SE1 - Shad Thames Part 2

Hello people,

I'm still in Shad Thames SE1 and I've been using my magical adjustable spanner - which allows me to travel through time - to see how the area has changed throughout the years. During my time travels I visited the early 1900's when Shad Thames was a thriving dockyard, filled with traders, sailors and boats bringing in cargo from all over the world. It was the Amazon of it's day, only with longer waiting times and you had to buy in bulk. I watched the busy dockers move barrels of spices, wheat, tea, etc. across the walkways overhead into the huge warehouses where they were stored for sale. Incidentally, when these warehouses first became flats in the 1980's they were named after the goods that were stored in them - Vanilla & Sesame Court was where they kept the vanilla and sesame, Tea Trade Wharf was where they kept the tea, and Butlers Wharf was where they kept the Butlers. It was claimed by many of the first residents that the scents of the spices had infused into the bricks, and they could clearly smell the scent that each building was named after when they first moved in. In case you’re wondering, Butlers wharf smelt of Brute aftershave. Classy.

Shad Thames - the bridges over head were used
by dockers to shift goods between warehouses

As I watched this thriving industry, I couldn't help but wonder if there might be a way I could make a few quid while I was here too. Strictly speaking it’s against the rules to profit from time travel in case you accidentally change time and end up in an insane world where Leicester are Premier League Champions, Donald Trump is President of the USA and people only eat, sleep and exercise when their watches tell them too. So if I was going to do it, I'd have to be really sneaky, this is what I did...

I journeyed back to 2016, and had a look on Wikipedia to see if any famous people had ever lived or worked in Shad Thames. I then had a look on eBay to see whose autographs fetched the most money. After a little research I discovered that Charles Dickens had spent some time there while researching one of his novels. I forget the name of it, but it's the one about a little orphan who has an adventure. I think it's called Annie...

Anyway it turns out that Charles Dickens signed memorabilia is worth an absolute fortune, so I grabbed my copy of 'A Christmas Carol' - longest song ever by the way - plus a few other bits and pieces, gave the old spanner a quick twist, and found myself in 1836 standing by the river Thames waiting for Charles Dickens to show up. However, I hadn't gone to Shad Thames this time - Shad Thames was nothing more than a cobbled street back then. The area I'd come to find the great man, was Jacobs Island just a stones throw away....

'Every repulsive lineament of poverty, every loathsome indication of filth, rot, and garbage; all these ornament the banks of Jacobs Island.'

These are the words Charles Dickens used to describe the horror that was Jacobs Island. It's the place he chose to be the home of Bill Sikes in his story Oliver Twist, and it's where Sikes - while on the run from the mob - eventually seals his own fate. Dickens' description of the living conditions on Jacobs Island caused a lot of controversy when it was published. Many where horrified, some simply refused to believe that the place he described was anything other than a work of fiction. Sir Peter Laurie - the former Mayor of London - said publicly that the location was a work of imagination, and that no place by that name, or like it, had ever existed, but existed it had. Jacobs Island had gotten its name by being surrounded by ditches which - according to a social researcher of the time - were 'Harbouring masses of rotting weed, animal carcasses and dead fish' these ditches were the local inhabitants only source of fresh water. 

I looked around at the hardships the people of Jacobs Island had to endure, and I made a promise to myself that when I got back to 2016, I’d do more to help those a less fortunate then myself. When I awoke from my thoughts I looked across the ditch to see a well dressed man with a shabby beard, carrying a cane, walking through the heavy London fog with his note book in his hand, writing as he walked. The man was of course, Charles Dickens.

I introduced myself as a fan and asked him for his autograph, he smiled and said, "My dear fellow, I'm always happy to oblige an admirer of one's work," so I handed him my copy of ‘A Christmas Carol’ kindle edition. After he'd signed it I asked if he wouldn’t mind signing a few more things for me, and I took all the Charles Dickens memorabilia out of my bag, the CD of the soundtrack to Oliver! the musical, the BBC dramatization of Bleak House, Scrooge on VHS, in fact I’d brought so many things that he was probably there for over an hour signing stuff.

During the hour we were together, I got the impression that Charles was a man with a lot on his plate. He was constantly sighing and saying things like, "I've actually got quite a lot to do today...." and, "I really must get back to my work soon..." to which I would nod my head sympathetically before handing him another copy of 'Great Expectations' the audio book narrated by Hugh Laurie to sign.

As I said, after about an hour he muttered something about not having all day to stand around, and made to go. He clearly hadn't realised that I still had a few more things left for him to sign. So, before he could leave, I quickly called out, "Excuse me Mr Dickens." 

To my surprise he spun around and practically shouted at me, "What do you want now?!" 

