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.

A match made in Hell (23.03.12)

On Fairfield Road, Bow stands the Bryant & May match factory, which in the 1980s became one of the first industrial buildings in London to be converted into apartments when it was renamed the Bow Quarter.

In the summer of 1888 what happened in this building became a pivotal moment in the history of the labour movement.

The match girls working there were regarded as the lowest strata of society; long hours in appalling conditions, were hired and fired at the will of the management, and its workers suffering dreadful industrial injuries.

Bryant & May were regarded at the time as a model employer, much the same as the Cadburys, a similar Quaker employer who built for their workers the Bourneville village.

The Bryant & May strike started when a Fabian journalist Annie Besant after having interviewed some of the match girls wrote a scathing article about their life working in the factory. Entitled ‘White Slavery in London’ Besant highlighted that shareholders’ dividends of 20 per cent were achieved only by cutting their meagre wages lower than 15 years previously.

The youngest of the women were so malnourished they still looked like children; the factory foreman would beat employees; and if they succumbed to an industrial injury they were sacked.

Far worse than those conditions was phossy jaw where toxic particles from white phosphorous used in the match heads entered the worker’s jawbones through the holes in their teeth.

Initially causing facial swelling eventually the jaw would decay with pieces of bone working through the suppurating abscesses. In the final stages, like lepers, they would live outside London as the smell from their decaying jaw became intolerable, before they succumbed to an agonising death.

Besant’s article shocked the Nation and prompted the match girls to strike – the first of its kind in the country – it sowed the seeds for the establishment of the modern Labour Party and women’s rights when employed.

Questions were raised in the House by MPs. the Times published editorials shaming the previously unblemished reputation of Bryant & May, and socialite George Bernard Shaw among others voiced his support for them. The match girls even received death threats from someone claiming to be Jack the Ripper, whose reign of fear started some weeks later in East London.

Within two weeks their demands had been met and they returned to work, but it would be a century later before Bryant & May would acknowledge any wrongdoing on their part.

Just a year after the match girl’s victory thousands of the country’s most exploited workers would gain union recognition, the most famous being after the Dock Strike which began at a short walk from Bryant & May’s factory in East London.

Next year marks the 125th anniversary of the strike which became a pivotal point in the trade union movement and employees’ working conditions. As Louise Raw remarked when interviewed on the Robert Elms show recently, now is the time to unveil a Blue Plaque alongside the one dedicated to Annie Besant, to those brave and exploited girls who had the temerity to take on a powerful employer – and win.

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.

Bush House pruned (20.03.12)

To many of us, Bush House in Aldwych is just an obstruction on our journey from Kingsway to Waterloo Bridge forcing us to take a detour around a rather large traffic island. But for many, particularly in Asia, Bush House is synonymous with the voice of the BBC, so much so that I’ve even had tourists wanting to visit the building like any other London attraction to have a mandatory photograph taken in front of the discreet brass plaque at its entrance.

Adjacent to the Australian House and the Indian High Commission, Bush House built in 1923 was originally constructed for an Anglo-American organisation headed by Irving T. Bush from whom it takes its name.

When it opened in July 1925, costing £2 million, it was considered the world’s most expensive building. The inscription above the portico inserted before the arrival of the broadcaster couldn’t be more apt for the BBC: ‘Dedicated to the friendship of English-speaking peoples’.

For almost 70 years Bush House has been the home of the BBC World Service broadcasting many of the world’s events to far-flung countries. In January 1941, former director of the BBC’s Belgian French Service, Victor de Lavelee, suggested that Belgians use a ‘V’ or Victory’ sign as a rallying emblem, Churchill would later use this idea in his ‘V for Victory’ speech of 19th July 1941. De Gaulle’s broadcasts to the Free French and some of Churchill’s famous speeches were transmitted from this building.

First called the BBC Empire Service and broadcasting in 45 languages, covering events that have changed the world, while giving unbiased news coverage to countries whose only means of information were largely governed by perspectives of their state, Bush House became a beacon for free speech. By 1941 more than 1,400 staff worked on international broadcasts, now they now only broadcast in 27 languages, one could extrapolate from those people speaking the 18 languages dropped can now trust their own internal media services.

The BBC has now terminated its lease with the Japanese owners of Bush House and has moved its reduced World Service to Broadcasting House.

The building inspired George Orwell to base the canteen featured in his Ministry of Truth in his book 1984 on the one at Bush House. When Orwell worked there he was involved in lengthy meetings and his infamous Room 101 is thought to relate to a room in Bush House.

In 1978, Bulgarian Service journalist Georgi Markov while standing on Waterloo Bridge felt pain in his thigh, and turning round saw a man picking up an umbrella, he returned to Bush House relating this rather odd incident. Three days later he died, it was assumed he was assassinated by a poisoned umbrella.

