For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Mustn’t grumble (08.05.12)

Mustn’t grumble, which of course is what we Londoners are always doing – roadworks, litter, Boris – you name it we can moan for England. While maintaining an air of cheerful, if somewhat deferential, stoicism we go through life apologising while at the same time keeping a stiff upper lip.

This air of permanent regret can seem bewildering and perverse to tourists. We apologize when bumping into you “Sorry old chap, didn’t see you there”. When you bump into us “So sorry” meaning do that again at your peril.

When we hold open a door for another with the greeting “Don’t mention it” which of course is shorthand for “Please continue to thank me”.

When we might seem to be having a perfectly amiable conversation while in fact disagreeing with every word you have uttered the appropriate interjection is “I’m not being funny, but . . . ” which is a prelude to a socially unacceptable remark.

Punctuality was once the trademark of an Englishman, but with transport in London slowly grinding to a halt you are more likely to get the apology “I’m running 10 minutes late . . .” roughly translated this means “Boris hasn’t fixed the delays yet and I will be there anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour after we agreed to meet”.

And watch out if at a social gathering, you hear “I have half a mind to say something . . . ” that indicates “I am adding to years’ worth of unspoken resentment that you can silence with a very dry white wine”.

Sorry doesn’t seem to be the hardest word as Elton John opined: When we walk into doors when dropping anything when we want to butt into a conversation, when flustered or when brushing past you in a pub, when we cannot hear or when hearing all too well as a reflex “Sorry” suffices for what we cannot think of what else to say.

But by no means does saying “sorry” mean the speaker is in fact, well, sorry.

“Probably my fault . . . ” is about as deferential as we get. Take that to mean “This is your fault.”

The frequent apology is one of an arsenal of clever tricks Londoners employ to obscure their true feelings. If the words “Mustn’t complain. . . ” are directed at you take notice, their true meaning is “I have just complained and if you don’t sort it out I will take the matter further”.

Eastenders greet one another with “Alright?” don’t enter into a conversation about your woes, it’s the law of the jungle to show that you are one of them and a friend.

And London cabbies are not immune to this verbal gymnastics, our greeting to another cab driver of “Be Lucky” roughly translates to “I hope you don’t get a job before me”.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

London’s burning (04.05.12)

Ask any London schoolboy when the Great Fire of London occurred and he will tell you 1666 when 80 per cent of the mediaeval city was consumed in the conflagration.

Over the years with very little, we have managed to reduce many of London’s important buildings to ash.

The Crystal Palace In 1851 the world’s first expo was staged in Hyde Park beneath a glass structure so massive mature elm trees were incorporated within its structure. Following its success when 6 million people visited, the prefabricated building was re-assembled in Sydenham on a hill that has since adopted its name. An amusement park, concert hall, and theatre were incorporated within the grounds. Even the FA Cup Final was played there until 1923 when the old Wembley Stadium was built. Then on 11th November 1936, it burnt down, so fierce was the inferno witnessed its glow from north London over 20 miles away.

Palace of Westminster The modern Houses of Parliament replaced the earlier one which had been built over a long period of time. Following the Dissolution, the Commons found a permanent home in the Chapel of St. Stephen, the speakers sitting on where the altar had been, which then started the tradition of bowing in his direction. Tally sticks which were once used to keep records of accounts had become so numerous that in 1834 it was agreed they should be burnt in the furnace in the Palace’s cellars. In the resulting fire only Westminster Hall built by William Rufus survived. The building started by Edward the Confessor in the 11th century had to be rebuilt in the Victorian Gothic style we see today.

Whitehall Palace On the road that took the name when Henry VIII was King there stood Whitehall Palace one of Europe’s largest royal palaces. The area we now know as Horseguards Parade was the tiltyard used for jousting and Henry’s indoor tennis courts are now incorporated within the Cabinet Office, the only survivors of that once great wooden building. One of its last additions was Banqueting Hall built of brick by Inigo Jones and is the only complete survivor when in 1698 a Dutch laundry maid had a careless accident and burnt down most of its 1,500 rooms.