I was a little taken aback. He'd seemed so friendly an hour ago. I can't think what I might have done to annoy him? I held up the 'A Tale of two cities' DVD staring Gwyneth Paltrow and very politely said, "Please sir, I want some more." 

A look of fury flashed across his face, "What!?" He cried "More!?"

After that he totally lost the plot, and chased me around Jacobs Island trying to hit me with his walking cane. Fortunately I was able to escape just in time by twisting my magical spanner. Unfortunately I left all my signed memorabilia back in 1836. Oh well easy come, easy go, I guess it's true what they say - you should never meet your heroes. What a primadonna!

I'm still going to make good on my promise to help out people less fortunate then myself by sponsoring my friends Damo and Gav Wynne. They're going to run the London Marathon dressed as Smurfs to raise money for helper dogs for children and young people who are blind or partially sighted. If you'd like to donate money for this great cause, or if you just think that two unfit blokes dressed as Smurfs running the London marathon is funny, I've put their just giving link on the my Facebook page.

I'll be back somewhere new next time, see you later people!

SE1 - Shad Thames, Part 1

Hello People, 

Today I'm taking a stroll through Shad Thames. To my right are lines of restaurants and bars filled with tourists and those feeling a little flush. Some are greedily tucking into their lobster thermidor, others are enjoying a sociable pint after another hard week in the city. To my left is that beautiful old muddy brown river - the Thames, and in front of me is a paved path scattered with huge iron sculptures. Some resemble giant human heads, some look like parts of a broken ship, while others look like absolutely nothing at all. 

Walking around here is a wonderful way to spend an evening, although if I'm honest not particularly exciting. What I need is a bit of adventure so I can write about it in my blog. Fortunately I have a magical adjustable spanner which allows me to travel through time. My wife Rosie - who you will remember works at the British Museum making sure the Mummies don't escape from their crypts at night - won it in the annual BM summer clear-out raffle a few years back. Rosie herself is far too busy with her work, baking and floristry commitments for time travel, and had only bought a ticket out of politeness and the hope of winning the 5th century Ming Dynasty Vase, so she gave the magic spanner to me.

Now that I think about it, having a magical adjustable spanner which allows you to travel through time is quite a unique selling point for a blogger, and I can't think why I've never mentioned it before. Let's give it a twist and see what happens...

Shad Thames

One small turn of the screw and the years simply roll away. When they stop I find myself in a time before the bars, before the restaurants, and even before Nando's, to a time when Shad Thames was a bunch of derelict warehouses next to an abandoned dockyard. As I write, I see a group of men in sharp suits walking along the docks with their cameras and note pads. I assume these to be the developers who would later make Shad Thames what it is today; so I must be in the late 80s, early 90's. As the men get closer I realise I'm right, as leading the pack, dictating while others write notes; is Sir Terrance Conran. Sir Terrance is the man who had the vision to regenerate the docks, an incredibly powerful individual with an impressive business empire including the furniture giants Habitat and Heal’s. He seems in his element walking along the docks, but wait what’s this? A woman has joined the group, and she doesn't look happy. In fact she's started arguing with Sir Terrance and the developers. I do believe she's none other than the great Maggie Blake! She was a local protester who fought the Shad Thames developers over access rights to the south bank of the river. Maggie and her supporters believed that everyone should be free to walk along and enjoy the Thames, the developers however thought access should only be for paying customers, and the wealthy private residence. Maggie and her supporters fought a great campaign and - against the odds - won! In the London we know in 2016 the ally that leads from Shad Thames to the riverside is named 'Maggie Blakes Cause' in honour of her.

I'm so happy to have seen Maggie, I think I'll go talk to her. She's a true SE London hero, and besides it will be great to hear from a woman for a change, British history is an absolute sausage fest. But wait, things seem to be getting quite heated between Maggie and the developers, in fact she's punched one of them, and now she's reaching for a lump of drift wood that's washed up on the docks and she's swinging it around like a baseball bat. Most of the developers have ran away, but old Conran has grabbed a piece of wood too and it looks like he's getting ready to make a fight of it! But, oh no! Conran’s famous creativity has gotten the better of him, he's become distracted by the natural beauty of the wood and he's trying to make the frame for a chez lounge out of it. Maggie looks like she's getting ready to take a big swing... For God’s sake defend yourself man, you haven't time for this creative expression!...

Oh well I guess I'll leave them to it. I'm not done with Shad Thames yet, but I'm getting close to my word count so you're probably all starting to lose interest and wondering if any of your friends or your friends' friends have updated their Facebook status yet. So I'll finish the rest of my story next week. Till then I might as well hang around in the nineties, so I'm off for a Wimpy and a game of Sonic the Hedge Hog.

