The Worst Street In London Part 7

As the demolition crew worked their way through they destroyed the last remaining evidence of generations the hard-working, optimistic Huguenot silk weavers' homes; the grounds of Thomas Wedgwood's china showroom; the shop belonging to Miller the butcher, who had built the fated court; The Blue Coat Boy Pub, which had provided refreshment and warmth for over 100 years; William Crossingham's huge lodging house at number 35 from which Annie Chapman had made her last fatal journey and Mary Ann Austin met her fate. All were razed to the ground. So much history and so many memories reduced to rubble.

Although only one side of Duval Street was actually demolished, the Corporation of London saw to it that the entire street was changed. Out of the rubble on the north side rose a huge structure housing auction rooms, offices and fruit stores. On the south side, the ancient furnished rooms and many of the remaining lodging houses were closed down and cold stores, offices, warehouses and factories took their place. Duval Street had come full circle. It had started life as a place of industry, had slowly declined into a resort of loafers and now resembled its industrious past as market and office workers walked in and out of the street that, just a few years previously, policemen had been scared to visit.

The demolition of the north side of Duval Street also marked the end of an era for the underworld that inhabited its dilapidated buildings. As half the street disappeared to make way for new business and property, so many of the landlords that had controlled life on Spitalfields' streets over the previous fifty years retired from active service, thus clearing the way for more organised individuals to take over. After World War 1, the entire social landscape of Duval Street and Spitalfields began to change. Large numbers of Eastern European Jews continued to settle in the area throughout the first years of the twentieth century and by the 1920s, evidence of the Ashken.a.z.i culture could be seen on virtually every street.

In November 1928, a journalist from The Times ventured into the neighbourhood and noted that 'There are foreign names over three shops out of five... here and there a poster, across which run those strangely picturesque Hebrew characters which one instinctively a.s.sociates with astrologers, magicians and other mysterious people.' The reporter was also fascinated with the unfamiliar languages he heard while exploring the area. 'Stand at [Aldgate East] station entrance and watch and listen. You may hear Russian or Polish spoken. You may hear that strange language of the Jewish proletariat of Eastern Europe, a corruption of the German of Frankfurt, half drawled, half chanted mingled with Hebrew words and written in Hebrew characters, which some call "Jargon" and others "Yiddish".'

By the 1920s, the local street markets were run almost exclusively by Jews, their Irish and English predecessors having either moved out of the area or switched to alternative employment. The costermongers and hawkers who once made up a huge proportion of Duval Street residents had also disappeared, much to the regret of the markets that once supplied them. An article in The Times in 1930 mourned the loss of street selling in East London with a salesman at Billingsgate lamenting 'before the War the hawkers came with their barrows about 9 o'clock in the morning, when the main business of the day at Billingsgate was finished, and bought up surplus consignments at prices that enabled them to sell cheaply in a street and house-to-house trade. Today the hawkers have been reduced to a small number and the wholesale salesmen are often at a loss to dispose of the occasional gluts which keep them standing at their stalls.'

The demand for fruit and vegetables by hawkers had not diminished quite as much as fish, although the once flouris.h.i.+ng weekend trade had all but disappeared by 1930. The Times reporter noted 'in the case of fruit and vegetables... there was the casual hawker, who took out his barrow only on Sat.u.r.days and Sunday mornings... They no longer present themselves at Spitalfields [Market] to look around for cheap lines.'

The main reason behind the sharp decline in hawking in the first quarter of the twentieth century was almost certainly the establishment of unemployment benefit in 1911. Prior to its introduction, the out-of-work poor were largely left to fend for themselves. Consequently, hawking became a popular temporary means of income until more steady employment could be found. Setting up as a hawker was cheap and easy. The only piece of equipment needed was a barrow and set-up costs comprised just a small amount of cash to buy stock. In many ways, hawking benefited everyone. The wholesale markets got rid of unwanted goods, the poor got the opportunity to purchase food at knockdown prices and the hawkers earned themselves a living.

Indeed, the salesmen at Billingsgate wished for a return to the old days. 'Billingsgate would like to see the hawker come back with his barrow... a resumption of street sales would benefit the fisherman, the poorer cla.s.s of consumers, and the hawker himself.' Regrettably, this was not to be. The concept of 'signing on' to receive state money gradually increased in both popularity and social acceptability. The economic downturn that resulted from expenditure during World War 1 pushed more workers onto the benefit system and by 1921, over two million people in Britain were receiving 'dole'.