London Bridge The medieval London Bridge had 19 small arches and was crowded with buildings of up to seven stories in height. The narrowness of the arches meant that it acted as a partial barrage over the Thames, restricting water flow and producing ferocious rapids between the piers of the bridge, as the difference between the water levels on each side could be as much as six feet. Only the brave or foolhardy attempted to steer a boat between the piers and many were drowned trying to do so. As the saying went, the bridge was “for wise men to pass over, and for fools to pass under.” On the night of 10th July 1212, only three years after the bridge’s completion a fire broke out on the south side of the river. People ran across the bridge to help quench the flames, but this action was to be regretted, a strong wind fanned the flames and sent sparks across the river causing the north end to ignite, trapping the people in the middle of the bridge. There was only one way out over the side into the Thames where a large number of boats had gathered hoping to be of assistance, some of which were sunk by the number attempting to board. The number of bodies recovered was around 3,000, but this did not include the people incinerated in the fire, their bodies were never found.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Quality Street (01.05.12)

In a little backwater between the rear of the Savoy Hotel and Charing Cross Station, there is a small cul-de-sac which once ran down to the river’s edge. On the site that once stood York House former mansion of the Dukes of Buckingham, its 20 or so houses look all the world like a street of small mid-Georgian period houses that can be found all over central London.

Buckingham Street was built before 1680 by Nicholas Barbon London’s first speculative builder. What makes this little unprepossessing street so unique is the sheer number of celebs who once lived here, so many that a whole series of that unlamented television series ‘Through The Keyhole’ could be devoted to these twenty-one houses.

The houses at the northern end of Buckingham Street are smaller than those nearer the river and have been used for many years for commercial purposes.

According to The London Encyclopaedia a Who’s Who of Buckingham Street has among its former residents:

Number 9: Beauty and one of the greatest actresses of the 18th century, Peg Woffington and Laurence Holker Potts inventor of the piling system for building foundations carried out experiments in his workshop there.

Number 10: Was once home to Scottish philosopher and Father of the Enlightenment David Hume and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, later postimpressionist painter Henri Rousseau resided there as did Thomas Russell Crampton, the engineer who laid the first submarine cable between Dover and Calais.

Number 11: Groom of the Bedchamber to James II Thomas Bruce, 2nd Earl of Ailesbury also Victorian artist Arthur Rackham once worked there.

Number 12: London’s famous diarist Samuel Pepys. A later occupant was Queen Anne’s Treasurer Robert Harley who invited Jonathan Swift and William Penn to dinner at his home. Mary, Countess of Fauconberg daughter of Oliver Cromwell. The scientist Humphrey Davy carried out some of his most important experiments in the cellar.

Number 13: Dr William Wellwood who served as a physician to King William and Queen Mary and Dr James Coward who wrote several works on the soul, which were ordered in 1704 to be burnt by the Common Hangman, since the House of Commons considered they contained offensive doctrines. William Jones, the mathematician, was a friend and fellow worker of Sir Isaac Newton and Edmund Halley.

Number 14: Samuel Pepys who liked the street so much after nine years at Number 12 moved next door to Number 14. Robert Harley Speaker of the House of Commons who later became Chancellor of the Exchequer started his book collection here and later the library was bought by the nation for £10,000 and formed a nucleus for the British Museum. Artist George Clarkson Stanfield was born there and fellow artist Charles Calvert had lodged. Sir Humphry Davy is famous for his invention of the miner’s lamp.

Number 15: Russian Peter the Great stayed for a while although some historians dispute this claim. Authors Henry Fielding, creator of Tom Jones and literary giant Charles Dickens also resided here.

Number 19: Lord Drumlanrig, afterwards 2nd Duke of Queensbury who in 1707 was instrumental in bringing about the union of Scotland and England.

Number 21: English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

But most bizarrely of all Napoleon Bonaparte stayed at an unknown house in this same small street.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Sugar Daddies (27.04.12)

A tin bearing an image of the rotting carcass of a lion surrounded by a swarm of bees is not by today’s standards the most politically correct way to advertise your product. The brand registered in 1904 is recorded by the Guinness Book of Records as having the world’s oldest branding and packaging.

The man who chose that design was Abraham Lyle who set up his sugar refinery in Silvertown a mile downriver from his competitor Henry Tate who famously invented the sugar cube and founded his eponymous art gallery.