Laters.

SE1 - The Old Biscuit Factory

Hello people,

Today I’ve come to Bermondsey SE1 to flex my muscles and have a go at bouldering at The Arch Climbing Wall. Bouldering is a bit like rock climbing except that its indoors, the climbing wall is man-made, and you get thrown out if you stick a flag in the top and claim it for yourself.

On arrival I was surprised by how low the climbing walls were, I’d expected to see a huge cliff face similar to the one Tom Cruise climbs at the beginning of Mission impossible II, but these were about 20 feet high.

The staff informed me that the skill of bouldering is not about how high you get off the ground, but the complexity of the climb. They said that the climbs were coloured, ranging from green and white (the simplest) to red (the most difficult). On hearing this I turned to the two sherpas I'd hired for the day and told them that their services wouldn't be needed, settled the bill, and waved them goodbye as they headed towards Bermondsey station on their husky driven slay.

After my induction I had a go at one of the green and white climbs. On completing it, I decided to skip the rest of the colours and head straight for the red - how hard could it be? I started off fairly well, but quickly came to a bit that was, in my opinion, absolutely impossible to climb without having suckers on your fingers. So I decided to mix the colours up a bit, and reached out for a nearby blue bolder. That worked for a while, until I got stuck again, so I moved onto orange, then back to blue, then zebra stripes, sumptuous plum, peppermint beach, intense chestnut, blush, and that's when I became completely stuck with no idea how to get down.

I hung onto the side of the wall for a moment and tried to figure out what to do, and that’s when a familiar voice broke my concentration.

"Ahoy there shipmate."

To my surprise next to me on the wall was captain of the HMS Belfast, Mr A. Sailor, who I'd met on a visit to Greenwich, where I accused him of setting fire to the Cutty Sark in 2007 out of boat envy. Things got a little heated between us at the time, but we parted on good terms.

"Hello Mr Sailor."

"Call me Ahab."

"Hello Ahab, this is a surprise, I didn't know you liked to climb?"

Indeed it was a surprise, not only was Ahab successfully negotiating the red route, but he was doing so with a peg leg, hook hand, eye patch, and a parrot balanced on his shoulder. He let out a hearty seaman’s chuckle, and using his hook hand to support himself, removed the E-Pipe from his pocket, put it in his mouth and said,

"Aye laddie, been scaling the mast for as long as I could whistle. I see you tried mixing the colours?"

I felt myself blush.

"Yea, I'm stuck. Do you know if there's a way down? Without falling I mean?”

"Aargh, there's always a route back to shore, 'tis just a matter of knowing which stars to follow. How's the blog? Any luck catching the scurvy dog that burnt down the Cutty Sark?"

I told him about all my adventures through the 28 districts. The threats I'd received in Abbey Wood warning me off my investigations, and the lady on the bike who assaulted me in Shooters Hill, who I've recently taken to following while being disguised as a post box to see if she leads me to any more clues.

"And has she?”

 Again I felt my face redden.

“No. She just goes to the gym and visits friends in independent cafes.”

He gently nodded his head, sucked on his E-Pipe and let the smoke drift out of his nose. After that the conversation dried up. I asked him if he’d been following the football, he said the only sport he followed was sailing. I asked if he’d seen the new Star Wars film, “Space ships aren’t real ships,” was all he said.

Just as I was contemplating letting go of the wall and plummeting to the floor to get out of this socially awkward situation, Ahab leaned towards me and said, "Did you know that the Bourbon biscuit was invented in this building? Maybe even in the exact spot we’re in right now?”

Sensing a juicy scoop for my blog I asked him to elaborate. I then tightened my grip with my left hand, shifted my weight a little, took my right hand off the wall and pulled a pen from my pocket, which I put into my mouth. I then took my 28 Districts note pad out of the same pocket, held it against the wall, and using my mouth started to write. This is what he told me...

“This building was part of the Peak Freans Biscuit Factory, which was in business from 1857 to 1989. At it's peak it employed four thousand land lubbers; most of whom would have been natives of Bermondsey. Generations of families worked here side by side. Back then the sweet scent of biscuits used to hang in the Bermondsey air, as tantalising as a pretty mermaids fishy perfume. In fact Bermondsey became so synonymous with the old Biscuit Factory, that it came to be known as Biscuit Town."

"That's amazing," I mumbled, trying not to drop the pen between my teeth.

"Aye, 'tis, and it wasn't just Bourbons. The Chocolate Biscuit, the Twiglet, the Garibaldi; all were invented here.'Twas more successful than a whale hunter with a semi-automatic harpoon. Here let me turn that page for ye."

"Thanks, how did a biscuit factory in Bermondsey come to be so successful?"

