Paddington Green – derrickjknight

Ne’er Cast A Clout……

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Today was rainy enough to warrant another trip back to the Streets of London colour slides from May 2005.

Hadrian Mews, N7 is a gated street in Holloway, off Islington’s Roman Way. It probably pays to be security conscious here.

Epping Place and Granary Square, N1 are off Liverpool Road. The Lighterman bar at 3, Granary Square has mixed reviews.

Sheldon Square, W2, in the Paddington Basin development has featured a couple of times before. By May 2005 it was a popular venue for walkers, both real and artificial. The gentleman in the right foreground is destined to stride towards another out of shot, forever sporting his short-sleeved shirt, whatever the weather.

Over at Paddington Green, Sarah Siddons dominates the scene.

Two years ago her nose had not looked as complete as this.

It is to be hoped that, from the relaxed attitude of this motorcyclist that the policeman was helping him with directions. Mrs Siddons can be seen to our left of the Telephone Boxes.

The Britannica website has this entry on her:

‘Sarah Siddons, née Kemble (born July 5, 1755, Brecon, Brecknockshire, Wales—died June 8, 1831, London, Eng.), one of the greatest English tragic actresses.

She was the eldest of 12 children of Roger and Sarah Kemble, who led a troupe of traveling actors (and were progenitors of a noted family of actors to a third generation, including a famous granddaughter, Fanny Kemble). Through the special care of her mother in sending her to the schools in the towns where the company played, Sarah received a remarkably good education, even though she was accustomed to making appearances on the stage while still a child. While still in her teens, she became infatuated with William Siddons, a handsome but somewhat insipid actor in her father’s company; such an attachment, though, had the disapproval of her parents, who wished her to accept the offer of a squire. Sarah was sent to work as a lady’s maid at Guy’s Cliff in Warwickshire. There she recited the poetry of Shakespeare, Milton, and Nicholas Rowe in the servants’ hall and occasionally before aristocratic company, and there also she began to exhibit a talent for sculpture (which was subsequently developed, especially between 1789 and 1790, and of which she later provided samples in busts of herself). The necessary consent to her marriage to Siddons was at last obtained, and the marriage took place in Trinity Church, Coventry, in November 1773.

Sarah Siddons.

© Photos.com/Thinkstock

The new Mrs. Siddons, aged 18, then joined a new acting company. It was while playing at Cheltenham in 1774 that she met with the earliest recognition of her powers as an actress, when by her portrayal of Belvidera in Thomas Otway’s Venice Preserv’d she won the appreciation of a party of “people of quality” who had come to scoff. When the theatrical producer David Garrick was told of her acting prowess, he sent a representative to see her. At the time, she was playing Rosalind in As You Like It in a barn in Worcestershire. Garrick offered her an engagement, but when she appeared with him at Drury Lane, London, in 1775, she was a failure. She then went back on tour in the country, where she earned a reputation as the queen of tragedy on the English stage.

In 1782, at the request of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who had succeeded Garrick, she consented reluctantly to appear again at Drury Lane as Isabella in Thomas Southerne’s Fatal Marriage. This time her success was phenomenal. From then on she reigned as queen at Drury Lane until, in 1803, she and her brother John Philip Kemble went to Covent Garden. In 1783 she was appointed to teach elocution to the royal children. She retired from the regular stage on June 29, 1812, with a farewell performance as Lady Macbeth in Macbeth. On this occasion the audience would not allow the play to proceed beyond the sleepwalking scene, which Siddons was said to have performed to perfection.

Gainsborough Flowers of 43 Marylebone High Street offer same day delivery to anywhere in Australia for orders placed before 4.00 p.m.

The gentleman using his mobile phone in this shot of Ashland Place, W1 is walking past a small public park in which I sometimes sat, although I never tried the Rajdoot

in Paddington Street, which has many excellent reviews.

In 1961 the old Marylebone Police Court moved from Seymour Place into a former swimming baths at 181 Marylebone Road. Marylebone Magistrates Court was closed and transferred to City of Westminster Magistrates Court in March 2007. (https://search.lma.gov.uk/scripts/mwimain.dll/144/LMA_OPAC/web_detail/REFD+PS~2FMAR?SESSIONSEARCH)

We in the UK will never agree on the meaning of ‘ne’er cast a clout until May is out. Clout is an archaic word for an article of clothing. May is both the fifth month and the May or hawthorn tree which blooms in that month. The controversy focusses on whether the aphorism refers to the blossom being out or the month being over. The two people here leaving Lisson Grove appear to be hedging their bets. The tree is in blossom, but the month was not over.

Late this afternoon we drove to Lymington postal sorting office to collect a letter that required a signature. When I eventually name and shame the culprits in the remortgage fiasco, this will be explained.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s marvellous beef and mushroom collage; toothsome carrots, Brussels sprouts, runner beans, and new potatoes. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon.