It wasn't just the hawkers who were disappearing from the streets of Spitalfields. Casual labour and home-working schemes were beginning to be abandoned in favour of steadier work in the manufacturing, construction and service sectors. In 1928, the London Advisory Council for Juvenile Employment a.n.a.lysed the employment pattern of young people living in the capital. One in three of the female working population were employed in either hotels, restaurants or as domestic servants while the largest proportion of men were employed in either the manufacturing or construction industries.

For the men of Spitalfields, the biggest local employers were the furriers in Stepney, the furniture factories in Bethnal Green and the new electric cable, wire and lamp manufacturers slightly further north in once rural districts such as Leytonstone. The communication industry was also making its mark; Spitalfields got its own automatic telephone exchange with capacity for 5,000 lines in 1928.

For Jack McCarthy, things were never quite the same again. While the council had destroyed half of Duval Street, a combination of the war and the increasing prevalence of Eastern European Jews in the area effectively destroyed his trade in lodgings for the dest.i.tute. Many young men who may have used his rooms were now lying dead on the battlefields of France. In their place came the Jews who, being enthusiastic proponents of the extended family, saw little need for the isolation and loneliness of a single bed in a common lodging house. Jack McCarthy's reign as one of the most influential and powerful men in Spitalfields was over.

Jack McCarthy died on 16 June 1934, having suffered for some years with heart problems. He was 83 years old. He was buried alongside his wife Elizabeth, in St Patrick's Cemetery, Leytonstone, a few yards away from the grave of his most tragic and notorious tenant Mary Kelly. Prior to his death, he had asked that his funeral cortege pa.s.s down Duval Street one last time. His funeral was well attended by family, friends and the few colleagues that survived him. The East London Observer published a lengthy obituary, giving much emphasis to the deceased's charitable donations and ignoring the less salubrious aspects of his life. Thus, Jack McCarthy a child of the ghetto, slum property magnate and landlord to the most infamous murder victim of all time departed this life for the hereafter taking his secrets, stories and memories of a truly extraordinary life to his grave.

But what a legacy he left behind. Following Jack McCarthy's death, his two eldest daughters and their husbands continued to run lodging houses, overseen by Steve (who was by now in failing health) and his son, John. Steve's other son took up a career on the stage, forming an act with his younger sister Patricia. While performing, he met a dancer named Gladys Drewery and the couple wed in 1923. Soon after, a son (Terry) was born, followed by a daughter (Patricia Kim) in 1925. Two years later, Terry and Gladys McCarthy's third and final child was born. The baby was a girl and the couple decided to name her Justine (in reference to Terry's real name of Justin) Kay. Justine developed the family flair for entertaining and in her adult life found ma.s.sive fame under the stage name of Kay Kendall, starring in several Hollywood films and marrying the actor Rex Harrison before succ.u.mbing to cancer at the tragically young age of just 32.

Jack McCarthy's son Steve died in 1944 of pneumonia. His now ex-wife, Marie Kendall (they were divorced in the 1920s) continued to work until well past retirement age, and is one of the few music hall stars to be recorded on film. After Steve's death, her eldest son John invited her to take one of the family properties overlooking Clapham Common and it was here that she died in 1964, a few days before her ninety-first birthday.

Back in Duval Street, the once thriving lodging-house business was finally winding down but the criminal underworld of Spitalfields showed little sign of disappearing. Instead, it evolved into something more organised and potentially dangerous than ever before.

Ever since Jimmy Smith had set up his illicit rackets in the late nineteenth century, illegal gambling had been a popular pastime in the courts and alleyways of Spitalfields. Even the intervention of World War 1 failed to bring activities to a halt and as the new century progressed, police found themselves dealing with ever more sophisticated operations. On 18 September 1917, Robert Kenny from White's Row appeared at Old Street Police Court charged with 'being concerned in the management of a gaming house' in Old Montague Street.

Police had raided the house, which had previously been used as a tailor's workshop, the previous Sat.u.r.day and had been surprised to find that the once commercial interior had been completely refitted as a gaming saloon, complete with 'incandescent' lighting over the tables and refreshment facilities. It appears that the police took the gamblers completely by surprise and consequently they fled, leaving their cards and money strewn across the tables. On searching members of the management, an astonis.h.i.+ng 371 was found on the men at the time, almost enough money to buy a house on Duval Street. On further investigation, it was discovered that the gaming house was owned by Edward Emanuel from Bethnal Green, a known proprietor of illegal gambling dens, who was duly fined 300; a paltry sum when it had already been established that he could take over that in one night.