"’Twas a mixture of genius biscuit making and good fortune. Their big break came in 1870 during the Franco Prussian war, when Napoleon III – the Emperor of France - placed a massive order of 470 tonnes of biscuits at Peek Freans for all his fighting men. ‘Twas his opinion that the gift of biscuits would make them love their Emperor all the more, and therefore fight braver, and be victorious!"

"Did it work?"

"They liked the biscuits aye, but they were defeated in just under a year. With hindsight, he probably should have spent the money on guns instead."

“An honest mistake. So what happened to the biscuit factory?”

“'Twas bought by a big American company and moved over seas.”

“That’s really sad.”

“'Tis sadder then a manically depressed monkfish. But that’s why it’s so important to bake your own biscuits laddie; to keep the tradition alive. All SE Londoners should know how to bake a Bourbon biscuit backwards.”

“You’re so wise Ahab. Tell me, what should I do now?”

“Follow your heart laddie, keep the faith, and you’ll find the truth behind the Cutty Sark fire.”

“Thanks, but I meant what should I do about getting down from this wall?”

“Oh, you just need to let go.”

“Of my inhibitions? You think the only thing stopping me from getting to the top is fear itself?”

“No, I mean just let go of the wall. You’re only 3 feet off of the floor.”

I looked down, and he was right. Before leaving I thanked him, and we agreed to message each other on Facebook or Twitter. I’d had a great day at the old biscuit factory and will definitely be coming back. As for the Cutty Sark investigation, something will probably turn up. But the most important thing I’d learned from my journey today is that Bermondsey is Biscuit Town, and if we want it to stay that way, then it’s up to us SE Londoners to get baking. I’ve attached a great recipe for Bourbon biscuits so you can all have a go, and once you’re done I’d love to see a photo of them. You can send them to me on 

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/28-Districts-807229395965743/?fref=ts, 

Twitter @28districts, 

or upload them to this blog. So get baking!

How to find the Old Biscuit Factory

Ingredients

Biscuit

50g softened butter

50g caster sugar

1 tbsp golden syrup

110g plain flour, plus extra for dusting

½ tsp bicarbonate of soda

15g cocoa powder

Filling

50g softened butter

100g icing sugar, sifted

2 tsp cocoa powder

Few drops of hot water

Method

Preheat the oven to 190°C and line 2 baking trays with baking paper.

Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl until it is pale and fluffy, then beat in the golden syrup. Sift in the flour, bicarbonate of soda and cocoa, and mix until you have a stiff dough.

Knead the dough well, then roll the dough out on a floured surface to  a depth of 4mm. Cut the dough into long strips about 2.5 cm wide, then cut these strips into 5 cm lengths. Transfer them to your lined baking trays and prod them several times with a fork. Bake for about 15 minutes until darkened slightly and smelling all chocolatey. Be careful not to scorch the edges.

Transfer the biscuits to a wire rack to cool while you make the filling. Cream the butter, icing sugar and cocoa together in a large bowl, adding a few drops of hot water if you need to, until you have a good, spreadable consistency.

When the biscuits are cold, sandwich two biscuits together and leave for at least an hour before eating so that the filling can firm up.

SE7 - Horn Park Fair

Hello People,

Earlier this week I was at the weddings of four great friends, John and Karen, and Reyn and Filize. Both weddings were uniquely brilliant. Both only slightly spoiled by my attempts at the Macarena, and cat like screaming of 'Don't stop believing' on the dance floor. Because of this I've returned to the place I was married in the summer of 2012, Charlton House SE7.

Built in 1607-12 It's a beautiful red brick Jacobean building with a walled garden and lots of flowers and plants which include a mulberry tree; thought to be one of the oldest in the country.

Charlton House.

Charlton House.

The inside of Charlton a House is no less impressive with its ornate fire places, hand crafted timber staircase, stained windows and ornate stonework depicting coats of arms and royal mottos. In the great hall there's a very impressive dance floor, which in 2012 I drunkenly slid across moments before my new wife launched herself at me, as Bill Medley’s classic 'I've had the time of my life' pumped out the DJ's loud speakers.

The Great Hall at Charlton House.

Charlton House is situated in Horn Park which - legend has it - got its name in scandalous circumstances. The story dates back to 12^th century when, on the 18^th of October, after riding through the woods, the young King John stumbled upon an old mill. Having lost his way, he rode up to the mill to ask for directions. Once there he found the miller to be out, but his rather attractive wife – who the miller had left home alone with nothing more than a few bags of flour to keep her company – was more than happy to offer the handsome young king any assistance he required.

One thing led to another, and before you can say 'rising agent' they were clinging to each other like wet dough to the side of a bowl. Trouble was neither of them realised that the miller had finished his milling early, and when he walked through the door he literally caught them with their pants down.

