 What an exquisite synagogue! This is the Congregation of Jacob on Commercial Road, a small orthodox shul established in 1903, and based here on one of the main arteries of London's East End since 1921. In the years before the First World War, this part of the East End would have been overwhelmingly Jewish. Now there's only a handful of East End synagogues still open, and this is perhaps the only one that serves a local congregation  Rev. David Brandes has worshipped here all his life - his family's story is interwoven with that of this synagogue. He still lives just a couple of minutes walk away. And he is devoted to keeping this synagogue alive. It was founded to serve new migrants from Poland, Lithuania and Russia. Now its sabbath attendance sometimes slips below twenty.   We were just passing by - pausing to admire the building's distinct and elegant facade - when David ushered us in and showed us around, His message is that worshippers and well-wishers are welcome. He emphasises how well the synagogue and its congregation get on with their Muslim and Christian neighbours.  The building is wonderfully well kept - and while we were there, a workman was smartening up the small backyard, the cleaning woman arrived to keep the shul spick-and-span and a friend from Argentina popped by to help.   And adorning every wall there are plaques in memory of past members of the congregation - testament to a community which, in the East End at least, has almost vanished.
 
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 Fritz Svaars It’s taken more than a century for Fritz Svaars’ last letter to reach his family in Latvia. He wrote it a day or two before his death while hiding in a lodging house in London’s East End. Svaars was a Latvian political exile, an anarchist, wanted for his role in the murder of three London police officers during a botched robbery attempt. His letter home was both an extenuation of his conduct and a farewell. ‘[T]hey are looking for us everywhere’, he wrote – the ‘whole of London is buried in police’. He knew the chances of escape were slim. ‘Two weeks I’ve been on the run. How much longer I can manage, I don’t know’, Svaars scribbled. ‘If I’m lucky then I’ll still live and I’ll share joy and sadness with you, and if not, you also know that at some time that same hour will come to you and you’ll be ashes the same as everyone.’  Part of Fritz Svaars' final letter - London Metropolitan Archive As a precaution, Svaars placed the letter in an envelope addressed in Latvian, contained in another envelope with an address written in Russia, the language of Latvia’s then rulers. He entrusted this letter to a comrade to send back to the Baltic. That comrade was an informer. He handed over the letter to the police and also passed on word of where the two wanted men were hiding - in a second floor room at 100 Sidney Street in Stepney. That led – on 3rd January 1911 - to the most sensational shoot-out in London’s history. Two gunmen with semi-automatic pistols and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of ammunition kept police and troops at bay for six hours in what became known as the Siege of Sidney Street. Bullets ricocheted off the walls; East Enders thronged in their thousands to catch a glimpse of the drama; reporters secured a vantage point on the roof of a local pub; as many as five newsreel operators filmed silent footage of the encounter. Winston Churchill, then the Home Secretary, rushed top-hatted to the scene. When the besieged house caught fire, Churchill personally forbade the fire brigade from dousing the flames. The charred remains of Svaars and his fellow gunman were found amid the embers. He had died of smoke suffocation.  Winston Churchill with top hat at Sidney Street - Illustrated London News Svaars’ six-page handwritten letter is now lodged in the London Metropolitan Archive, amid the voluminous archives of the City of London Police. These police records are the main source for my book, A Devilish Kind of Courage: Anarchists, Aliens and the Siege of Sidney Street. Two weeks before the shoot-out, City police had interrupted an attempt by an armed gang to burrow into a jeweller’s shop in Houndsditch. The robbers shot their way out, killing three police officers and seriously injuring two others – the worst single incident in the history of London’s police. The gunmen also inadvertently shot and injured one of their gang, George Gardstein, who died the following morning in lodgings shared by Fritz Svaars and another of the anarchist group known only by his assumed name of Peter the Painter.  Peter the Painter - London Metropolitan Archive Many of the photographs and other documents seized by the police as they searched suspects’ rooms are among the police records. The images are bewitching. Among them are studio photographs of young men and women taken in what is now Poland, Ukraine, Belarus or Latvia – frustratingly, almost all are unlabelled, though a few have brief jottings in Latvian, Russian or Yiddish.  