P.S. See Becky’s comment below for important additional information on the mural. I should have remembered this was the old Woolworth’s head office because that is where George Onley, my club cricket captain from the 1950s and ’60s once worked.

Paddington, Marylebone, And Islington

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Today I scanned another dozen colour slides from the May 2004 selection of Streets of London.

Someone with an excellent sense of humour commissioned this window cleaner scratching his head as he contemplates tackling the M & S glass fronted tower building opposite Edgware Road tube station in Cabbell Street, NW1. Note the graffiti on the phone box.

Paddington Green,

home of Sara Siddons (photographed on July 16th 2013) whose nose job has been unsuccessful;

North Wharf Road, where the windows of this building reflect construction going on around it;

and Harrow Road, all W2, are all within the vicinity of Paddington. Once again we were coming into summertime, when the residents of these small flats could hang their washing out on tiny balconies otherwise used for flower pots and hanging baskets.

At this time I regularly walked from Little Venice in W9 to Parents for Children in Islington’s N1. Depending on my chosen route, I passed through Tresham Crescent, NW8, where the City of Westminster managed a children’s home,

and Pavely Street, near Regent’s Canal, wondering whether the Blue Square air balloon was heading for Lord’s Cricket Ground.

Passing the cricket ground, I would have traversed Barrow Hill Road,

and travelled on along Barker Drive, NW1, where was draped another reminder that this was Arsenal Football Club’s annus mirabilis.

Agar Grove was quite a long stretch, probably more so for the broken down vehicle.

By Laycock Street, I would have neared my goal. Reflected in the window of the modern building is the older street name.

Back in Marylebone, I walked many a time along the length of both Marylebone Road,

and Marylebone High Street, NW1. The splendid domed building shown in these last two shots is St. Marylebone Parish Church, described by Wikipedia as ‘an Anglican church on the Marylebone Road in London. It was built to the designs of Thomas Hardwick in 1813–17. The present site is the third used by the parish for its church. The first was further south, near Oxford Street. The church there was demolished in 1400 and a new one erected further north. This was completely rebuilt in 1740–42, and converted into a chapel-of-ease when Hardwick’s church was constructed. The Marylebone area takes its name from the church. Located behind the church is St Marylebone School, a Church of England school for girls.’

This evening Jackie produced a superb roast lamb dinner. The only item that was not exquisitely crunchy was the tender lamb itself. It was served with roast potatoes, parsnips, carrots, and broccoli, all cooked and timed to perfection. Tasty gravy was added. The Culinary Queen drank sparkling water and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2014.

‘Put Your Money Down There’

As usual for a London trip, Jackie drove me to Southampton Parkway where I boarded a train for Waterloo. I then travelled by tube to Paddington and walked to Safe Store at Paddington Green to buy ten more storage boxes for another book-packing session at Sutherland Place.

Walking through Paddington Basin I reflected on the huge residential developments that have emerged from the sunken waste ground that I knew in the ’70s and ’80s. At that time the only residents were travellers and their dogs in their caravans and more permanent denizens occupying narrow-boats moored along the canal side.

Today colourful deck-chairs glowed in the sunshine. Most were empty during the morning. Some were placed conveniently for spectators to watch the impromptu games of table tennis for which the wherewithal was situated beside the water. I have seen such tables in Paris and in Soho as reported when meandering through it on 17th October last year (click here to see post).

I left the basin via Hermitage Street for which the sign was almost obscured by the ubiquitous buddleia that will take root anywhere.

The splendid hanging baskets high above Harrow Road almost rivalled those with which Jackie has surrounded our flat.

The original building of the Children’s Hospital once serving the public on the Green now appears to be partitioned into residential apartments. The Green itself is the only recognisable feature of the scene depicted by R. Sayer in the eighteenth century.

Coming away from the store with my flat-packed boxes strapped with material designed to cut into your hand, I set off to walk to Sutherland Place. After about ten minutes I thought better of it and hailed a taxi.

The final move has been fixed for 2nd September, well clear of the Notting Hill Carnival. Margaret, who has continued working in the flat which is now to be re-let, helped me today, as she has done on the previous occasions. After this I am on my own, and will pack up the rest of the books and other items during the preceding weekend. She is to arrange for someone to hand me the keys for this. Brian has obtained a relaxation of parking restrictions for the removal van, but Michael has suggested that what is needed is a suspension of the bays outside the house, otherwise we are leaving it to chance that no-one will occupy them. I will need to enquire about this.

Today’s packing over, I walked to Queensway and travelled by underground to Waterloo.

