,

a busker.

There’s not more than about a

dozen of them left in London.

They tend to live in furnished

rooms near their pitch.

And on a good night, this

man can earn something like, um …

three pounds

playing to a cinema and

theatre queues.

He spent a great deal of his money

by adding to his collection

of fancy costumes.

This chap’s also got an assistant,

and they split the takings.

It’s not the easiest way to earn

a living.

Thank you. Jolly good luck,

all the best.

All the money I get is

for those poor girls

that fell in Hyde Park

while the blackout was on.

Well, I used to, uh, years ago,

1935, between 1935 to 1937,

I used to be in the music halls

where I had a treble act.

Uh, my partners have since

been killed

and I came down to London

just after they were killed.

Uh, got a job as an insurance clerk,

went up to the west end one day

and seen some buskers

and that’s how I started busking.

Um, well, I’m a genius

and I felt I was psychologically

unfit for normal work.

And that’s how I started busking.

I’ll allow you the opportunity

to stop, watch, look, and listen.

Now, you’ll be asking,

whose done this before.

But I’m going to show you that here,

I’ve got the direction.

With your assistance I shall

see myself.

Right now, I’ve never seen it

done correct.

Have I got any person in this

audience?

Any man.

You’ll have a go?

Pick up the chain.

There’s a lock there.

Chain around the biceps.

You know where the biceps are?

Take it at the back.

Chain it.

Tight.

Pull it.

Are you married?

I am.

What a pity for your wife.

Where do you wanna go now?

That’s the idea!

Pull it.

Come on, let’s see something.

You’re like an old woman.

It’s hard work.

Two and six or a half a

crown, ladies or gents.

This is Chapel Market, Islington.

Morning.

Hi.

Sorry to have bumped you, sir.

That’s all right.

When the eating is over and

done with,

there’s always the

undertaker at your service.

At least we have a dignified

send-off.

We get silk and satin,

not the spoon and fork.

We’re embalmed in cherished memories

not jelly and vinegar.

I lost my money on the stock

exchange in 1929 in England.

And then stayed out in San Francisco

to 1940 where I decided

to come back to England.

I always stayed in the

Salvation Army

because the rent was very

reasonable.

Only 63 shillings a

week for a private room,

which they have 60 of them

and we got a free breakfast

for the 63 shillings.

I don’t think you could beat that

if you stayed in the Savoy Hotel.

May I join you?

Yes.

Yes.

I was just looking at the prices

there.

Oh yeah.

They’re quite stiff, seems to me.

Yes. Yes, they are.

How much do I have to pay

for a bed a night to stay?

Six shillings here.

Do you get any breakfast?

Oh, yes, definitely, yes.

What do you get?

Well, porridge.

Porridge.

Egg. Whatever you want.

You can either have a porridge,

tea and two slices.

Or you could have an egg,

or tea and two slices.

Yeah.

Six bob?

Yes.

Yes.

How often do you stay here?

Do you stay here all the time?

Yes, all the time.

I’ve been here couple of years …

When did you first come here?

What made you first of all, um,

decide to come to a Salvation Army

hostel?

Yes, uh,

I lost my wife about seven

years ago with cancer

and, uh, it was, I couldn’t, uh,

I had to get out couldn’t have that

room

and, uh, that’s how I know,

it’s the best place I could get

anywhere,

the only place I could find.

I’d been ‘round to other

places, but no use though.

I find this place all right, myself.

Do you find that living in here

is a disadvantage to getting work?

I do, very much.

You do?

Why?

Well, because, uh …

A lot of people don’t

like the address, sir.

If you got to employers of labour.

Yeah?

And you mention this address,

I’m afraid you’re bound.

But most of them, most that live

here, like yourself

are people who, um, are down on

your luck.

Exactly right, exactly.

Of course the Salvation Army shelter

is only for those who can afford it,

the elite you might say.

Those who can’t afford it

are the ones who sleep rough on a

bomb site.

The brotherhood of the leaky boot,

and the defeated look in the eye,

the ones who can’t and won’t

communicate with their fellow man.

The Salvation Army is clearly more

durable than the Yiddish Theatre,

because here’s our Yiddish Theatre

and what is that surrendered to?

Bingo.

And bingo, in turn, was surrendered

to the wrecker because

the enormous modern blocks

are on the march and already

threatening

each last little shop on the corner.

And here’s one that looks as

if it might be an exception.

The Marks family have had

a thriving business here

for something like a hundred years.

And I wouldn’t mind

betting it’ll be around

for another hundred.

Who wants serving?

Who wants serving?

- Yes, please.

- No.

Thank you very much.

Let me have a jar of gefilte fish,

please.

Spitalfields in the east end

was a long time ago an

area for the prosperous.

Now, it’s mainly for the poor.

Hello. Can I come in for a few

minutes?

Okay.

Thank you.

Spitalfields is Jack The Ripper

territory.

The old people here even remember

some of his murders.

In this yard, just over there,

Jack disposed of victim number two

and the poor of the parish clubbed

together

to buy a nice wreath

for her funeral.

These streets are exactly

the same as they were at that time.

Fournier Street.

Built by the Huguenots in 1724.

These doorways are the originals

and have been altered only slightly.

They’re among the finest

of their kind in London.

This shop front in Artillery Lane

was built for a silk mercer

by a carpenter, Abraham Swan,

in the 17th Century.

You cheated, you cheated,

you big fat liar!

For much too long, these

children have only had

their own doorsteps to play on,

but happily, all this seems to

be changing.

And for the first time, these kids

are being given a decent break.

For some, however,

it’s happened too late.

I have been trying here

and there, to see …

to see whether I could, uh …

better myself in a better way,

you see.

I have been trying.

Mostly trying. It’s difficult.

But, I’ve been trying very

hard and different ways,

to see if I can …

to see if I can become

something of myself …

in time.

The same thing will soon be

happening

to most of the buildings

we’ve been looking at.

They’re out of date, inefficient,

taking up too much space.

But there’s no need to be too sad

about it

because, after all,

most of Victorian London

was fairly hideous.

And we can also console ourselves

with the knowledge that

the same fate attends

our least favourite modern

monstrosities.

Man is fighting man,

brother is fighting brother,

nation is fighting nation,

the world is in a turmoil.

Satan is not king.

The book has told you

that what God will do

when he comes on this earth,

he will banish Satan forever

and you will see who is the ruler

of this universe.

I have told you once again, be

careful,

be warned, the time is now.