It is of course, impossible for us to really know what happened that day. But it probably went something like this...

Miller "Oi! What's your game?!"

Millers Wife "It's not what you think Bill, he was lost in the woods!"

Miller "Lost in the woods?! He'll lose more than his way in a minute!"

King, covering his decency with a near-by chocolate eclair

King John "Now, now my good man. I assure you this is all a misunderstanding."

Miller produces a knife from his belt

Miller "I'll give you a misunderstanding mate."
King John "Oh my."

Millers Wife "I'm sorry Bill. He told me he was a king. He promised to take me up the West End so I could see his Crown Jewels!"

King John  "Oh dear!"

Miller "Did he now? I'll pulverise his cream crackers with my rolling pin!"

King John "Crumbs!"

Miller "I'll chop off his plumbs and put em in a pie!"

King John "Oh my Royal lineage! I beg you my man! Think of your country, I'm yet to produce an heir!"

Miller "You should have thought of that before you produced your family tree before my missus!"

This went on for a while. Luckily King John was able to prove to the Miller that he really was a King, by showing him his face on a 50p coin. He then begged the Miller to let him keep his Royal Sceptre, and offered him a big chunk of his land in Charlton if he forgave his wife and let him go.

To sweeten the deal King John told the Miller that he could hold an annual fair every year on the 18^th of October on his new land; which would be a real money spinner for him. The Miller still wasn’t happy but he liked the idea of being rich, so he accepted the deal. It’s thought the Millers land came to be known as Horn Park because horns are the symbol of the cuckolded husband.

A painting of King John signing the Deeds of Horn Park
over to the Miller - on display at Charlton House.

Well people the 18^th of October is just days away, and what better way to celebrate this sordid affair then to head down to Charlton House for the Horn Fair Revival! There will be talks on the history of Charlton House, a children’s architectural treasure hunt, food, drink, music, activities and workshops which may or may not involve getting frisky with a miller's wife.

The fun starts at 10am this Sunday 18th October, and carry's on till 4pm. See you there people!

That's how its done Swayze!

SE8 - Deptford Dockyard

Hello People,

A few weeks ago a woman I didn't know, but had once received a letter from, violently assaulted me using a judo throw, or some similar martial arts technique. The reason? I'd confronted her about the 2007 fire attack on the Cutty Sark, which I believe that she, or someone she’s protecting, may have been behind.

These last few weeks I’ve been trying to find out what she knows about the Cutty Sark fire. To find out more about the mysterious man I'd met in Lesnes Abbey, and why he warned me that I was in.

“Grave danger.”

Trouble is, if every time I confront her she body slams me, it's going to play havoc with my back, and send my insurance premium through the roof.

So I asked Rose for some advice, and she said:

"What actual proof do you have that the Cutty Sark fire was started deliberately? It's a pretty serious allegation to make, and it sounds to me like a conspiracy theory you invented one afternoon when you were board. You don't have any evidence, you've just met some really bizarre people who agree with you, and now it seems that some of these people are violent, and unstable. Also, I think you should stop telling the police about your investigation, or they'll probably arrest you for wasting their time. It’s up to you; do whatever you think’s best."

So I asked my mum, who said:

"Who is this woman who threw you? Tell her if she hurts you again I'm going to punch her in the face. I think you should stop writing this blog immediately, it's far too dangerous. You can do Pilates on a Saturday with me instead."

So I asked Dad who said:

"Hire a Segway, and disguise yourself as a Post Box. That way you can follow her without her noticing. Then we'll get to find out what she's really up too."

I sat waiting for her by the river in my post box costume this morning, and at about 8 o'clock bold as brass, there she was. I let her cycle past me a little distance before starting the Segway up, raising my post box costume slightly off the floor, and riding after her. I followed her all the way along the river, being careful to grind to a quick halt whenever she looked over her shoulder. I followed her all the way to Wavelengths Leisure Centre in Deptford without her noticing.

Once there, she chained up her bike up and went inside. I waited on the opposite side of the road for a while, but got fed up with people throwing letters at me. So I decided to go exploring around Deptford to kill some time.

Deptford Market

Deptford Market

So I started the motor up again, and headed up Griffin Street towards Deptford Market. Once there, I spotted a blanket I liked the look of on one of the market stalls (it was red with yellow and green stripes), I asked the market trader how much it would cost me.

"Who said that?" He said his eyes scanning left to right and a look of confusion across his face.

"I did." I responded from inside my letter box.

He peered through the letter slot.

"How did you get in there?"

I couldn't be bothered to explain.

"I'm the Post Box Security Guard; I stop people from stealing Royal Mail letters."