As Spitalfields became riddled with gambling dens, the police struggled to keep the new crime wave in check. Unsurprisingly, some were only too happy to turn a blind eye if a bribe was offered. However, little did they know that their lackadaisical att.i.tude to illegal gambling and more importantly, towards the men who ran the establishments, would contribute to the evolution of underworld characters whose exploits would make the activities of their nineteenth century predecessors look like playground antics.

As we have already discovered, 1920s Spitalfields was largely divided into two distinct groups of residents the newly arrived Eastern Europeans and the English/Irish. The Eastern Europeans had been forced to leave their homeland and came to a country that was foreign in both culture and language. Having very little money at their disposal, they had no option but to live in the poorest areas of London in often squalid and overcrowded conditions. The existing population felt threatened by the new immigrants whose language and practices were different to their own. Consequently, divisions appeared and with those divisions came animosity, contempt and violence. The young of both factions went about in groups and learnt at a young age that there was safety in numbers. Unfortunately, these groups quickly evolved into gangs and began to create disturbing new problems for the area.

Gangs causing trouble in Spitalfields was certainly not a new phenomenon. There had been serious problems with group violence since the silk weavers' insurrections in the eighteenth century. However, the twentieth century gangs were the first to realise that intimidation and the threat of violence would not only cultivate fear and a certain twisted prestige. It could also earn them a living.

By the end of World War 1, the Eastern European gangs had begun to demand protection money from the traders at Petticoat Lane street market. No doubt playing on the social divides that existed at the time, they would scare the traders into parting with ridiculously large sums of cash. In return, they would 'keep an eye' on the traders' stalls and make sure that nothing happened to either them or their stock. In reality of course, the only threat that existed was from the gang offering protection. Protection rackets were the first rung of the criminal ladder for many young Spitalfields men. Following success in this field, they would inevitably move on to the well-established and extremely lucrative illegal gambling circuit and from there to all manner of illegal activities from robbery to murder.

One of Britain's most famous gangland bosses learnt his trade on the streets of Whitechapel and Spitalfields. Jacob Comacho was born in Myrdle Street, Whitechapel, in 1913, the son of Polish immigrants. Known from an early age by his nickname 'Jack Spot' (due to a distinctive mole on his cheek) the young lad soon embarked on a criminal career pinching lead from a local sc.r.a.p dealer and selling it back to him. On leaving school, Jack tried out a few straight jobs including a spell in the Merchant Navy. However, a law-abiding life proved to be uninspiring and soon he was back with the local gangs in Whitechapel, this time working the protection rackets along Petticoat Lane.

During his late-teens, Jack Spot earned a reputation as both a competent worker and a fierce fighter and his exploits soon came to the attention of older, more experienced members of the criminal fraternity. He began working for various local bookmakers (quite possibly including Jimmy Smith) and became a trusted member of their team, even managing a local club for one of them. Because the local police had long since washed their hands of the illegal gaming and drinking clubs in the area, evenings at these establishments were regularly disrupted by rival gangs from other parts of London keen to get in on the action.

The most feared mob was the Italian gang from Clerkenwell, headed by the enigmatic Darby Sabini. Sabini's gang had first emerged just before World War 1 and after hostilities ended, they quickly a.s.serted themselves as the pre-eminent mob in London, specialising in both street crime and racecourse bookmaking. They were a constant threat to their East End adversaries and continued to be a thorn in their side until World War 2.

As part of his work for the bookmakers, Jack Spot was regularly sent to racecourses and dog tracks where he earned his keep practicing betting scams on race-goers and intimidating rival bookmakers into relinquis.h.i.+ng their pitches. During this period, Spot also developed a talent for self-promotion. Keen to offset his criminal activities with seemingly good works, he began to style himself as a defender of the East End's much-persecuted Jewish contingent. In the autumn of 1936, an incident occurred that was to improve his public profile immensely.

On 4 October, Oswald Mosley's British Union of Fascists planned to march through the largely Jewish neighbourhood of Stepney. This march, which was ostensibly organised to mark the fourth anniversary of the foundation of the party, was also designed to strike terror into the heart of the Jewish community. The Stepney branch of the Communist Party were horrified at the prospect of the march going ahead and were determined to stop it taking place. They began to whip up support from the local community and on the morning of the march some 15,000 anti-Fascists blocked the Commercial Road chanting 'They Shall Not Pa.s.s'.

Sensing that there could be a bloodbath if the two factions met head on, the police commissioner insisted that Mosley's men (who totalled a rather pathetic 2,000 in number) march in the opposite direction. The commissioner's last-minute decision probably adverted a catastrophe. Even though there was not a head-on collision of the two rival groups, several major scuffles did break out. However, the police managed to maintain order for the majority of the day. Rightly proud of the fact they had scuppered Mosley's plans, the East End residents returned home full of enthusiastic tales and soon stories of the confrontation became exaggerated.