I had the good fortune to have a friend, Tania, who spoke Latvian. She helped me to translate the Latvian inscriptions on some of the photos. Then, as the book was going to press, she got in touch with exciting news. She’d just been in the Latvian capital, Riga, and by chance she had met a woman who was related to Fritz Svaars (known in the Latvian style as Fricis Svare).  Luba Milstein, who lived with Fritz Svaars in London - London Metropolitan Archive Over Zoom, Liene, an estate agent in Riga, and her mother, Margarita, a maths professor, told me of their connection to the Svaars family. Margarita is the great-granddaughter of Fritz’s sister, Olga – the older woman had helped care for Margarita when she was a young child. The family still has a bible inscribed by Fritz’s father, a policeman, and a rich cache of sepia-tinged photos. As Margarita was growing up, no one spoke much about Fritz. Family elders said he had been ‘lost in the war’ – though they never said which war or where and how he died. During the decades that Latvia was under Soviet rule, loose talk about an armed anarchist forbear could bring unwelcome attention. Once Latvia gained independence in the early 1990s, there was more scope to talk about the past. Margarita became aware that one of her relatives had been a Latvian nationalist and leftist, a rebel, who met a violent death abroad.  Liene (left) and Margarita - photo: Andrew Whitehead Although my book was written and ready to publish, with no prospect of including more than the briefest mention of the family in Riga, I wanted to see Liene and Margarita – and to give them a copy of Fritz’s plaintive and painful letter. It was about time that missive was delivered to its intended recipients. We met in a smart Chinese restaurant in Riga, a city of great architectural distinction in spite of the wars repeatedly waged over it. Margarita and her daughter shared what they knew of Fritz – that he had been active in Latvia’s unsuccessful revolution in 1905, which demanded both social justice and an end to the rule of the Russian Tsar, and that like so many young Latvians of that era he was forced to flee. Margarita struggled at first with the archaic form of Latvian that Fritz wrote in. ‘The letter has a feeling of doom’, she said having managed to make sense of it. ‘There’s a feeling of likely death – a sense of fear. It’s quite depressing.’  Monument in Riga to the dead of the 1905 Revolution - photo: Andrew Whitehead Liene and Margarita are neither proud nor ashamed of their gun-toting forbear. It’s part of Latvia’s tormented twentieth century history – a nation repeatedly occupied and fought over. They were anxious to understand more about Fritz and his comrades, what propelled them to become gunmen, why they were in London and how he died. I promised them they would be the first to get a copy of my book. It’s on its way.   This charming drawing of the anarchist Rudolf Rocker addressing a meeting is by his son, Fermin Rocker. Rudolf Rocker was the key figure in the flourishing anarchist movement in the East End of London in the years immediately before the outbreak of the First World War in 1914. He was German and a gentile, but mastered Yiddish and was the editor of a remarkable Yiddish weekly newspaper, the Arbeter Fraint (or Workers' Friend).  In the aftermath of two notorious shoot-outs - at Houndsditch in the City and at Sidney Street in Stepney - press attention focussed on the mainly Jewish anarchist movement in the East End. Those incidents involved Latvian political refugees, probably with anarchist synmpathies. In December 1910, a group were interrupted at Houndsditch while trying to break through a wall and rob a jeweller's shop - three police men were shot dead and two more police suffered bullet wounds. The following month, two alleged members of the gang were tracked down to a first floor room in Sidney Street. The house was surrounded by police, troops were brought in, and shots were exchanged over several hours. The two gunmen died. Rocker and most of his comrades deeply disapproved of this violence, and the 'expropriations' - armed robberies to fund the movement - which occasioned them. The Worker's Friend was published from an address in Jubilee Street, a stone's throw from Sidney Street. Next door was the anarchist Jubilee Street Club. Many of the Latvians involved in the Houndsditch incident had certainly visited the club. Journalists descended on the area, Some of their reporting was crude, inaccurate and sensationalist but a few among the reporters delivered vivid and well-informed accounts of East End anarchism. I'm posting a few of those pieces of journalism on this blog. Philip Gibbs and J.P. Eddy, in the immediate aftermath of the Siege of Sidney Street, moved into the East End and wrote a series of articles for the Daily Chronicle - this article, 'A Night with the Anarchists', appeared on 10 January 1911 and includes accounts of conversations with both Rudolf Rocker and his partner Milly Witcop:   . Philip Gibbs made productive use of his sojourn in the East End - as well as his three co-authored articles for the Daily Chronicle, he also wrote two bylined pieces for the weekly Graphic, notably this account below of 'An Evening in an Anarchists' Club'. Again, Rocker is clearly the man that Gibbs heard speak. And the article's conclusion became renowned: 'These alien anarchists were as tame as rabbits. I am convinced they had not a revolver among them. And yet, looking back upon this adventure and remembering the words I heard, I am sure that this intellectual anarchy, this philosophy of revolution, is more dangerous to the state of Europe than pistols and nitro-glycerine. For out of that anarchist club in the East End come ideas more powerful in destruction than dynamite.'  