"Do people steal letters out of post boxes?" He asked.

"Not while I'm around" I replied.

He sold me the blanket, and asked if I'd deliver a Birthday Card to his brother in Maidstone for him. I promised I would, and headed off on my way.

Deptford Market

Few people in Deptford paid any notice to me motoring around in my post box costume, and why should they? There's nothing new about the unusual around here.

The local Pizzeria – Big Red – used to be a number 30 double-decker bus.The pizzas were nice, but it’s really annoying that they didn’t let you pay with your Oyster card.

The local Job Centre has now been converted into a Job Centre-themed bar. You still can’t find any good jobs, but you end up too drunk to care.

The local police station has been converted into an Art Studio, which has led to the local police becoming much tougher on local crime, describing it as laboured, unoriginal, and totally uninspiring.

I raced around for a bit, took a few corners, did some cool jumps over a couple of sleeping policemen (they were furious), and ended up back near the river, at the old Deptford Dockyard. It was there that I switched off the Segway and took a few pictures.

St Pauls Church

Peter the Greats Statue - Looking out over Depptford Dockyard

There are many interesting stories about the Deptford Dockyard, but the most interesting has to be 'The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African.'

It's an autobiography written by a man called Olaudah. It's an incredibly sad story, but one worth hearing. He begins by telling us he was born in 1745, in an area now known as Southern Nigeria, and that he and his sister were both kidknaped and sold to slave traders when he was just 11 years old. He was separated from his sister, and shipped across the Atlantic to Barbados, and then Virginia. His description of the conditions of the journey, are hard to read.

"So crowded that each could scarcely had room to turn himself…"

"The shrieks of the women, and the groans from the dying, rendered the whole scene of horror almost inconceivable."

Once in Virginia he was sold to a Royal Navy officer called Pascal for £40, who renamed him Gustavus Vassa, after a 16th century Swedish King. Pascal then took the young boy to England, where he served on the British ships during the seven year war with France as Pascal’s slave. During that time Olaudah learned to speak English, read, write, and somehow, to survive.

The war ended and Pascal and Olaudah’s ship was ordered to Deptford Dockyard to be decommissioned. Pascal had promised Olaudah his freedom once the war was over, and as the ship sailed down the Thames, he allowed himself to hope. But Pascal had lied, once in Deptford, Olaudah was seized and carried by boat to Gravesend, where he was sold into slavery again.

“My heart was ready to burst with sorrow and anguish.”

Deptford

Yet still he did not give up. He spent the next 4 years working for a shipping merchant, during which time he raised money by trading anything from fruits to glass tumblers. He eventually earned the £40 he needed to buy his freedom.

Once free he returned to Britain to support the abolition of slavery movement and after some encouragement, and financial backing from his new abolitionist friends, wrote and published his life story. His memoirs – 'The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa, the African' – were hugely popular all over the world; they made him a rich man, and helped promote the anti-slavery movement in Great Britain.

He settled in Britain, marring an English woman called Susan Cullen in 1792, and they had two daughters, Anna Maria, and Joanna.

Olaudah's journey to the UK was cruel one, but he took all his awful experiences, and turned them into a book, and that book helped make our world a better place. He wasn’t born here, and he was brought here against his will, but if he isn’t a Great Britton, then I’d like to know who is.

Olaudah Equiano

I headed back to Wavelengths, but by the time I got there, her bike had gone. The mysterious cyclists had gotten away again. Oh well, there’s always next time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to deliver a letter to Market Trader's brother in Maidstone.

References

http://spartacus-educational.com/Sequiano.htm

http://archive.museumoflondon.org.uk/LSS/Map/Resistance/People/41.htm

http://archive.museumoflondon.org.uk/LSS/Map/Resistance/People/40.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olaudah_Equiano

http://www.nlj.gov.jm/rai/CSEC/BookTheme2/The_Interesting_Narrative_of_the_Life_of.pdf

SE6 - Peoples Day

Hello People,

In his most famous novel, the writer George Orwell predicted that by 1984 mankind would be enslaved in a world of perpetual war. Ordinary people would be forced to live their lives under constant government surveillance, and we would be ruled by shadowy elite, who manipulate the information we receive, to create a society filled with fear and mistrust.

What George Orwell didn’t know was that 1984 was also the year of the first ever Lewisham People’s Day:

‘Lewisham’s biggest festival, that brings together hundreds of performers, businesses, and community groups for one amazing day’ – Lewisham Council

See, it wasn’t all bad, was it George?

Every year, without fail, Rosie would volunteer to help out at People’s Day. She did this till her job at the British Museum – where she has to make sure the mummies don’t escape from their crypts, and run amuck in central London – became so busy, she had to stop.

