Angel Alley
Contributed by Survey of London on Sept. 12, 2019
Angel Alley, named after the Angel Inn at 85 Whitechapel High Street and
reached via a simple doorway through No. 84, exists now only as an access
passage to the Freedom Press and its bookshop (No. 84B). Its east side is
formed by the Whitechapel Gallery’s extension of 1984–5, and the alley has
terminated since 1899 beyond the Press in a slight dogleg that once led to a
straight narrow path north to Wentworth Street.
In the seventeenth century the southern half of the alley’s east side formed
part of John Enion and Samuel Cranmer’s large holding that ran through to what
became Osborn Street. This included a large house, probably that occupied on
and off by Richard Loton and his son and grandson, Edward and Samuel, from the
1650s to the 1690s, and in the 1670s by John Wells, the brewer and business
partner of Abraham Anselme, tenants of Loton’s Swan brewery in the 1660s and
1670s.
Angel Alley’s late seventeenth-century occupancy was varied. Residents in the
1670s included Samuel Pepys’s lover Deb Willet and her husband Jeremiah
Wells. In the 1680s and ’90s the mathematician Euclid Speidell lived here,
his first name indicating that his father, who published on logarithms, as did
Euclid, was also a mathematician. While he taught ‘next door to the cock in
Bow Street’, in Angel Alley he published and sold his books.
Until the early eighteenth-century advent of sugar refining, many Angel Alley
residents were involved in the cloth trades. By the 1670s there were short
rows of small houses on the east side by the High Street, and further north on
both sides, probably mainly occupied by lowly clothworkers. Some were not so
lowly. Peter Stone, a silk thrower who died in 1686, lived in a nine-hearth
house here in the 1660s and ’70s, probably the largest house on the west
side. Further south on the west side, by 1693 until his death in 1729,
was John Cordwell, a citizen framework-knitter. He was implicated in another
feature of Angel Alley, the practice of independent-minded religion. In 1719
Cordwell raised a subscription for a publication by Richard Welton, the high-
church Tory Jacobite former Whitechapel rector who had been deprived of his
living in 1715 for refusing to swear allegiance to George I. Government agents
raided Welton’s chapel in Goodman’s Fields in 1717 and he and forty others
were arrested. It was at Cordwell’s Angel Alley house that Welton was again
apprehended in 1724; he soon departed for Philadelphia.
Most nonconformity in Angel Alley and wider Whitechapel was of a quite
different stripe. In 1672, under the Royal Proclamation of Indulgence allowing
the licensing of Nonconformist worship, Richard Loton’s houses in Spitalfields
and Angel Alley were licensed for worship led by John Langston and William
Hooke, Congregationalist ministers; the Angel Alley licence was never taken
up. Loton was a clothworker turned brewer who had been an energetic
Parliamentarian and Independent in the 1640s.
Around 1714 a congregation of Particular Baptists, who had previously met in
Tallow Chandler’s Hall in the City and in Alie Street, built a small meeting
house on the west side of Angel Alley under the pastor John Nichols who was
succeeded from 1715 to 1729 by Edward Ridgeway. Tax on this meeting house was
paid in 1743–5 by Samuel Stockell, ‘Sam the potter’, who was a ‘High
Calvinist’ from the Petticoat Lane area, and minister of the Independent
meeting in Redcross Street, Southwark, from 1728 till his death in 1750. The
site in Angel Alley was still referred to as ‘ground belonging to the Meeting’
in 1766.
The decline of the meeting house coincided with the rise in Angel Alley of
sugar refining. Samuel Lane, a sugar refiner and distiller, had premises on
the east side by 1719, on part of what had been Cranmer and Loton’s holding,
that included a timber-framed house, possibly Loton’s. After Lane’s death in
1741 the sugar house was enlarged and improved by his son Joseph who died in
1753. By 1732 Cordwell’s house on the west side had been taken over by John
Bromwell, another refiner who also had a sugar house in Leman Street. Bromwell
rebuilt the Angel Alley sugar house on a modest scale and after his departure
in 1741 it passed to John Arney. Burnt down in 1749, a common occurrence in
the industry, it was rebuilt by John Titien, in partnership until his death in
1757 with John Christian Suhring, who by the time of his death in 1777 had
extended the sugar house to occupy the whole site between Angel Alley and
George Yard.