What in reality had been a series of isolated incidents became known as 'The Battle of Cable Street'. Seizing the opportunity to develop his reputation, Jack Spot quickly disseminated tales of his pivotal role in the battle, even claiming that he had been sentenced to six months in prison for a.s.saulting one of Mosley's men. In truth, Spot was never imprisoned as a result of fighting the Fascists but his tale helped to cement his reputation as defender of his people.

Three years later, the outbreak of World War 2 proved to be a turning point in the fortunes of not only Spot but also dozens of other underworld characters as they made a small fortune out of the wartime black market. In addition to this, as the war progressed, the ensuing hostilities with Italy resulted in many members of the Sabini gang being interned, thus leaving the way clear for other gangs to take over their business interests. Together with fellow gangster Billy Hill, Jack Spot capitalised on the lack of compet.i.tion and a.s.serted control over much of the criminal underworld on the north side of the Thames. For nearly ten years after the end of the war, Spot and Hill were the self-proclaimed leaders of London's criminal fraternity.

Enjoying his new-found wealth and success, Spot left his native Whitechapel and moved up west, renting a s.p.a.cious Edwardian apartment in Hyde Park Mansions, minutes away from the West End. However, his newly found opulent lifestyle was destined to be short lived. By 1953, Jack Spot was rapidly losing control of his empire. His bookmaking operations were being seriously threatened by the larger betting companies and once-loyal allies were beginning to turn against him. The final nail in the coffin came when safebreaker Eddie Chapman began to spread rumours that Spot was an informer after allegedly obtaining a copy of his police file. In 1956, Jack Spot was made bankrupt. Now with few friends left in the criminal fraternity, he retreated into obscurity and lived out the rest of his life in highly reduced circ.u.mstances, finally pa.s.sing away in 1995.

Back in 1953, Spot had made a last-ditch attempt to protect what remained of his bookmaking pitches by employing the services of two rising stars of the underworld who operated close to his old manor of Whitechapel and Spitalfields. The surname of these two men was Kray.

Much has been written on the criminal careers of the Kray twins and many debates have taken place as to why they chose to embark on a life of crime. While Ron battled with mental illness as he grew older, it seems that Reg possessed both the intellect and business sense to have made a success of himself without resorting to unlawful activities. However, a close look at the men's heritage reveals characteristics that perhaps make the twins' choice of career less surprising. It also reveals that both their maternal and paternal grandparents had close links to Spitalfields.

Ronald and Reginald Kray were born on 24 October 1933 to Charles David Kray and his wife Violet Lee. Charles Kray spent most of his life earning a precarious living from hawking any goods he could get his hands on and spending the proceeds either in the pub or the bookies. Despite the unstable nature of the work, he enjoyed the freedom that self-employment gave him. During World War 2, he deserted the Army and spent the following years constantly on the run from the police. This meant that he was rarely at home when the twins were young. Desertion from the Army does however seem to be the only major crime Charles Kray ever committed, despite the fact that he regularly mixed with the East London criminal fraternity.

In the late 1960s, he boasted to the writer John Pearson, 'I was brought up with most of the famous villains in the old East End. Knew 'em all in my time, 'specially when I was on the trot.' However when Pearson asked why he didn't get involved in his neighbours' criminal pursuits he replied, 'I couldn't see anything in it. Say you get caught for doin' a grand and get ten years for it, I ask you, what does it represent? How much a week? Too much like hard work for me.'

While Charles Kray's avoidance of the criminal life seems to be due to laziness, the same could not be said for his father James. Charles Kray told Pearson, 'My father was a tough old boy, very good looking but wild. Same type as Ronnie. He was known as "mad Jimmy Kray".'

James Kray was also remembered by old East End villain Arthur Harding who recalled: 'The Krays came from a great hawking family, one of the biggest in London. Old Jim Kray, he had the next door to me in Brick Lane, next to the "Princes Head" so I knew him quite well. He was a wardrobe dealer, but more a rag-and-bone bloke years ago they used to call 'em "totters"... They had a way of going to the tailoring shops, where there'd be a lot of cuttings... and they're only too glad to get someone to take 'em. Then they'd take them down Radgies' they bought all rags and that.'

James Kray and his parents originated from the Old Nichol, which at the time was one of the worst slums in London, controlled by the infamous 'Old Nichol Mob' so it is unlikely that Charles Kray was exaggerating when he claimed to have known many of the area's most notorious criminals in his youth.

