Hello people,
I'm writing this blog
whilst standing beside a blue plaque in East Street Market SE17. In my pocket
is an envelope with ‘28 Districts’ written on the front, inside the
envelope, on expensive looking paper, and in long spidery writing is a message
which simply says;
'Your involvement
was a mistake. Forget about the fire, forget about me, forget everything.'
This letter was given
to me just moments ago by a lady, maybe in her 30's, on a bike. I only got the
briefest glance of her. She wore pink trainers, black leggings and a pink high-viz, over a running top. She pulled up right in front of me, pushed the
envelope into my hand, and then shot off at great speed darting her way through
the market with impressive skill.
As many of you know,
I’ve recently become entangled in a conspiracy involving the 2007 arson attack
on the Cutty Sark. And during my visit to Lesnes Abbey in Abbey Wood, things
became even stranger, when a mysterious man, who described himself as 'a
friend,' told me I was in 'grave danger', and that if I wanted his help, I
should meet him at the birthplace of the most famous SE Londoner who ever
lived.
This proved to be a
problem, as I hadn't the faintest idea who he was on about. So I spent the last
few weeks trying to find the birthplace of every famous SE Londoner I could
think of; Daniel Day Lewis in Greenwich, the famous Scientist Michael Faraday
in Southwark, Louise Redknapp in Eltham, but to no avail. The only clue the stranger
gave me was;
"He was a man who
spoke to millions, yet never said a word" but this was no help.
The answer finally
came to me this Friday, when I was at work sitting by my computer. I was
swivelling on my chair, staring at the 'to do’ pile on my desk. My firm has
been busy lately and I've become so preoccupied with the Cutty Sark mystery,
that the pile has grown so big it's taller than I am. Whenever a breeze blows
through the office, it sways liked a tall tree in the wind. I find staring at
it very therapeutic...
My peace was broken
by a work mate of mine who asked me a question about reinforced concrete. I
didn't know answer, so I did what I always do, I leant back in my chair,
stroked my chin, and nodded my head knowingly while I tried to come up with
something to fob him off with. Unfortunately I miscalculated how far I
could safely lean back in my chair without toppling over, and I ended up
crashing to the floor. To make matters worse one of my shoe laces had come
undone, and as I kicked out at nothing to stop my fall, my left shoe flew off
and lodged itself into the ceiling above me. It hung there for a moment, then
fell to earth, and hit me straight in my old chopper. I let out a high pitched
yelp in pain, and it was at that exact moment that a gentle breeze -
perhaps caused by the beating wings of a nearby bird who had mistaken my shrill
scream to be the noise of a mate - that caused my ‘to do’ pile to collapse on
top of me. For a moment there was only silence, then a low chuckle, and finally
roars of laughter from all my work mates. And it was then, that I finally
figured out who the most famous SE Londoner who ever lived was.
I pushed the paper away, got to my feet, and told my boss I was leaving
early, as I had go to Walworth, and solve one of the greatest crimes of
our time. He was too busy laughing to respond, but I think he was cool with it.
I ran out the door, and was in Walworth quicker than you can say ‘silent
comedy,’ and from there I headed towards the market.
 |
| East Street Market Entrance |
East Street Market appears in the title sequence of 'Only fools and horses, and I always get the song stuck in my head when I'm here. A market has been here since the 16th century, and it's still going strong.
But East Streets main claim to fame has got to be that it was the birthplace of Charlie Chaplin. At the height of his fame Charlie was one of the most famous people on Earth, and you would still struggle to find someone who'd never heard of him today. No official records exist, but the little fellow believed he was born in East Street, and there's a blue plaque next to the East Street market entrance to commemorate his birth.
Charlie's life in SE London was difficult, he was two years old when his father abandoned him, his brother Sydney, and his mother Hannah. Just like her son, Hannah had dreams of making it big on the stage, but her career never really took off. Unable to support her family, Hannah had to send Charlie and Sydney to the work house, which he later described as "a forlorn existence." Hannah struggled with her mental health, and was committed to Cain Mental Asylum twice during his childhood. She was permanently committed when he was 16 years old.
"There was nothing we could do but accept poor mother's fate." Charlie Chaplin.
But what Hannah was able to give her children was a passion for performing, and a belief they had talent. Charlie spent his childhood working hard, entertaining audiences in the music halls, and theatres. So that by the time he arrived in Hollywood in 1913 at the age of 24, he was already a master of his trade. The silent films he made during the first half of the 20th century made people laugh, and for a moment forget their troubles, in a world that must have been a very frightening place.
I waited by the blue plaque commemorating Charlie's life till the market
closed. I did the same thing the next day, and the next. I got my letter at 3pm
today, and to be honest, I'm cold, tired, my old chopper still hurts, and feel like
giving up. But I won't, Charlie never did, and as Del Boy always said, you
should never stop believing. Don't worry readers, it may seem like the trail
has gone cold, but I have a very cunning plan!