A measure of increasing affluence in Angel Alley once sugar refiners
established themselves is the description in 1765 of the household goods of
the refiner Nicholas Beckman who had taken over Lane’s premises on the east
side, with a ‘great Variety of rich Household Furniture … a very elegant
wrought Epargne … large services … most beautifully painted in Landscapes and
Figure … cut glass lustres with twelve arms to each’. After Beckman left,
his premises were taken over by Frederick Rider, a refiner who went bankrupt
in 1773 also in possession of a substantial estate at Woodford. Rider’s
property, including the sugar house, had at £1,350 one of the highest
insurance values in Whitechapel in 1767. It included a two-storey house, 34ft
by 19ft, four rooms of which were fully panelled, three with marble
mantelpieces. There was also a three-storey timber building for servants’
rooms, possibly Loton’s former house, plus a large coach house and stable. The
roomy brick house and new sugar houses were enlarged again by William Pycroft
and Samuel Payne, Pycroft later operating with William Wilson. By the late
eighteenth century, Angel Alley’s sugar houses tended to form parts of larger
businesses with premises elsewhere. Associated facilities appeared, such as
the sugar cooperage of two brothers, Jonas Gandon (1756–93) and Peter Gandon
(1761–1814), whose father Jonas (1726–?) had a leather business in Hooper
Square in the 1760s. The brothers began in a small way on the alley’s west
side near the corner with Wentworth Street in 1790, and by the time of Peter’s
bankruptcy in 1805, the site included a house on Wentworth Street, a three-
storey workshop and warehouse, 175ft long and 40ft wide, with a long narrow
yard on its east side fronting the west side of Angel Alley. Gandon decamped
to Osborn Place, Brick Lane, to more general coopering, continued there by his
descendants till the 1840s.
Suhring’s west-side sugar house survived as a refinery under a succession of
owners – his nephew John Gask let it in 1777 to Jeremiah Glover, who expanded
the premises, which grew again from 1783 under Richard Samler (d. 1816) and
Thomas Ferrers, Samler being part of a family with extensive sugar houses in
the City and elsewhere in Whitechapel.
Pycroft’s east-side sugar house was sold in 1806 when the premises extended
east to Osborn Street. It was last used as a sugar house about 1826 by Walton,
Fairbank & Co. who also had premises in Lambeth Street. By 1852 it
had been taken over by Ind Coope, whose former Coope sugar refinery on Osborn
Street adjoined its north side. A beer-barrel warehouse, which survives, was
built on the Angel Alley side of the site. Sugar refining was moving further
east and south, where there was room for expansion. Other businesses took over
the buildings in Angel Alley.
John Kelland’s City Saw Mills, first established on Wenlock Basin, City Road,
in the 1820s, and on Wentworth Street by 1834, expanded to take over a long
narrow site that snaked down the west side of Angel Alley, previously that of
the Gandons’ cooperage. By 1843 Kelland had premises that consisted of
buildings several storeys high including mills, machinery rooms, stables and
an engine house at the south-west corner, the source of a devastating fire
that year. The site was cleared in 1882.
Angel Alley suffered decline in the nineteenth century, like most of the
streets and courts north of the High Street. Many houses fell to use as ‘low’
lodging houses, charging 3 d. a night. On his visit to ‘the Back of
Whitechapel’ in 1861, John Hollingshead deplored the impression he gained that
the ‘best paid occupation appears to be prostitution and it is a melancholy
fact that a nest of bad houses in Angel-alley, supported chiefly by the
farmers’ men who bring hay to Whitechapel market twice a week, are the
cleanest-looking dwellings in the district. The windows have tolerably neat
green blinds, the doors have brass plates, and inside the houses there is
comparative comfort, if not plenty.’ The East London Association
‘established for the suppression of vice, etc’ pursued prosecutions of
brothel-keepers and succeeded in closing twelve establishments in Angel Alley
and Wentworth Street by the end of 1862. In an effort at mitigation, a lease
of four houses at the north-east end was acquired in 1875 at the Rev. Samuel
Barnett’s suggestion by Edward Bond and the Earl of Pembroke, for improvement
and letting to respectable tenants. One was occupied in the 1880s by the
Salvation Army ‘slum sisters’, later at 78 Wentworth Street, but the houses
were demolished around 1892 when Gustav Wildermuth’s lodging house was built
in Wentworth Street.
Further south in Angel Alley the George Yard Mission had expanded into a
building on the west side by 1876. In 1886 the Mission erected two new
buildings opposite replacing old houses: Shaftesbury House, used as a library,
office, kitchen and caretaker’s rooms, and a new infants’ school. Opened by
the Duchess of Teck, these were the work of the architect John Hudson, the
infants’ school having some architectural presence, its windows elaborated
with pediments. Its basement was used originally for boys’ industrial classes,
the ground floor as day and infant schools and in the evenings for clubs and
benefit societies, the first floor for what would now be called youth work
with young men and women, including ‘ambulance classes’, as well as Bible
classes. The second floor had three rooms for a crèche and nursery, open in
its early days from 7.30am to 8pm. The flat roof was intended for use as ‘a
prettily arranged encampment for babies’ in the summer’.