I would always ask her, “Why are you giving up your weekend for a festival that hardly anyone has heard of, for a bunch of people you don’t even know?”

At which she would hold up her hand, and list off these five points,

“1. The sun always shines on People’s Day, proving that God loves the Borough of Lewisham. Unlike Glastonbury, for example, which he is at best indifferent about.

2. It’s a People’s Day. So if you’re a person, then it’s a day held in your honour. Not going would be like not turning up to your own wedding reception.

3. There might be a tombola.

4. You get a really cool volunteer’s T-shirt.

5. It’s free!”

Rose was certainly right about the last point at least. Peoples Day is the longest running free festival in South East London, 31 years in total, that’s even longer than the New Eltham Donkey Derby!

Lewisham council has always been the Greece of the London boroughs. Give them a few quid to fix a few pot holes in the road, and they'll spend it on a massive fire-works display. Say 'Here's some dough to replace those cracked paving slabs, and they'll blow it all on a 12 ft. long fibreglass cat. In this age of austerity, it's probably not considered cool to spend a decent chunk of your budget on a party. But I say good luck to them, what's life without a little fun?

As the years went by, I too began to love Peoples a Day, but not because of the tombola, or the t-shirts, or even God’s preference for inner London councils. I love People’s Day because of the people like Rose, who are willing to give up their free time to help out their community.

People's Day is this Saturday 11th of July in Mountsfield Park, Catford. There will be music, food, drink, a big wheel, a children’s fun fair, and much more. So if you're a person, and proud of it, then I recommend you come along to the party!

http://www.lewisham.gov.uk/inmyarea/events/whats-on/peoples-day/Pages/Peoples-Day-whats-on.aspx

See you there people.

SE12 - The Edmund Halley, Lee Green

Continued from the previous post at SE18 Shooters Hill....

Shooters Hill

“Its you” she said.

She spoke so softly I could barely hear her. She was wore dark red lipstick, and a blue mascara. Her blond hair fell across her shoulders, which I thought strange as it must have bothered her as she cycled. I reasoned that she may have been going out somewhere. Maybe she was going to meet the same person I was looking for, the mysterious man I'd met at Lesnes Abbey. I took a moment to compose myself. I wanted answers to so many things.

Was the 2007 fire on the Cutty Sark really an accident?

Who was the mysterious man I'd met at Lesnes Abbey?

Why didn't he meet me in East Street like he'd said he would?

Had he written the letter she'd given me, warning me off my investigations? If not, who had?

And how do I enable the 'add comments' section on my blog, so I can find out if anyone is actually reading this stuff?

The lady on the bike was my only hope of finally solving this mystery. But how to get her to talk?

She slowly stepped off of her bike and carefully laid it on the ground.

"What do you want?" She said.

Now stood upright, and only a little shorter then I, she seemed extremely calm about me confronting her. But despite her poker face, something in my gut was telling me that she was just as frightened as I was, and that, like me, she too was nothing more than a lost fly trapped in another's sinister web. Somehow I needed to find some way of winning her trust and getting her to talk to me. And to do that was going to take all my charm, skill, and cunning. I held out my hand for her to shake, and offered up my most reassuring smile.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm..."

But I never got the chance to finish, because on seeing my extended arm, she grabbed my wrist with one hand, gripped just above my elbow with the other, and threw me across her shoulder, and high into the air. After travelling a surprisingly long distance, I eventually came down and hit the pavement. My back took most of the force, but I must have hit my head too because I lost consciousness for a moment or two. When I came round she was standing over me. Her blond hair was wild beneath her cycle helmet. Her red lips curled up in a snarl, and her green eyes filled with rage. She looked absolutely terrifying. She lent down, pointed her finger at me and said just two words.

"Back off"

After she'd cycled away, I lay on the pavement outside the Bull for a while and reflected on how things hadn't gone quite as well as I'd hoped.  I then took a moment to consider what my next move should be. After half an hour, or so, I decided that the best thing to do, was go and get a drink. I dragged myself to my feet, and hobbled down Shooters Hill, to find a bus into Lee Green. In next to no time I was on Burnt Ash Hill SE18, and walking through the doors of the local Weatherspoons.

The Edmund Halley in Lee

It had been years since I'd last drank here, and I wasn't sure what to order. I did a quick scan of the bar, and saw that the two most popular drinks were pints of larger, and jugs of Woo Woo. So I ordered a couple of those. My back was killing me from the body slam I'd taken, so I downed my jug of Woo Woo to help ease the pain, and slowly hobbled outside to find somewhere to sit down, enjoy the sunshine, and the view of Sainsbury's car park.