Bush House was so familiar with those beyond our borders that some among the 150 listeners worldwide would address their letters: ‘BBC Bush House, London’, it was all that was required to ensure their correspondence arrived. Unlike the Media Centre, Salford Bush House remains for many the building which most represents the BBC and captured the imagination of the world.

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.

Soya Latte Heaven (09.03.12)

The late 1950s and early 60s saw the resurgence of the coffee-drinking trend which had all but died out. It reinvigorated the love of “the syrup of soot or essence of old shoes” as it was described in the 18th century. England’s first coffee house was established in Oxford in 1650 but it was only two years until a Greek servant named Pasqua Rosee began running a coffee house in St. Michael’s Alley, Cornhill, and soon there would be dozens of coffee houses in London.

In these coffee shops men would meet, discuss and conclude deals, it could be argued that these establishments sowed the seeds that would put London on course to become Europe’s leading commercial centre. By 1675 a thousand coffee houses were to be found in London and soon became the exclusive clubs of the influential. But by the 1700s England abandoned coffee as the East India Company pushed the domestic market into tea.

It was after the Second World War in 1945 that Gaggia altered the espresso machine to create a high-pressure extraction that produced a thick layer of crema that signalled the return of the coffee culture. It was soon to be christened cappuccino for its resemblance to the colour of robes worn by Capuchin monks.

Italians already had a large community around Saffron Hill nicknamed ”Little Italy” but they began to drift westwards, many wishing to make a life for themselves after being interned during the war. They set up cafes with distinctive Formica tables and Art Deco chrome Vitrolite exteriors. One of the last examples is E. Pellicci to be found on Bethnal Green Road. From the yellow and chrome Vitrolite exterior to the warm wooden interior this is an unbelievable Deco classic. Every part of this superb cafe should be held in the trust of the nation.

It wasn’t long before the boys from Seattle arrived offering their milky concoction far removed from a real Italian cappuccino. Their largest coffee cup at 916ml holds more liquid than a human stomach. So weak is this brew many of their customers have been asking for an extra shot and they have recently announced they intend to put coffee in their coffee.

But if a Dark Chocolate Cherry Mocha is your thing – enjoy.

Soho once a French district was to become the centre for Italian coffee culture. By 1953 coffee bars had sprung up. The first was The Moka espresso bar at 29 Frith Street opened by actress Gina Lollabrigida but soon many would follow with their distinctive trend of Formica and real coffee. Only a few doors down from where The Moka opened and just celebrating 60 years in Soho is the most famous coffee bar of all Bar Italia.

So here is the way Italians make their coffee:

If you ask for a “caffè” in a bar in Italy, you would be given an espresso. If you ask for a “latte” in an Italian coffee bar, you will be given a glass of milk.

“Capucco” (“Cappuccino”) is the breakfast drink – Italians can’t understand why you would have a drink containing milk with food later in the day; it doesn’t help your digestion. The perfect cappuccino is served in a cup no bigger than 6fl oz. A third would be coffee, a third steamed milk and a third silky-smooth foamed milk. You then drink the black coffee with the steamed and foamed milk. The water hitting the coffee should be between 90°C and 95°C, you should never use boiling water to produce coffee; using water at 100 °C would smash the flavours.

The shape of the cup is very important. If you have a square-shaped cup with a flat bottom and right angles, when the coffee hits, the crema (the nice golden brown foam on top of an espresso) is dispersed. What encourages the crema to rise to the top of the coffee is the cup shape. If it’s curved-based, often with a nodule at the bottom, it encourages the cream to creep up the sides and onto the top of the coffee, which is where it should be.

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.

Television’s Dickens (03.02.12)

It was last year when walking down a high street in Dorset I saw in the window of a charity shop Jack Rosenthal’s autobiography for the bargain price of £3. Having always liked his plays I could not wait to get home to start reading, but when I opened its first pages was surprised to find the text had been written in the format of a play.

The early disappointment quickly dissipated for reading the book Jack seemed to leap from each page with life’s anecdotes narrated with pathos and humility, with beautiful observations of the inherent caricature in human behaviour.

His death in 2004 led The Guardian to dub him “television’s Charles Dickens”, now next week on 7th February marks the bi-centenary of Dickens’s birth and you are going to hear an awful lot about Dickensian London, but nearly eight years after his death not much of our own master Twentieth Century wordsmith who also based many of his stories around London.

So in the interest of balance, I’ve selected a play that defined one of the iconic characters of the Capital from the dozens of scripts that he wrote. For London’s cabbies, he is best known for his 1979 play The Knowledge. It was the last one-off drama ever to be made by Euston Films, filmed around central London (watch out for a prime piece of “George Davis is innocent OK” graffiti), which features outside shots of the old Carriage Office in Penton Street along with some pretty run-down parts of London.

Known for his attention to detail and creating credible characters, good research played a large part in writing The Knowledge he spent many hours amongst the cabbie fraternity, and in so doing Jack was granted an honorary taxi driver’s license in the process.