Angel Alley was reduced to the rump that it is today in 1899 when the
Whitechapel District Board of Works expanded its George Yard depot across its
northern part. The George Yard Mission buildings were sold off in 1923:
Shaftesbury House became 84C Whitechapel High Street and was in use as a
tailor’s before it was badly damaged during the Second World War and
demolished around 1947. The infants’ school survived until about 1982 when it
was demolished to make way for the extension of the Whitechapel Gallery.
The Freedom Press and Bookshop, 84B Whitechapel High Street
Contributed by Survey of London on Sept. 12, 2019
Despite its address, this curious survival of both evangelical and radical
Whitechapel is located in Angel Alley. It is a four-storey stock-brick
building, exposed on three sides, narrowing towards the north end which is
canted to follow the curve in the alley’s direction. The site was historically
part of the Angel Inn at 85 Whitechapel High Street and was used as a yard
from which Thomas Gardner ran his hay and straw business from 1825 to 1865.
The building was new in 1869 when its lease was offered for sale to ‘Owners of
Small House Property’, described as ‘a newly erected tenement, containing 10
rooms with yard and washhouse, in Angel-alley, at the back of the “Angel” wine
vaults’. After use as a general lodging house, by the end of 1876 it was
occupied by the George Yard Mission, connecting to the ragged school across
the back of 86 Whitechapel High Street. It was adapted as a shelter for the
schoolchildren, and in 1901 housed five boys and girls aged from four to
fourteen, a matron, and two domestic servants. The building had ceased to be a
shelter byabout 1910, and was sold with the Mission’s other Angel Alley
properties in 1923. At least partly residential in the 1920s, 84B Whitechapel
High Street, as it had become, was used through the 1930s by Morris Mindel and
Abraham Sorotkin, bookbinders, singly or in partnership.
No. 84A, opposite, the Mission’s former infants’ school, was then occupied by
Express Printers, a firm specialising in printing in Hebrew and Yiddish that
expanded into No. 84B during the Second World War. On the death of the printer
in 1944, the business was acquired at a bargain price by Vernon Richards
(1915–2001), an anarchist activist who was able to recoup some of his costs by
selling the Hebrew type.
Richards had been born Vero Recchioni, the son of an Italian anarchist who
owned a café in Soho. Since 1936 Richards had been a contributor to the
anarchist newspaper Freedom. This traced its origins to 1886 when Henry
Seymour and Charlotte Wilson, a former Fabian, invited Peter Kropotkin to
England. That October Wilson and Kropotkin began publishing Freedom: A
Journal of Anarchic Socialism (soon changed to Anarchistic Communism) as a
monthly newspaper from William Morris’s Socialist League offices. From 1889
the Freedom Press also published books by a wide range of socialists,
positivists, communists and anarchists, from Morris and Kropotkin to Herbert
Spencer and Emma Goldman. The organisation prospered, in 1897 taking over
Commonweal, Morris’s former journal, and the printing presses of William
Michael Rossetti’s three children, who had founded a short-lived anarchist
journal, The Torch, at 127 Ossulston Street in Somers Town, where the
Freedom group remained until 1927.
Vernon Richards began contributing to Freedom during a period of flux when
the journal and press had no fixed home. This changed in 1944 when he acquired
Express Printers, which began printing Freedom, although editorial work
continued elsewhere until 1945, often in the homes of the group’s editors and
contributors. The Freedom group had been under investigation since the
beginning of the war. Soon after the acquisition of Express Printers, with the
war still on, Richards, his wife and fellow activist, Marie Louise Berneri, Dr
John Hewetson, Freedom’s publisher, and Philip Sansom, another contributor,
were charged and the three men sentenced to nine months in prison for
publishing encouragement to insurrection among the armed forces in War
Commentary, published by the Freedom Press. The formation during the
trial of a Freedom Press Defence Committee which included influential
establishment progressives and free-speech advocates from Herbert Read and
George Orwell to Bertrand Russell, Harold Laski and Vera Brittain, helped
ensure relatively lenient sentences. Printing continued in the ‘decrepit brick
dungeon’ in Angel Alley and more stability came with offices at 27 Red Lion
Street, Holborn, from 1945 to 1960, through which period Colin Ward, the
housing and planning historian, was an editor. Freedom Press had first opened
a bookshop in Red Lion Passage, off Red Lion Street, in 1940, only for it to
be bombed out in 1941.