The Kray twins' mother's heritage was little better than their father's. Violet Lee came from a family who also had strong links with Spitalfields. In fact her grandfather had rented a shop in Brick Lane during the late nineteenth century. It was this man who may be responsible for the mental illness that plagued Ron in adulthood. Violet's father, music hall entertainer and part-time pugilist, Jimmy 'Southpaw Cannonball' Lee, told John Pearson that his father, a butcher by trade, was a violent man and a heavy drinker. One night while fuelled with alcohol, his mind finally caved in and he savagely attacked his wife and children. Following this terrifying incident, he was committed to a lunatic asylum, where he died. His father's drunken attack left a deep impression on young Jimmy, who remained a strict teetotaller throughout his life and wouldn't even allow alcohol in his home.

As World War 2 commenced, the Spitalfields recalled by Jimmy Lee and Charles Kray had almost completely disappeared. The story of the worst street in London was nearly over. However during the war years, the location of Duval Street and the surrounding area made it a centre for the storage of black market goods, from stockings to tobacco. Once again its proximity to the Docks and network of ancient tenements and warehouses made it the perfect place for the likes of Jack Spot and his cronies to hide contraband. Luckily for them, their stock remained largely undamaged despite heavy bombing of the East End during the Blitz.

The Blitz began on 7 September when the German Luftwaffe launched a ferocious airborne a.s.sault on London. The planes' initial targets were the Beckton gas works, the docks and the Royal a.r.s.enal factory at Woolwich. However, World War 2 bombing campaigns were not precise and consequently many civilian areas were hit. East London was an overcrowded, densely populated place and the residents found few places to shelter as the bombs rained down. In total, 430 people were killed on the first night of the Blitz and over three times that number were seriously injured.

The London Blitz continued for 76 nights with only one night of respite. Unlike many of their West End neighbours, most East Londoners did not have the necessary funds to escape to the safety of the British countryside and so were trapped at the centre of the action. Quickly recognising the need to devise shelters if they were to survive the nightly raids they commandeered any underground structures in the locality and made them into makes.h.i.+ft dormitories. Tube stations became a popular destination during air raids, as did the crypts of churches.

For the remaining residents of Duval Street, the closest air raid shelters were at Aldgate underground station a short walk down Commercial Street or the crypt of Christ Church, which was just at the top of the road. Although many East Londoners regularly used the underground shelters, many families stayed in their own homes during air raids, deciding it was better to take your chances above ground than risk being buried alive if the underground shelter took a direct hit.

The East End took such a battering during the Blitz that it might be reasonable to a.s.sume that Spitalfields suffered severe damage. However, this was not the case. Thrawl Street, Flower and Dean Street and Fas.h.i.+on Street escaped virtually unscathed, as did Spitalfields Market and the roads directly adjacent to it. Of all the streets close to the market, Whites Row fared the worst when houses at the western end suffered a direct hit. The resulting explosion also damaged five properties in Duval Street, rendering them uninhabitable. After the war, these buildings were turned into warehouses and offices for traders at Spitalfields Market.

The remaining part of Duval Street staggered on. However, the publication of a paper by economist Sir William Beveridge in 1942 was to have a profound effect on Duval Street's depleted residents and would also inadvertently signal the final destruction of this squalid but tenacious little thoroughfare.

In December 1942, the coalition Wartime Government published Beveridge's paper under the t.i.tle 'Social Insurance and Allied Services'. The message conveyed by the paper of state support 'from the cradle to the grave' was widely published and to many people's surprise, the public's response to the 'Beveridge Report' (as it became widely known) was extremely favourable. This positive response showed just how much the public's att.i.tude to the poor had changed since the beginning of the century. Back in Victorian times, the prevailing att.i.tude towards the poor was that they should help themselves (temperance and attending church regularly being the main routes to redemption). However, as the Labour movement became more powerful and the catastrophic loss of life during World War 1 eroded many families' religious faith, the public gradually began to see that state intervention might be a better way to help those in need.

Prime Minister Herbert Asquith had begun to put the concept of a welfare state into action during the early years of the twentieth century by introducing the Old Age Pensions Act in 1908 and the National Insurance Act three years later. However, both these acts were reminiscent of the philanthropic housing schemes of the previous century in that they only benefited those who had been in regular (and legal) employment. It wasn't until the end of World War 2 that life for the chronically poor was changed for the better.