And I'm posting the columns of text individually here so it is more easily legible:    One at least of the mainstream papers took the trouble to talk at length to this prominent anarchist with 'sledge-hammer eloquence'. Rudolf Rocker expressed satisfaction with the write up of this interview he gave to the establishment minded Morning Post published in its issue of 7 January 1911 - here's the article with the title 'The Anarchist Leader':   And let's close as we began, with one of Fermin Rocker's drawings of his father on the platform:  And a codicil, many years ago I interviewed Fermin Rocker (who was born in 1907) about his childhood memories of his father and the anarchist movement in the London of his childhood. Here it is:  My New Year ramble has become an annual custom - this time (new camera in hand) there was a touch less serendipity about the route. I wanted to walk along Jubilee Street in Stepney, and visit one of the last surviving Jewish institutions in the old East End. The walk began at Aldgate tube station and took me along Commercial Road, the distinctly shabby main road heading east towards Canary Wharf. There are a few old mansion blocks still lining the street, but most of the businesses are given over to wholesale garment shops - and the cheap end of the business. Almost all are South Asian-run, but it's a continuation of what was the defining industry of the Jewish East End. Coincidence perhaps, but a curious and heartwarming one.
There's still a synagogue on Commercial Road - one of, I think, only three surviving in the East End where once were were 150 or more. The Congregation of Jacob dates back to 1903 though this building was consecrated only in 1921. It has an imposing frontage and by all accounts the interior is even more splendid - but this morning it was firmly shut.  Jubilee Street runs from Commercial Road several hundred yards north to Whitechapel Road, and at the northern end is Rinkoff Bakeries. I'd never been there before. I'll certainly be going again. I had a coffee and a smoked salmon and cream cheese beigel. Excellent! And I brought back pastries for the family.
The place does good business. There are a few tables - both inside and out (and even on a nippy January morning most of the outside tables were taken) - and a steady stream of customers ... tourists, 'pilgrims', but mainly locals who want a take away cake, beigel or coffee. 
  That's Ray above, with a model of himself in his days as a master baker. He trades a lot on tradition, but there's quality in the mix too. I had never heard of Rinkoffs until I started thinking about this walk - if you haven't been, do go! Jubilee Street has been knocked around a lot. There's only a short stretch towards the north end that looks a little as it would have done a century ago, when this area was overwhelmingly Jewish.  The street has a special place in the history of the East End - it was the epicentre of of the once formidable anarchist movement in this part of London. The Jubilee Street Club was established in 1906 and for eight years was both a social and educational centre. Rudolf Rocker was closely associated with the club, and such anarchist luminaries as Kropotkin and Malatesta spoke here. I once interviewed Nellie Dick (born Naomi Ploschansky) who as a young woman was active in the Jubilee Street Club and helped to organise a 'Modern School' here. There's a wonderful account of this and other London anarchist clubs, including a rather grainy photograph, in this research paper by the historian Jonathan Moses. It's worth a read. The old club building was demolished many decades ago and Jarman House, with its distinctive sky blue balconies, now stands on the site.  A little to the east lies Stepney Green, a wonderfully peaceful and historic spot. Rudolf Rocker and his family - including his younger son Fermin, an artist - once lived in a top floor flat here. By chance a few year ago, I had the opportunity to visit that same flat in Dunstan House when my friend Bill Schwarz was putting up here. Fermin's drawing of the building graced the cover of his memoir of his East End childhood, and you can see how little it has changed.   Just to the south is the church of St Dunstan and All Saints, Stepney - one of the few London churches which is genuinely medieval. In origin it is Anglo-Saxon and houses a tenth century rood, a representation of the crucifixion (the photo is from the church's website), which is believed to be a remnant of the church that St Dunstan himself may have founded here.