Anarchism is notoriously factional and the 1960s saw Freedom supplemented by
enterprises such as Black Flag and, from 1983, Class War, suspicious of the
intellectual, bourgeois, libertarian streak represented by Read, now a regular
contributor to Freedom. For more than sixty years Freedom Press’s financial
viability was ensured largely through the efforts of Richards, who had a knack
for extracting funding from ‘anarchists made good’ (and even from ‘anarchist
picnics’ in the United States, often attended by sympathetic Italian
Americans).
The single most propitious act for the group’s survival was Richards’s
acquisition in 1968 of the freeholds of both Nos 84A and 84B; on the death of
the previous owner, the son offered these at an attractive price. Printing and
editorial functions were united in Angel Alley. There was theft and damage to
printing equipment (supposedly by ‘Hell’s Angels’) when the buildings were
squatted by students, unconcerned about security – ‘packed bodies, lit by
lamps and candles, slept on mattresses’. Freedom moved out of No. 84A in
1969 and into No. 84Bhaving strengthened its ground floor to take the printing
presses. No. 84A, the old school, became offices for a shipping agent and by
1975 had been sold to the Whitechapel Gallery, which converted the building
into a lecture hall and bookshop, landscaping the site of Shaftesbury House
(No. 84C), before demolition in 1982 for the gallery extension on the site of
Nos 84A and 84C.
Presses occupied the ground floor at No. 84B until the Aldgate Press, founded
in 1981, took over the printing of Freedom. From around1997 till it moved to
Bow in 2015, this was from a unit in Sherrington Mews in Gunthorpe Street. In
1982 Richards transferred the ownership of No. 84Bto a trust (‘so it could
survive in the event the Collective didn’t’), the Friends of Freedom Press
Ltd. From around then, the ground floor was an almost impenetrable labyrinth
of stocks of books and copies of Freedom. The bookshop was in one of two
first-floor rooms until about 2005, the other was used for typesetting then,
once printing was done off-site as a ‘hacklab’. The second floor was
originally an archive of papers, books and pamphlets, later an editorial
office. The top floor was a store and an office for ‘A’ Distribution, set up
in Islington in 1980. Since the 1980s the newspaper’s readership has
dwindled and in 2014 it ceased to be a monthly paper, moving online as a
newsletter, with occasional paper publication. In its place the bookshop,
occupying the ground floor since soon after 2000, and publishing have
increased in importance and scope. The ‘clapped-out four-storey pile
preserved, in the main, as a corner of east London eccentricity’has also
provided office space for other protest and radical groups, including the
National Union of Mineworkers (during the 1984 miners’ strike), the Anarchist
Federation (founded in 1986), the Advisory Service for Squatters, Corporate
Watch, Haven, the London Coalition Against Poverty and Solidarity Federation,
and as a place for other anarchist groups to meet and give talks. In 1996
black-and-white illustrative panels were installed in the alley’s entryway. A
further rectangular steel panel was added within, on the back part of 85
Whitechapel High Street, near the door to the Freedom Bookshop, with black-
and-white portraits of thirty-six radicals, more or less classifiable as
anarchist, including Peter Kropotkin, Noam Chomsky and Emma Goldman. These are
by the cartoonist Donald Rooum (b. 1926), who has been associated with the
Freedom Press since 1942. The bookshop’s persistence and its location
next to the Whitechapel Gallery, mean it has attracted the attention of
artists and curators beyond anarchist circles. For the Gallery’s Protest and
Survive exhibition in 2000 the artist Thomas Hirschorn built a temporary
enclosed bridge across the Alley from the Gallery to the temporarily removed
first-floor window of the Freedom Bookshop. In 2016 Wayward, a landscape,
art and architecture practice, collaborated with the Freedom Bookshop,
Whitechapel Gallery and Providence Row to create Literalley (a library in an
alley), seating, planters and a digital library in Angel Alley. Wayward
developed workshops with homeless clients and volunteers to build concrete
planters cast from a library of books. Embedded in the project are digital
recordings of interviews, stories and conversations, accessible only in the
alley. The planters are cared for by Providence Row’s residents and
staff.
Freedom’s activities have attracted more oppositional attention, from the
police up to the 1980s, and by political antagonists more recently. The shop
has been firebombed twice, in 1993 by the neo-Nazi group Combat 18, and in
2013 by unknown assailants, burning or water-damaging much stock and part of
the archive. Volunteer assistance saw the shop open again in days. Virtual
support of Freedom’s aims has included the digitisation of its archive of more
than a thousand issues of Freedom dating back to 1886. In 2015 a survey
revealed significant structural problems in the roof, walls and staircase of
No. 84B. Freedom has been fundraising for repair work.