In 1946, the National Insurance Act created a system of benefits to help those unable to work due to ill-health, redundancy, pregnancy or old age. Two years later, the National Health Service began providing free diagnosis and treatment. Finally, the long-suffering residents of Duval Street (and hundreds of other streets like it) could see a light at the end of a very long tunnel.

As we have previously seen, most residents of Duval Street, from the 1880s onwards were only there because they had nowhere else to go. Many were unable to work because they were either too old or mentally or physically sick. The creation of the NHS meant that these people could finally be correctly diagnosed and/or effectively helped. If treatment was not possible, then benefits were available to enable them to keep a decent roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. The mere fact that hospital beds were now free meant that many could finally leave the dreadful common lodging houses and seek medical help.

Of course, the creation of the welfare state did not completely solve the problem of the dest.i.tute poor. The common lodging houses still took in nightly lodgers and local prost.i.tutes still required furnished rooms in which to ply their trade. However, the number of people requiring the services offered by the lodging-house keepers declined dramatically from the mid-1940s onwards.

By the 1950s, former common lodging houses that had been bursting at the seams during the winter months no more than 15 years previously, now had just a handful of tenants. The ever-enterprising landlords changed the usage of their property to adjust to the times. Former 'thieves' kitchens' became tea rooms for office staff. Upstairs dormitories became brothels thinly disguised as private 'gentlemen's drinking clubs'. It was in one of these private establishments that a nightclub manager and possible descendent of landlord Johnny c.o.o.ney met with an ignominious end, thus bringing this story of the worst street in London back to where it began.

Selwyn c.o.o.ney was an ex-boxer who managed the Cabinet Club in Soho for gangland boss Billy Hill. A few days before the incident at the Pen Club in Duval Street described in the opening chapter, it is alleged that c.o.o.ney was involved in a fracas with North London gangsters the Nash brothers after an altercation with one of their girlfriends. Unfortunately, it seems that the fight did not clear the air and a few days later, c.o.o.ney ran into Jimmy Nash at the Pen Club. This time, it seems that Nash let his temper get the better of him and he pulled a gun on c.o.o.ney, shooting him at point blank range. In the ensuing melee, club owner William Ambrose (known as 'Billy the Boxer') was also shot at and wounded. Selwyn c.o.o.ney managed to stagger down the stairs and out into the street but collapsed on the cobbled, rain-soaked roadway.

Selwyn c.o.o.ney was the final person to die in Duval Street. Soon after his shooting, plans were drawn up by the council to create parking and loading bays for market lorries along the south side of the road and the remaining, squalid houses were served with demolition notices. Like the residents of the Flower and Dean Street rookery over 100 years before, the last residents of Duval Street disappeared into the shadows as silently and anonymously as they had arrived. By the mid-1960s, night-time in Duval Street was eerily quiet.

The London County Council changed their plans for the lorry park and erected a singularly unattractive, multi-story car park where the south side of Duval Street once stood. It is still there today and holds the dubious but fitting local reputation of being the most crime-ridden car park in London. As for Duval Street itself, the roadway still exists but all traces of 'the worst street in London' have been erased. The foundations on which once stood proud silk weavers' homes, lively pubs and beer houses and squalid hovels like 13 Miller's Court now lie under warehouse shutters and twenty-first century tarmac. Spitalfields as a whole is now a vibrant and fas.h.i.+onable place to live, work and play; the home of artists and artisans, just as it was when the Huguenots settled there.

Indeed, many of the streets and buildings that would have been familiar to the silk weavers are still standing. Hawksmoor's masterpiece Christ Church still stands proudly at the top of Brushfield Street. Opposite, Spitalfields Market continues to trade albeit in fas.h.i.+on, jewellery and house wares rather than the previous commodities; the fruit and vegetable market moved out to larger premises in Leyton and is now the biggest horticultural market in the UK. Down in Brick Lane, the old Truman Brewery has suffered a similar fate as Spitalfields Market. It is now a complex of retail outlets, food stalls and event s.p.a.ces. During the day, the area is bustling, hectic and colourful. However, as dusk falls, the streets take on a more sinister air, particularly the narrow alleyways that lead off the main thoroughfares. The seemingly indelible, sordid side of this fascinating part of London emerges from the darkness as the unknowing descendants of Mary Kelly, Mary Ann Austin and Kitty Ronan begin to ply their trade around the hallowed walls of Christ Church. Duval Street may have disappeared but its legacy is too powerful to ever be entirely erased.

A WALK AROUND SPITALFIELDS.

Time: Approximately one hour, allowing for a refreshment stop at the Ten Bells pub.

