My London
It is hard to believe now. When I moved to London in 1975 I used to park my VW Beetle in Leicester Square without policemen or traffic wardens turning a hair. There was no decent coffee anywhere (apart from “Bar Italia” in Soho) but the mix of rich history and creative dynamism was exciting. Seeing the Queen’s Household Cavalry exercising their horses in Hyde Park. Spotting the inflatable pig floating between the chimneys of Battersea Power Station – there in order to be photographed for the cover of the Pink Floyd Album “Animals”.
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It was the age of the Punks who liked to hang out near Vivienne Westwood’s store “Seditionaries” at the rough end of the King’s Road. Bands like the “Sex Pistols” and “The Clash” represented teen rebellion and were busy annoying the establishment. A little later the more glamorous “New Romantics” built a bridge between the Punks’ anger and their own carefree attitude, as reflected in Hazel O’Connor’s film “Breaking Glass”. I still like the soundtrack to that, especially “Will You”.
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Despite tea being ingrained in British culture, drinking coffee was a tradition in London as far back as the 1650s. Now the resurgence of café culture is in full swing. As for parking - with his “Bicycle Highways” and draconian punishments for traffic offences London’s Mayor Sadiq Khan has declared war on motorists and aims to make London the world’s greenest capital. Not without resistance from taxi drivers and business owners who call Khan the “destroyer of the world’s greatest city” (and worse). “My” London is the suburb of Kennington south of the river: central (it takes just 20 minutes to walk to Parliament Square), yet relaxed and quiet. Local cafés, shops and markets are not yet as polished and expensive as those north of the Thames. And, for me, waking up to the chimes of Big Ben has lost none of its charm.
Nowadays, low-quality, high-rise towers – especially those around Battersea Power Station and the American embassy – are reshaping South London’s landscape. Concerns that the “village atmosphere” of neighbouring areas will disappear are always up for discussion at “Bouquets and Beans”, the coffee stand outside St. Anselm’s Church in Kennington Road. This is where locals go each morning to drink their flat whites. And to debate whatever happens to be on their minds, whether it is Brexit (‘like a permanent tooth ache”) or Engelbert Humperdinck (“he had a hit song called ‘Lesbian Seagull’. Why on earth?!”). Newcomers will inevitably be told that Charlie Chaplin lived with his father across the road in Number 287.
Everyone loves Abraham, the stall’s owner. Born in Eritrea, he grew up in Ethiopia before moving to London with his family in 1998. Eleven years later he began working for “Bouquets and Beans” which was then a charitable organisation, aiming to help young unemployed Londoners. Five years after that, funding was cut by the then mayor of London, Boris Johnson. Abraham decided to turn selling coffee and flowers into a business instead. “The pandemic has had its positive sides”, he says, smiling broadly. “A lot of our regulars started working from home and they needed to get out of the house once in a while. Now many of them come three times a day”.
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It is enjoyable to watch Abraham’s customers – young mothers, politicians and bankers among them – queueing patiently during peak times. One always learns something new. The other day a local writer waxed lyrical about the sound of a nightingale in his street during lockdown. “Shakespeare has a quotation for every situation”, he pronounced, smiling. “Like that line in Cymbeline: ‘A deep fall often leads to high happiness'”. It is as the Austrian writer Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach said: “If you only ever talk yourself, you learn nothing”.
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Bottom two photographs by olivierhess.com
