Thursday, 24 April 2014
Spitalfields.
So
it's the winter of 1968-69 a particularly cold one err.
Term has finished and I'm working for a. Firm.
Doing
a traffic survey around Spitalfields Market fruit and veg market. My
grant's blown and I'm near broke. And
the job is the only way I can muster some cash for the festive season
including. The
price of getting to Tyneside on Christmas
eve. The work involves standing at set locations and
recording traffic movements. Four wheeled vehicles. Six wheeled
vehicles. Multi-axle vehicles. Around the market. There are about
thirty of us doing it in two shifts seven 'til three. Then three
'till eleven you get. An hour break and head for the Wimpey bar for
a burger and coffee. Spun out for an hour to try to get warm again.
Spitalfields is interesting territory. Transit camp for immigrants
to London. Huguenot silk weavers. East European Jewish tailors.
Bangladeshi rag-trade sweat shops. East of the market was 'Ripper
Territory' ah. In 1968 it was not greatly different in its. Dark and
dingy streets from what it probably was eighty years before. Christ
Church a Hawksmoor. Near derelict. Since restored to a very high
standard. Stood on the north-west corner on Commercial Street. Ah. A
busy pitch that one you got millions of passing vehicles to record.
The population comprised meths. And anything else. Drinking dossers
who lived on rough ground just outside the market huddled 'round
bonfires. The. Local. Corps of. Ladies of the night. Hundreds of down
and outs. Queued each night at the Salvation Army hostel in Middlesex
Street. Try to get a bed for the night and a bowl of soup. One day
the drinkers lost one of their own who fell into the bonfire. Dead
drunk and. Decidedly dead thereafter. It shook the survey team but
not the drunks. So. There I am. Late one night. Sat on an orange
crate outside a pub in Bishopsgate. Conscientiously entering ticks in
columns for cars taxis. Light goods vehicles, heavy wagons etc.
Freezing cold. Two-hours past the Wimpey break. And one of the local
ladies of the night comes out of the pub with a glass of whisky and
hands it to me. If I'd been wearing a hat
I would have taken it off to her. Made
enough to finance. Retention.
Of
room in digs over the Christmas
holiday period and a few quid for the holiday period. Decided to
hitch home. Got
tube to Barnet early on Christmas
eve, Then
bus to A1 junction. Then
scored. Super-lift
from blonde
lady to A68 junction west of Darlington. Arriving
there as just getting dark. Further
lift prospects poor, so. Got
bus into Darlington. Bus
to Newcastle and bus home. To
south-east Northumberland.
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