Buying my ticket at Waterloo was an interesting process. The monthly return with my aged concessions taken into consideration amounted to £23.15. I slipped a £20 note under the teller’s protective glass screen and said ‘the rest is coming’, as I pulled a handful of coins out of my trousers pocket. A cursory examination told me I was about 20p short, so I proffered a £10 note and asked the man if the 15p would be helpful. ‘You’ve got enough there’, he said, pointing to my coins. ‘No, I haven’t’, I replied. Giving me a somewhat withering look, he said: ‘Put your money down there’, pointing to the trough under the grill. I decided to humour him, and did so. He picked up each piece, sorted them into denominations, and discovered there was not enough there. I was rather more amused than were the people in the queue backing up behind me.

Jackie picked me up at Southampton and drove me to The Firs where she was in the process of cooking for us all.

Having finished early, I took a brief sojourn in Kensington Gardens, through which I have run many a mile. Londoners and visitors were basking in the afternoon sunshine. Some sat on the grass. Others walked or cycled. Boris’s Bikes were much in demand, and judging by the wobbling progress of some of their riders I thought it a good thing they were not travelling along Bayswater Road.

Jackie’s meal was a delicious chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice, followed by apple and blackberry pie and lemon tart. This was shared by the same family members as yesterday. I drank red wine and the others, except for Andy, had rose.

The bright white plate peering through the trees against an inky sky that greeted us on our return to Castle Malwood Lodge was a full moon complete with etched in face.

This Train Is Not Stopping At…….

In my post of 18th June I wrote of Alex Schneideman’s gift of a photographic portrait of me. This was reproduced as number 21 in the ‘through the ages’ series. Behind me are some of the thousands of books I am in the process of moving from 29 Sutherland Place where I was living at the time. The task of packing these up was begun today.

To enable this, Jackie drove me to and from Southampton Parkway station for the Waterloo train. On the outward journey I began reading ‘Storm of Steel’ by Ernst Junger.

From Waterloo I took the Bakerloo Line tube to Edgware Road which was the nearest station to Paddington Green where the local Safestore outlet was situated. This was where I hoped to buy the storage boxes and, if possible, have them delivered. As we left Marylebone, the penultimate stop, the fact that the train was not stopping at Edgware Road was announced. I had to go on to Paddington and walk from there. I bought the boxes and the staff member phoned a man with a van who could deliver the boxes by 2 p.m. The driver was independent of Safestore so I had a separate arrangement with him.

So far, so good. I now had plenty of time to walk from Paddington Green to Sutherland Place and await delivery. Safestore itself occupies part of what had been a children’s hospital when I had worked in the area in the decades before the current millennium. Other buildings have been demolished.

Something like a dozen years ago the statue of Sarah Siddons that stands on the green itself underwent a facelift involving a nasal prosthesis. The cosmetic surgery the great thespian received has dropped off.

A little further on the A40 rises above Harrow Road. Between the two can be seen a roundabout enhanced by mature trees that I saw planted as saplings.

An underpass leads to the canal and Little Venice. I ran many miles alongside this stretch of water. The Canal & River Trust narrowboat is all that is left of the charity that was Beauchamp Lodge settlement that has featured in various posts and that I chaired for so many years.

Some years after the building was sold to a Counselling agency I returned to rent space there for my own practice.

On the cobblestones around the basin, in the shadow of Beauchamp Lodge, a painter was reproducing the scene which had entranced me on a daily basis. Many a time have I passed under or over the blue bridge.

Lord Hills Bridge, outside Royal Oak tube station, still presents a colourful series of geometric shapes to the viewer.

The Alinea Bindery in Porchester Road once repaired some of my original volumes of the Dictionary of National Biography that Jessica had found in a second-hand bookshop and given me for my birthday.

St. Stephen’s Church on Talbot Road was one venue for AGMs of the Westbourne Neighbourhood Association on whose committee I served whilst living in Sutherland Place.

Andrew, the man with the van, arrived an hour late. As he bounded empty-handed up the steps, asking ‘what have we got?’, I had that sinking feeling. Through gritted teeth I said: ‘You are supposed to be bringing the boxes’. He fled, announcing that he would go and get them, and came back twenty minutes later.

The packing was somewhat delayed. However, after walking to Notting Hill Gate and returning to Waterloo by underground, I did manage to board a train slightly earlier than expected. I should have smelt a rat really. The doors of the train, which was meant to have already left, were closed to the multitude on the platform. This was because it had, for some reason, proved impossible to link the two halves of this ten coach train that normally divides at Southampton Central, the station after Southampton Parkway. The front half would therefore set off first, the second following five minutes later. The driver, whom I asked, didn’t know where the two halves were going, but this shouldn’t have mattered because my station was before the dividing one.

Once the doors opened I happily boarded the rear half. As we set off at a crawl, the guard announced that there would be an additional stop at Basingstoke, but no normal one at Parkway. Those needing Southampton Parkway were advised to alight at Winchester and wait for another train. He gave its time. We arrived after that time, but it didn’t matter because that train was twenty minutes late. I reflected that this had rounded off the day nicely.

A delicious, cooling salad provided our dinner on such a sweltering day. Jackie drank Budweiser and I drank sparkling water.