The story charts the trials and tribulations of four men attempting to learn the knowledge to become a London cabbie. Chris played by Mick Ford is the youngest of the four, he is on the dole and has given up all hope of finding a job. Dippy and dopey he is encouraged to start the knowledge by his exasperated girlfriend Janet (“Look, I can’t help the word ‘job’ coming up in the conversation, it’s a word!”), eventually, he becomes so engrossed in learning the knowledge his girlfriend decides it’s either the knowledge or her in their relationship – she loses.

Gordon played by the late Michael Elphick is a cowboy builder and serial womaniser (“Ignorance is bliss. My wife is completely blissful about the whole thing.”), who leaves behind his irate wife (played by Jack Rosenthal’s wife Maureen Lipman) to spend half of his time learning London’s road routes and use it as an excuse to carry on an extra-marital affair. Jonathan Lynn plays Ted Margolis who comes from a Jewish cabbie dynasty and is the most confident of the quartet and is quickly pages ahead of his fellow Knowledge boys in memorizing the routes but makes the mistake of trying to ingratiate himself with Mr Burgess, nicknamed The Vampire played with delicious sadistic pleasure by Nigel Hawthorne (“I won’t take offence if anyone here decides to call me ‘Sir’”) and lastly the elderly Walters (David Ryall), is so much one of life’s losers he is nicknamed “Titanic” who views The Knowledge an escape from his uncommunicative wife. He attempts to learn all the runs on a bicycle and farcically wobbles all around London in an effort to do so – frequently falling from his bike.

At intervals they are called in to see Mr Burgess for an appearance, which involves the student attempting to describe verbally the runs whilst Burgess endeavours to put them off with a series of diversions often involving throwing water or putting Vick nasal inhalers up his nose. Gordon is kicked off the Knowledge for losing his temper while being tested by the Vampire. Ted Margolis of course passes with flying colours only to lose his licence the day he gets it after going to a pub with the rest of the boys to celebrate passing. Chris passes and then is admonished by a passenger when he gets the first route he learnt – Manor House to Gibson Square – for being cheeky and Titanic scrapes through and leaves his wife. He tells the boys she begged him to come back, when truly it can be heard her shouting,” Piss off and don’t come back”.

Jack Rosenthal’s prime interest lay in the way people interacted with each other, much like Charles Dickens, and in the relationship between individuals and institutions. In much of his work, he wrote about particular groups of working men, The Knowledge was about trainee taxi drivers, London’s Burning was about firemen, and Dustbinmen was about dustmen. In each, he deftly observed the conflict between the aspirations of the protagonists and what others demanded of them.

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.

Lost in translation (31.01.12)

London cabbies have the reputation that they have an opinion on everything; they will not go south of the River; and know just about anything to do with London, all of which we do little to dispel, but which are patently untrue.

This third urban myth that we are in fact just a mobile information desk to catch “The Lost” and reliably point them in the right direction must consume hours of our time every day.

Contemplating the meaning of life whilst waiting at traffic lights, the loss break into one’s hypnotic state, surprise and momentarily disorientated you. They ask with trepidation sometimes in a northern accent “Do you know the way to the Lyceum for the Lion King”?

You see it’s 7.21 in the evening, they are hopelessly lost and the show commences in nine minutes. Sure you can drive them, but it’s Covent Garden, gridlocked as usual, and you know with the one-way systems it’s far quicker to walk.

You are flummoxed, but you must never reveal this, you’re the world authority on everything London, right? But as you spend an entire lifetime driving, walking in the opposite direction to the road’s one-way system is – well just weird.

Don’t show your indecision, not a frown must pass your countenance, not even for a nanosecond. “Certainly Sir, it isn’t far from here, just a few minutes’ walk away”.

That has bought a few more seconds thought. Do you now send them across the Piazza, but what does the back of the Opera House look like? Would they know when to turn right? And are they going to even know when to turn into that famous square?

Your momentarily pause in answering has brought on near hysteria from the girlfriend, who has spent hours getting ready little realising that Londoners dress down nowadays to go to the theatre. They have spent nearly an hour walking around the area’s labyrinthine streets and to cap it all can hardly understand the cabbie with his cockney accent.

By now, and I swear TfL do this deliberately – the lights have changed and that nice private hire driver in his Mercedes is suggesting, by the use of his horn, that conversing with pedestrians just isn’t to his liking.

The best pedestrian route that was forming in your brain has disappeared from your consciousness, and to make matters worse at the end of the road, now empty of traffic due to your inability to move forward, is a fare.

“Look walk just down to the end of the street, turn left and you can’t miss it”. Yes very professional, but at least they start to move in the right direction. And come to think of it you haven’t told them that the start of the show is not to be missed with a sun rising over Africa’s savannah.

Now, where was that fare I saw?