Both men refused to acknowledge the other’s presence, even taking separate carriages on the train for their daily commute from Fenchurch Street to Silvertown.

Even though the two sugar barons refused to meet there was a tacit agreement not to tread on each other’s business toes.

At one point Lyle thought Tate was preparing to launch his own version of partially inverted sugar syrup and in retaliation built a sugar cube plant, whatever was the truth neither eventually copied the other’s product.

It was not until both men had died that in 1921 both companies merged. Surprisingly both factories are still run by a member of the respective families, and workers will never refer to themselves as working for Tate & Lyle, you either work at Tate’s or Lyle’s.

Located on an artificial peninsula – sandwiched between the Royal Docks to the North and the River Thames to the South just half a century ago it was a hive of activity, at the heart of industrial London.

After the war, more than 20 factories lined the banks of the river. The location was perfect for the factories, being as close to London as was legally possible and providing access to both the docks and the river, where raw materials could be unloaded and finished products shipped away.

Positioned at either end of the so-called Sugar Mile which stretched between them, the factories also had a reputation for looking after their employees well, with an onsite surgery, dentist, chiropodist, eye doctor, hairdresser and even bar open during the working day. There was a purpose-built social club, The Tate Institute – still standing opposite the Thames Refinery, but now sadly derelict – which laid on parties every week with cheap rum shipped in from Jamaica.

A nearby sports ground at Manor Way, no longer in use, played host to football, cricket, netball and other sports, and was where the annual company sports day and beauty contest took place – the latter judged by movie stars.

These days, the number of factories remaining can be counted on one hand, and although Tate & Lyle’s refineries are still standing, they employ a fraction of the staff they once did.

An excellent account of life working for Tate & Lyle has been written by Duncan Barrett and Nuala Calvi: The Sugar Girls: True Tales of Hardship, Love and Happiness at Tate & Lyle’s East End Factories, based on interviews with over fifty men and women who worked for Tate & Lyle in Silvertown in the 1940s and 1950s.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Turf wars (20.04.12)

Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be friends, were the lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II for the musical Oklahoma! And one would think by the rhetoric surrounding the pedicab/licensed taxi debate that a turf war was being engaged by the two proponents along the lines of the ranch disputes in America’s mid-west.

Nothing could be further from the truth, the dent in a London cabbie’s income caused as a consequence of business lost to ‘rickshaws’ is minuscule.

Anyone with a desire to climb aboard a pedicab wants to do just that, they don’t want to undertake a journey in the luxury of a London taxi.

No, the grievance we, the London cab trade, have with pedicabs is that ‘Plying for Hire’ is not practised on a level playing field. We have to undergo up to five years of arduous study while on The Knowledge; have a Criminal Records Bureau check and take an enhanced driving test before we can ply for hire.

Private hire now has vigorous checks upon cab offices and their drivers and they are not allowed to prowl London’s streets picking up passengers.

But pedicab riders can pitch up, undergo the minimum of training, have no formal checks upon their suitability and then pick up tourists including children from the Capital’s streets.

We have to take any assurances from pedicab operators at face value when they tell us of their vehicle’s roadworthiness.

There is also a question of whether just about anyone can buy one of these carriages and go out on London’s roads without even the cursory checks that a pedicab company would undertake.

Public transport in London has been regulated for centuries, in fact, it was Oliver Cromwell who first brought some order to cabbies’ behaviour. But now we have a group whose only regulation is self-regulation – it’s just not enough.

But cabbies’ biggest gripe is the sheer numbers clogging up the streets of the West End, and instances of them riding in contravention of the road traffic regulations with seeming impunity from prosecution.

And this last point might be just a personal observation, but how is it that large numbers are allowed to congregate around West End theatres at the end of a performance? Not only do they impede pedestrians, including the disabled, but if an evacuation of the theatre should be necessary theatregoers would be confronted by a wall of steel preventing safe egress with possible tragic circumstances.

No, if we are to continue promoting pedicabs as yet another London ‘icon’ they need to be regulated. Turf wars it is not, but we do need a level playing field. If not they should be restricted to London’s parks where curiously they are never to be found. Now, why should that be?