Start/End: Liverpool Street Station (Metropolitan, Circle, Central and Hammersmith & City Underground Lines and Network Rail.) NOTE: To make the most of your walk, book a tour of 18 Folgate Street and Christ Church. Contact details and further information can be found on the web at www.dennissevershouse.co.uk and www.christchurchspitalfields.org. Details of the different market days at Spitalfields Market can be found at www.visitspitalfields.com.

Start at Liverpool Street Station (Liverpool Street exit).

This station was opened in 1874, replacing the old Bishopsgate Station. It was built by the Great Eastern Railway's chief engineer, Edward Wilson, and occupied a site where the Hospital of St Mary Bethlehem Britain's first psychiatric asylum once stood. The chaotic and sometimes disturbing scenes witnessed by visitors to the hospital gave rise to the use of the word 'Bedlam' (a corruption of Bethlehem) to describe an uproarious scene. The hospital moved to Moorfields in 1676.

Turn left out of the station, then left into Bishopsgate. Walk past the police station and the Bishopsgate Inst.i.tute (on your right.) Cross the road and turn left into Spital Square.

This is where William Brune built his hospital in 1197. The Spital Field backed onto the grounds and was used by inmates as a source of pleasant views and fresh air. Today it is difficult to imagine this highly developed area as a rural retreat.

Turn left round Spital Square to Folgate Street.

Number 18 belonged to artist Dennis Severs until his death in 1999. Dennis came to London from the US in the 1970s and fell in love with Spitalfields. He managed to sc.r.a.pe together enough money to purchase this house and set about restoring it to reflect various periods in its history. The result is a truly unique experience where visitors feel they have stepped back in time. The exterior is a fine example of how the house would have looked when the Huguenot silk weavers populated the area. Tours of this fascinating house are available go to www.dennissevershouse.co.uk for booking information.

Turn right into Folgate Street.

On the right is Nantes Pa.s.sage, named after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, which prompted the Huguenot silk weavers to come to Spitalfields.

Out onto Commercial Street.

The opposite side of the road was once a warren of streets that formed the northern edge of the 'wicked quarter mile' in the late 19th century. Much of the slum housing was demolished between 1922 and 1936 to make way for a ma.s.sive tobacco factory, built for G.o.dfrey Phillips and Son who had been trading in the area since the 1860s. The Royal Cambridge Theatre was also demolished during the redevelopment works. This theatre, known colloquially as the Cambridge Music Hall, was once a popular venue for performers such as Marie Lloyd and Marie Kendall. It stood roughly two thirds of the way down the factory facade. The building has now been divided up into retail, office and residential units.

Turn right and cross the road into Hanbury Street.

Many of the Spitalfields lodging housekeepers mentioned in The Worst Street in London also kept pubs. Johnny c.o.o.ney ran the Sugar Loaf at 187 Hanbury Street (a regular patron was his cousin, the music hall star Marie Lloyd) and the Weavers Arms at number 17. Prost.i.tute Annie Chapman was murdered by Jack the Ripper in the backyard of 29 Hanbury Street (now demolished).

Walk along Hanbury Street to the corner of Brick Lane.

To the left is the Truman Brewery. The Truman family were a.s.sociated with the area from the 1660s onwards. By the 19th century, the brewery was a major employer. It closed in 1988 and is now an office, shop and event complex.

Turn right down Brick Lane.

This was the home of Jimmy Smith, lodging house landlord, illegal bookie and police "fixer" who lived at 187 for much of his life. During the late 19th century, Jimmy was an influential resident responsible for bribing the local constabulary to turn a blind eye to illegal boxing bouts and dog fights. Jimmy evidently enjoyed his status as he would later tour his 'manor' in a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce at the time, most Spitalfields residents rarely saw a motorcar, let alone one of such quality. Brick Lane was at the centre of battles between Eastern European Odessian and Bessarabian gangs at the turn of the century and was also the location of work premises kept by Jimmy Kray, grandfather to the infamous twins.

Stop at the corner of Brick Lane and Fournier Street.

The building on the right-hand side of the road was built by Huguenots in the early 18th century as a Protestant chapel. In 1898, it was converted into a synagogue, which closed in the 1970s and is now a mosque. This building provides a perfect example of the area's constantly evolving social structure.

Turn right into Fournier Street.

There are some particularly good examples of 18th century silk weavers' homes along this street. Look up to see the garrets where the looms once stood. There were many windows in the garrets so weavers could take advantage of the dimmest amount of light. Number 14 Fournier Street was built in 1726. The silk for Queen Victoria's wedding dress was reputedly woven here. Fournier Street was known as Church Street until the end of the 19th century when the council saw fit to change the name in honour of George Fournier, a wealthy silk weaver, who had left a large bequest for the Spitalfields poor in his will.

