Who didn’t love Bet Lynch, the busty blonde barmaid, whose presence in the Rovers Return pub who first made an appearance in the much-loved (and much-mocked) British soap opera ‘Coronation Street. Graduating from barmaid to landlady, she was a real character, dressed in her trademark leopard print and sporting a beehive hairstyle.Walking around the pub with a cigarette perpetually hanging from her mouth, she was probably one of tv’s most well-known stars in that period.,,
Ooooh, these look good too. They’re a selection of biscuits in a beautiful keepsake tin which I’m informed plays ‘God Save the King’ as it spins! What’s inside. Well apparently, sweet treats that invoke the memories of the Commonwealth (of which the late Queen Elizabeth II was particularly fond). These include Canadian cranberry, Fijian ginger, South African macadamia nut and British clotted cream delights…
Piccadilly is awash with red, white and blue union jack flags, fluttering gaily in the breeze. The lovely Burlington Arcade (which runs parallel to Bond Street and is a marvelous example of Regency architecture) has rolled out the red carpet (well, it’s actually more red/pink) and hung flags with ‘CR’ (‘Charles Regina’) all along its enclosure, and with the light streaming in from the glass windows above, it looks heavenly.
After the public outpouring of grief, the ten days of national mourning and the knowledge that a glorious and golden Elizabethan era was over, plans were put in motion for a Coronation. It’s now twenty four hours before the ‘Big Day’ and I decide to head into central London, to try and capture some of the atmosphere with my camera. I decide to wander around aimlessly, and begin in Covent Garden…
by the evening, to my astonishment, Radio 4 is reporting that the queue to pay one’s respects is already 5 hours long, and stretching across Lambeth Bridge, back to the National Film Theatre on the South Bank, where wristbands to join it are being handed out. By 8am the following morning it has grown enormously and is now stretching back to Tower Bridge…
It’s hard to put into words how many flowers, drawings, cards, flags and letters I saw in London’s Green Park on the Monday following Queen Elizabeth’s death. Of course, sometimes a picture really does speak a thousand words. Here are some of the hundreds of tributes upon which I gazed, that sunny September afternoon…
As I walk into the grounds of Green Park, I am caught entirely off guard. I knew there would be floral tributes. But this? The park is awash, and I really do mean awash, with flowers.It is a veritable sea of gorgeous tributes…I walk from mound to mound, reading many of the childrens’ cards and staring at their drawings. I am incredibly touched at the words they have written.
In front of the gates, people are stopping, both to place flowers and also read some of the tributes that are there - cards and drawings - which will regularly be removed and taken next door to Green Park. There’s a copy of a newspaper stuck within the railings, a picture of the Queen on the front and a huge caption stating ‘Godspeed, Ma’am’. It seems very poignant and fitting.
There’s a sober mood on the streets of London. People are noticeably more quiet, more ‘withdrawn’ as I walk the streets of Whitechapel and Spitafields. Digital adverts at the London bus stops have been replaced with Elizabeth II’s image. There are notices in shop windows, edged in black, offering commiserations. Last night, at Piccadilly Circus, the famous electronic board that usually advertises big brands was illuminated with her image.
But this feels very different. This feels ‘personal’ and - in the days that follow - I will learn that millions of people around the country (and the world) feel as I do - that we really did like the Queen, admire the Queen, and have great respect for the Queen. The fact is that the most famous woman in the world (a brand bigger than Nike or Coca Cola), instantly recognisable with her smile and trademark handbag, diplomatic, discerning and also dazzling, is gone…
It had been a great trip back to the country of my birth but, six weeks later, I was ready to fly home to Tel Aviv. On my penultimate evening, longing for some British pub grub I met up with two old friends in a local tavern, where we ordered fish and chips and pints of beer and enjoyed what was a perfect summer English evening. Hugging them goodbye, I said I hoped it wouldn’t be as long before my next visit. What little did I know was in store for me.
The canal continues onto Kings Cross, Camden Town, past the London Zoo and Lisson Wide before culminating at Maida Vale (where that stretch of the canal is fondly referred to as ‘Little Venice."‘ For hundreds of years, workers moved people and goods along this waterway, not without risk either (severe storms could be perilous) and being able to work the boats in all weathers and tides was a job that required skill and knowledge. Many of them lived on these boats…
Bunhill fields burial ground was first used in 1665 and remained open until 1854; in this time period historians estimate that 123,000 people (approximately) were buried here. By the time it was closed, it was actually considered to be a health hazard! The name ‘Bunhill’ is derived from Bone Hill Fields - archaeologists have discovered that the area was used to bury the dead as far back as Saxon times…
There are several things that make this place so appealing, in my eyes. Firstly, the sheer variety of flowers (as I said above). It’s a floral feast for the eyes - tulips, sunflowers, geraniums, gerberas and orchids at one stall, exotic purple, pink and white orchids at another, kitchen herbs and then one with endless houseplants…
What have I missed the most? London buses, the familiar red double deckers that I adored as a child, climbing up stairs in the hope of finding a seat at the very front, so I could observe everything from on high. The Docklands Light Railway, which thrilled my nephew as a child, as it was driverless. The markets - Portobello for antiques, Columbia Road for flowers, Brick Lane for vintage and Camden for pure nostalgia…
I am stopping to notice things I never did before - ornate facades, beautiful stonework, the glamour of the…street and - as I’ve said before - its magnificent, sweeping curve, of which I could never tire. There are few others here and they, like me, are amazed. Some are walking in the very centre of the street (normally, this would be akin to taking your life in your hands), in search of unusual photographic opportunities…
Last week, I forced myself to watch the video of George Floyd’s last minutes staring, in horror, at the screen as he gasped for breath, pleading for his life, whilst a police officer knelt on his neck (and three other officers stood by, compliantly). Enormous tears rolled down my cheeks. Tears of fury and tears of shame. Because what I witnessed was a modern-day lynching - a white man depriving a black man of his life, in public. It’s that simple…
And then I catch sight of - a pick axe. Yes, you read me right. A huge pick-axe, slap bang in the middle of the pavement. Steve and I both stop dead in our tracks. We stare in astonishment. This is a peaceful-tree-lined suburb where the cheapest houses go for over a million quid. This is really not what you expect in such a genteel neighbourhood!
Soho is now silent. Its streets are practically deserted. Cafes, restaurants and bars are shuttered and, in many cases, boarded up. Much like Oxford Street, Carnaby Street and Regent Street, it has an abandoned air to it. - the odd cyclist, the woman walking her dog, the guy with the camera, taking the obligatory ‘lockdown’ photos…I can count them on one hand as I walk the streets…