I came to this pub for a very special reason, and it's not the Woo Woo, or the view, or even the reasonably priced Porn Star Martinis. I came here because this pub is named after one of the greatest scientists whoever lived; Edmund Halley.

Edmund Halley

Little is known of Edmund Halley’s privet life. It’s thought he was born in 1656, at a time when England had no monarch, and Oliver Cromwell was Lord Protector. He had a wife and two children, his father was a successful soap maker, but lost everything in the great fire of London in 1666.

Despite losing all his money, Edmund's dad still insisted on having him privately educated. Probably in hope that he would grow up really cleaver, and invent a fire proof soap.Sadly for his dad, young Edmund was not destined to invent scented hand washes, and advanced formula hair products; his future lay in the study of the galaxy!

Aged 17 he joined Oxford University, where he impressed everyone with his book smarts, and caught the eye of the legendary Royal Astronomer, John Flamsteed. Flamsteed took Edmund under his wing, and allowed him to help with his work, which at that time was mapping all the stars in the Northern Hemisphere. Edmund liked the work so much, that he decided to jack in his studies, and sail off to the South Atlantic island of St Helena, so he could do the same in the Southern Hemisphere, and in doing so invented what later became known as 'a gap year.'

During his time in St Helena, Halley mapped the longitudes and latitudes of 341 stars, downed 1204 shots, crashed 3 mopeds, had a picture taken of him which looked like he was holding up a mountain, and slept with dozens of women (although no actual evidence can be found for the last boast).

When Halley returned to England he was a famous man, and Oxford Uni said he could have his degree anyway, just because they all thought he was so great, but this big love-in for Halley seemed to put Flamsteed’s nose out of joint. When asked by a journalist for Astronomers Weekly to comment on Halley’s work,  he would only say that he found Halley’s Southern Hemisphere stars to be, “A little flashy for his tastes, but okay if you like that sort of thing.”

A little dissapointed, Halley responded in the next week’s addition of A.W.  by saying that, “Stars are supposed to be flashy,” and that he found Flamsteed’s Northern Stars, “A little dull.”

The next week Flamsteed gave another interview to A.W. explaining that, “His stars weren’t dull” it was just that, “His stars had to work harder than Halley’s stupid southern stars to shine, as the northern sky is a little less dark than the southern sky, due to it being closer to the sun.”

The week after that Halley told A.W. that Flamsteed was, “Talking out of his arse,” and that not only did his southern stars work just as hard as Flamsteed’s, but that Halley’s stars had to brighten the night sky, while also being, “Upside down.”

The argument caused a feud between the two men, that would last the rest of their lives. Even after Flamsteed died, and Halley took over from him as Astronomer Royal at the Greenwich Observatory, Flamsteed’s wife had all of his instruments removed and sold, so that Halley wouldn’t be able to use them.

Pissing off the world’s most powerful astronomer would have put most people off a career in star gazing, but not Halley. He travelled the world mapping the stars, and trying to unlock the secretes of the universe. He sailed the seas to study the mysteries of the magnetic poles, and built diving bells to explore the bottom of the River Thames, to prove his theories of atmospheric pressure. His work changed the way we see the world.

In 1705 Halley put on a magic show at the Royal Observatory. It got off to a poor start when he failed to correctly guess which card the Lord Mayor – who was sitting in the front row –  had pulled from his deck of cards. But he quickly recovered by pulling a bunch of flowers out of his shirt sleeve, and presenting them to the Mayor’s lovely wife. Halley then pulled a rabbit out of his hat, sawed one of his assistants in half, and made a small red ball disappear in his hand, only to make it to reappear again behind the Mayor’s wife’s ear. He finished his show by predicting the return of a comet, saying…

 "In the year 1456 … a Comet was seen passing Retrograde between the Earth and the sun… Hence I dare venture to foretell, that it will return again in the year 1758.”

It had not been the big show stopper he’d hoped for, but never the less, everyone agreed it had still been a lovely evening.

53 years later when the comet returned as Halley had predicted, the people were amazed, and greater still, when the Mayor of London observed the passing comet through the giant telescope at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, he could quite clearly see his playing card, the 3 of Clubs, on the comets surface. The comet has been known as Halley’s Comet, ever since.

St Margaret's Church

St Margaret's Church Entrance

When Halley died, he was buried in St Margaret’s Church in Lee. It was my intention to end this blog by visiting his grave but, sadly, I’m far too drunk on larger and Woo Woo to stand up.

Halley was a great man, not because he was a genius, but because he had the courage to follow his dreams, and because there was no problem he was afraid to tackle, however complicated or mysterious. If I’m to get to the bottom of my own mystery, then I must be as courageous as he was. I will start by having another jug of Woo Woo, and then tomorrow; my work begins!

Till next time people, keep on exploring.