Continue to the top of Fournier Street.

On your left is Christ Church, built by Wren's protege, Nicholas Hawksmoor, between 1714 and 1729. The church suffered a rather savage rehash of its interior in the 1850s and by the mid-20th century, it was in a very poor state of repair. However, in 2004, the church underwent a ma.s.sive restoration project and now looks much as Hawksmoor had intended. Guided tours of the church are available go to www.christchurchspitalfields.org for details.

To your right is the Ten Bells pub. Go inside and have a look at the original 19th century tiles on the walls, including a frieze showing 18th century silk weavers. By the late-19th century, this pub was at the epicentre of the 'wicked quarter mile' and was frequented by lodging house residents, market porters and prost.i.tutes. Opposite the Ten Bells is Spitalfields Market. The market occupies what was originally the eastern edge of the Spital Field. There has been a market on this site since 1638 and the current building was opened in 1887. Spitalfields Market ceased to be a wholesale fruit and vegetable market in 1991. It is now a popular fas.h.i.+on and lifestyle market with numerous shops, cafes and specialist stalls. For full details of the different market days go to www.visitspitalfields.com.

Turn left along Commercial Street.

This road was built in the 1840s to relieve traffic going to and from Spitalfields Market. Many ancient rookeries were demolished in the process and the displacement of their residents caused serious overcrowding in the nearby roads such as Dorset Street, Flower and Dean Street and Fas.h.i.+on Street. On the far side of Christ Church is what remains of Itchy Park for centuries a popular recreation ground for tramps and prost.i.tutes. Musician Steve Marriott remembered playing hooky from school in the park during the 1960s in the Small Faces. .h.i.t Itchycoo Park. Note: the 'park' is actually Christ Church's graveyard.

Continue to Fas.h.i.+on Street (one of the worst roads in the area by the late 19th century) then on to what was once the entrance to Flower and Dean Street.

This road has now been completely obliterated. It was once filled with lodging houses and rivaled Dorset Street in its notoriety. Many of the houses were knocked down after The Cross Act came into power. However, the empty sites were rejected by developers and stood empty for years until the Rothschild family built Rothschild Buildings (on the right hand side of the street) and Nathaniel Buildings (on the left) in the late 1880s.

Cross the road and go back towards Spitalfields Market.

This part of Commercial Street is historically a popular place for prost.i.tutes to ply their trade. After dark they can still be seen today, often trying to persuade unwitting drinkers to give them a cigarette.

Turn left into Whites Row.

This road was originally a path across the Spital Field. There is a very fine master weaver's house halfway down this street (identified by a steep flight of steps to the grand front door). By the 1880s, both sides of this street mainly consisted of common lodging houses and furnished rooms, many of which were run by William Crossingham of Dorset Street. In World War 2, a bomb exploded at the bottom of Whites Row, which helped the council push through plans to demolish the north side of the street along with the remaining south side of Dorset Street.

Turn right into Crispin Street.

On the left hand side of the road is what was once the Providence Row Night Refuge. Opened in 1868, it took in dest.i.tute men, women and children and was a popular shelter for the local prost.i.tutes, who pretended they had seen the error of their ways in order to get a bed for a couple of nights.

Walk up Crispin Street and look right.

This small, una.s.suming service road was once the worst street in London. The street was originally built for silk weavers. The houses would have looked similar to those in Fournier Street. Looking up the street from Crispin Street, there was a pub on the left-hand side (on the corner) called The Horn of Plenty. Halfway up on the left stood the Blue Coat Boy, one of the area's oldest pubs. At the Commercial Street end was the Britannia, a gin palace-type affair.

By the 1880s, this street was almost entirely comprised of lodging houses and furnished rooms. About a third of the way up on the left lay Little Paternoster Row, which led to Brushfield Street. The lodging house where Mary Ann Austin was killed was on the corner of this street. Just over half way up on the left was the notorious Miller's Court where both Mary Kelly and Kitty Ronan were murdered. Jack McCarthy lived in a house at the entrance to Miller's Court, the downstairs of which was a general shop.

The north side of Dorset Street was demolished in 1929 to make way for the present building (offices and a flower and fruit auction room). The road was narrowed during development. The south side of the street was demolished in the 1960s to make way for Whites Row car park. The walk is now at an end. To return to Liverpool Street Station, continue along Crispin Street, and then turn left into Brushfield Street. At the end of the road, turn left into Bishopsgate. Liverpool Street Station is a short distance away on your right.

END.