Climbing the stairs
Contributed by michaelshade on May 23, 2017
My relative, Lewis Levin, was living here at the time of his death in 1927.
Lewis (Leibisch) Levin was a brother of my great-grandmother Mikhlya. He was
born in 1861 in Streshin, a little village on the river Dniepr, in what is now
the south-east of Belarus. In the early 1900s he came to London accompanied by
his three children from his first wife, who had died a few years previously,
and his second wife with her own daughter. They found somewhere to live in the
heart of the East End, where tens of thousands of East European Jews had
settled over the previous 20 years or so.
My own grandmother - Lewis' niece - came to London soon after, aged about 18,
and stayed with the Levins, probably helping to look after the children.
Within a couple of years there were two more boys, and they moved from one
accommodation to another, always along Whitechapel High Street and Mile End
Road, presumably to have more room for the expanding family. In every
document, and in various trade directories, Lewis is a 'Paper Bag Maker', even
sometimes a 'Master Paper Bag Maker'; his own children, and my own young
uncles and aunts, were all roped in to work in his paper bag factory, which
was mostly located on the kitchen table.
We knew that he had died in 1927, aged 67, and that he was probably living on
his own by this stage - his second wife had died when the boys were very
young, his older children had all left home for marriage, America, or the
Russian Revolution, and the younger boys didn't see their futures in paper
bags and left home to work elsewhere and to put themselves through night
school.
The figure of Lewis has long fascinated me, and a few months ago I ordered a
copy of his Death Certificate, to see if it could offer up anything new about
him. And so it did - an address: "of 84B Whitechapel High Street". So now we
knew where he had been living at the time of his death.
The next time I was in the area I looked for the building. Next to the
Whitechapel Library I found number 82; a few doors down was number 87. The two
or three buildings in between did not appear to be numbered, but I assumed 84B
would be one of them and duly took a photo as evidence.
My cousin Beatrice, Lewis' great-grand-daughter, is currently in London
visiting from the US. Beatrice's grandfather Sam had been involved in the
Workers' Circle, a friendly society established to further the interests of
working-class East European Jews, from the 1910s onwards, and her mother Alice
was active in the Yiddish theatre movement from the 1930s.
Yesterday afternoon Beatrice and I went on a 'Musical Walk round the Jewish
East End', organised by the Jewish Music Institute, and guided by the
historian David Rosenberg (highly recommended, by the way). The Workers'
Circle and Yiddish theatre both featured in David's programme for the walk.
The group met outside the Library, and then David led us off down a narrow
alleyway between two of the neighbouring buildings - Angel Alley. There on the
right a notice was pinned to a door: 'This is NOT 84B, it's 84A. 84B is
opposite!' You can hear the exasperation in the printed words. You can
probably also hear my involuntary intake of breath, for 84B turns out to be
the premises of Freedom Press, the long-established Anarchist publishers and
booksellers.
David was going to tell us about some of the radical figures and groups that
flourished in the area 100 years ago, but Beatrice and I were just standing
there, minds racing, staring at the building.
After the walk, we grabbed David for a chat over a superb falafel lunch, then
made our way back to see if the Freedom bookshop at 84B was still open. It
was. We explained why we had come, and asked the lady in the shop if she knew
how the building was being used in 1927. She kindly went off to find a book
containing a history of the organisation - and its premises - which told us
that at least before 1942 there had been a printing press occupying the ground
floor.
"Would you like to see upstairs?" I had to ask her to repeat the question,
partly because I don't hear very well, but mainly because I couldn't believe
what I had just heard. Upstairs? Lewis must have lived upstairs, 85 years ago.
We took a deep breath, and followed her up. The staircase, banisters, walls,
and some of the doors, looked as though they had had nothing done to them in
100 years or more.
She took us into one of the rooms, and we discussed the layout. The room we
were standing in had a structural beam across the middle, and we reckoned it
had probably originally been two rooms. On the landing there was a blanked-off
door which confirmed this.
So we sat, and stood, in one half of the room, looking out to the brick wall
opposite (the Library building, in fact), and tried to imagine a bed, and a
chair, and a table. Where was the sink? There probably wasn't one, he'd have
had to bring water in from the bathroom. Was there even a bathroom? How did he
cook? Did he cook?
But it was the stairs that got me. He must have gone up and down these stairs
every day for months, maybe two or three years. And here we were, treading the
same steps, holding on to the same worn banisters, knocking on doors - his
door, maybe - to feel the wood.
He fell ill here, and died at the London Jewish Hospital down the road in
Stepney Green. I've just looked at the Death Certificate again. He died on 20
October 1927. Just 85 years and one day before we came to visit him.