Jan and John Maggs Antiques

Our first visit to London

Thursday, October 7, 1993. Our landing at Gatwick was dramatic: descending from eight miles above the Atlantic to less than a mile or two above Ireland, then floating over a vast patchwork of green and brown farmland with its tracery of stone walls and hedgerows, culminating in our final descent, the squeal of tires on the runway, the roar of reversed engines, and a long taxi to the terminal.

Once we had collected our baggage and cleared immigrations and customs (“Nothing to Declare”) we boarded the Gatwick Express, a high-speed train that delivered us to London’s Victoria Station in about 30 minutes. Our itinerary called for us to be in London until Sunday morning. Our first task was finding a room.

Rather than booking from home, we had been advised to visit a British Information kiosk, where bargains might be found. We found a booth, and within a few minutes we were talking with an attendant. We told her that we wished to stay in South Kensington, and within a few minutes she had found us a hotel that could give us a room with breakfast for ₤50 for the first night, and ₤65 on the weekend. She then suggested that we consider staying at the Scandic Crown, a luxury hotel in Southwark, closer to Bermondsey market, but not near anything else. The idea of staying in such elegant surroundings appealed to us, as did the price of ₤60 per night. We later realized that the costs of the two hotels for three nights would have been identical, and the convenience of South Kensington infinitely greater.

We took a bus from Victoria Station to Rotherhithe Road, then a taxi to the Scandic Crown, a new, sleek, multi-story hotel with several clusters of four rooms on each floor, each cluster served by its own elevator. The Scandic Crown boasted three restaurants, a health club, and many other conveniences. Although ₤60 per night was far below their usual tariff, except for a meal in one restaurant, we would take advantage of none of these extras.

After checking in, we went for a walk, hoping to cash some traveler’s checks. We walked for about two miles before it started to rain, exchanged our checks at a penalty of 2% at Thomas Cook, had a mediocre meal and excellent beer at a local pub, and then returned to the hotel, where we went to bed at 2:00 p.m., our first sleep since Wednesday morning.

Friday, October 8, 1993. Since we had been told that The New Caledonian Market (Bermondsey) began very early in the morning, and because we had gone to sleep in mid-afternoon the day before, we had no difficulty waking at 2:00 a.m. We took a taxi to the market, arriving around 3:30, along with a handful of vendors. Armed with flashlights, we walked amid rows of mostly empty, table-sized stalls that, as dawn approached, were occupied by a growing number of vendors, most of whom were actively picking the market. We missed out on a very good iron and copper skimmer, because the vendor in whose stall it was remained invisible until around 10:00, by which time it had been sold for an unknown price.

In addition to the street market, the area is bordered by numerous shops, some of which provide venue for as many as 40-50 dealers. One of the adjoining by-ways, Bermondsey Road, contains a few promising shops but, as one gets further from the market, the shops quickly degenerate into warehouses crammed with Victorian and later furniture.

On this first visit to London we made the acquaintance of four dealers who were to become our most important sources of early jewelry in subsequent years. Never before had we seen so much Georgian jewelry in one place. Non-jewelry smalls of our period were much less plentiful, although we managed to purchase a few good things.

After Bermondsey we went to a Lloyd’s to cash some of our traveler’s checks. (Barclay’s charges 2%; Lloyd’s does not.) We were informed by a smarmy youth that we were allowed to cash a maximum of ₤300 per day. When we questioned him, he replied only, “It’s the rule.” Although this did not leave us financially strapped, it restricted our ability to buy and made us more cautious. We decided to re-think our cash strategies for a subsequent trip.

From Bermondsey we visited the jewelry collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum, a visit that reinforced and informed many of our observations at the market earlier in the day. It was a feast for the eyes and a challenge to our tired brains.

We returned to the Scandic Crown for a late afternoon rest, after which we expected to enjoy a dinner in London’s financial district. Our hotel provides a shuttle to and from London Bridge Station all week, and we made sure that the driver would be available later in the evening. He recommended a restaurant where good food was available, and agreed to meet us at 8:45. When we arrived at the restaurant we were informed that no food was available either there or anywhere else in the district. Two friendly Brits recommended an Indian restaurant two blocks away, but when we arrived, we were advised that they had just closed. We learned only later that, although London has a huge professional workforce, only about 8000 of them actually live in the city. Consequently, virtually everything closes on Friday afternoon, whereas on the fashionable and social West Side (in South Kensington, for example!) restaurants and pubs are booming on the weekend.

Our van ride back to the hotel included a ferry trip across the Thames from Canary Wharf to our hotel – less than two minutes. We found a pub about a block away, where we enjoyed a seafood pasta dinner and more good ale. Just when we were starting to feel more relaxed and at home in this unfamiliar land, four loud, obnoxious American couples sat down at a table nearby. Their raucousness, the growing level of smoke in the restaurant, and the distraction their behavior created for our once-efficient waitress, turned out our lights for the evening. We retreated to our hotel after a very full day.

Saturday, October 9, 1993. Riding high on the success of Friday's successful visit to Bermondsey, and feeling a bit cautious about spending all of our available cash, we slept until 7:30, showered, and took the elevator down to the restaurant where our “complimentary English breakfast” was to be served. Unsure of what to expect, we were bowled over by the smorgasbord that awaited us: fruits, juices, cereals, meats and cheeses, hot eggs, Danish bacon, sausage, smoked fish, tomatoes, and coffee. While we ate this sumptuous meal, we looked out over the Thames, feeling very little pressure to be at Portobello Road.

After breakfast we took the shuttle to Rotherhithe Station, where we boarded the tube to Notting Hill Gate, at the top of Portobello Road. Because we had arrived so late, our visit to Portobello Market was disappointing. While Portobello is one of Europe's most active antiques markets, most of the business takes place between 7:00 and 10:00 a.m. By the time we arrived, it had swung into “tourist mode”, with hundreds of window-shopping tire kickers cluttering the sidewalks with their presence and their droppings, filling the air with the stench of cigarette smoke, and walking at a pace rivaling that of a hibernating turtle.

Despite our late arrival, we met several new dealers and purchased many good objects. We also learned that, next time, we’ll forsake breakfast and arrive at a proper hour.

Next month: Our first visit to Birmingham.

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