And as so often with old London churches, its memorials are testament to the human cost of Britain's Imperial ambitions.   Just east of the church and its grounds, there's the sort of street that I just love - Durham Row, tiny post-war bungalows on one side, and (at a guess) mid-nineteenth century buildings on the other, several of which seem once to have been shops. And above one of these one-time shop windows, it's just possible to make out an inscription: E, Andrews, FLORIST.   Another couple of hundred yards, and I reached the Regent's Canal - the end of my walk. Thanks for making the journey with me. And as I looked back, there was the City looming over the East End, looking almost enticing ... from a distance.   A very convivial lunch today at a friend's place - he's recently started renting a flat in Stepney Green. Dunstan Houses, to be precise. Top floor. In fact, the exact same flat where Rudolf Rocker - the leader of the influential Yiddish-speaking anarchist movement in the East End before the First World War - lived a century ago. 'Yes, this was the Rocker residence', he declared, with a distinct and entirely justifiable sense of pride. 'There used to be a portrait of Malatesta on that wall, and of Bakunin on that wall.' Hang on a moment - entirely credible but how does he know? Well, because Rudolf Rocker's son, the artist Fermin Rocker, wrote a wonderful memoir of growing up in Dunstan Houses - graced by his own drawing of the building. The family moved in in about 1910. 'Dunstan Houses', Fermin recalled, 'though hardly an abode for the affluent, nevertheless had its own class distinctions and offered a scale of accommodations for the poor, the poorer, and the poorest. ... No. 33 was in what might be termed the luxury wing of the building. We had such conveniences as a private kitchen and a private lavatory ...'  Fermin writes that he looked upon his father 'as a god' - a sentiment not entirely in spirit with the movement. Then again you could say that Rudolf Rocker's undoubted leadership of the Jewish anarchist movement (though he was himself a 'goy', a gentile) was also not entirely in step with the libertarian, 'no master, high or low', ethos.
Rocker's own memoir, The London Years, has a drawing of him by his son on its cover. Heading back from Stepney Green, we drove along Jubilee Street - the site of the anarchist club, which thrived from 1906 for almost a decade and was the beating heart of the movement. Nice to have a sense of proximity to a culture, a movement, which has now so utterly gone.  Every now and again, when I pop into a second hand bookshop, I buy something I've already got - just because it's a book I like so much, I can't leave without it. Yesterday, at the Oxfam bookshop in Kentish Town, I bought this title - Fermin Rocker's lively reminiscences of his East End childhood before and during the First World War. It cost £1.99. I've already got a copy - indeed I also have a copy in the original German, a language I don't read or speak. So, the first person to tell me as a comment on this blog that they want this book gets it. Gratis! I'll even pay the postage. And let me explain why you should want it. Fermin Rocker's father was Rudolf Rocker, a German gentile who was the leading figure in the very influential largely Yiddish-speaking anarchist movement in London's East End in the early years of the last century. Fermin's memoirs cover the period when that movement was at its zenith. Fermin grew up to be a considerable artist - and his painting of the paper kiosk at Tufnell Park tube, which I posted here some time ago, attracted a huge amount of interest. His memoirs have several of his drawings - including the one on the cover, of Dunstan Houses in Stepney where he grew up. There are also photographs such as the one below, Fermin with his parents, taken - at a guess - in the early 1930s. So, anyone interested?   It was portrayed at the time as Churchill against a bunch of alien anarchists. Monday (3rd Jan) marks the centenary of the 'siege of Sidney Street' in Stepney. This was when Churchill, as home secretary, deployed the army against a group of armed robbers tracked down to a room in the East End. The gang had, the previous month, shot dead three policemen whil trying to rob a jeweller's shop in Houndsditch. Churchill went along to Sidney Street, replete with top hat, to see for himself. Two of the armed men, Latvian revolutionaries, were founded dead in the burnt out embers of the house at 100 Sidney Street. A third man, 'Peter the Painter', disappeared - and has been the stuff of legend and conspiracy ever since. The excellent Museum in Docklands is holding a small but very appropriate exhibition linked to the centenary. It has items related to the siege and recovered from the aftermath, and a sensitive account of the political background to the incident. Sidney Street was commemorated in a huge number of postcards - the few years between the siege and the Easter Rising in Dublin, a similar bonanza for the postcard trade, represented the high water mark of the political postcard. There's a couple of examples below. Anarchists were blamed for Sidney Street - largely because they were a powerful force among recent Jewish migrants settled in the East End. The anarchist club was at Jubilee Street, close by the scene of what was described as the 'battle of Stepney'. I once interviewed a then very elderly woman, born Naomi Ploschansky, who as a youngster was active in the Jubilee Street club and met the men involved in Sidney Street. They wanted her to teach them English - but her mother said there was no way that Naomi could go round to the men's rooms unchaperoned. Mum knows best! A century on, the Observer reports - rather approvingly (26 Dec, annoyingly not available online) - 'the return of anarchy'. Whatever next.   |
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