Here we go again. As I am often to be heard saying, nobody demolishes or changes something with the intent to upset us – they really do believe they are improving things. Bless em.
But once it's gone, it's gone. I'm not asking that we keep everything, that would be daft, but when lovely hints of history that have hung on for over 100 years are suddenly removed and replaced with unsympathetic and often cheap products that surely themselves will not last 100 years, I get a little despondent.
In the last few months I have seen the demise of many lovely old shops fronts that have been stripped of their heritage and replaced with modern flat glass or plastic panels. I hate to point fingers, but I am going to, and not in an accusatory way. Having spoken to many of the owners of these buildings whether during or post-renovation I have often discovered that these people are in the most part from other countries, mainly Turkish, and they truly think that they are doing us a favour by removing what they consider to be dirty, old or as one man said "too much historical". They are not trying to upset us. They want spaces that are clean, modern, boxy and shiny, preferably in white, grey or black, perhaps with a bit of gold lettering added.
Last week I delivered one of my Janes London prints to a house in Hornsey, London N8, and I used the opportunity to investigate the local high street, remembering that when I'd gone through there on a bus one late dark evening earlier this year, I was convinced that I'd noticed some changes to an old shop front.
Yep. Sad to report that the only shop that retained its original floor-to-ceiling tiled walls has had a make-over – the two facing panels, either side of what was a recessed window, have been obliterated. On the day I visited there were too many parked cars in the way to take decent photos so these next pics are screengrabs from Google streetview – top 2022, middle 2023 and bottom 2024 (how it appears today):
Boo hoo. I loved those tiles. They were wonderfully mad, evoking OTT Victorian gin palaces and luxurious hotel lobbies. Much of 1890's North London is beautifully littered with entranceways that resemble tile shop catalogues, showing a variety of patterns that to the modern eye look like they don't belong in the same space – but the chaos works.
Here's a selection of my own pics to show how the shop in question used to look:
Back in 2012 I wrote a specific blog post about the lovely tiles in this part London. Let's hope that they managed to chip off and sell the tiles and they weren't simply smashed and skipped.
When this terrace was constructed there were tiled pilasters between each shop at street shop – more of my own pics:
Today, of the few tiled pilasters that remain, they covered in stickers or filth, obliterated by downpipes, or overpainted, whether fully or in half vertically – this is my side!
The green plaque on the wall above the hairdressers is for David Grieg (1865-1952), grocer and local benefactor. I stood and wondered what he'd make of how this terrace looks today, indeed the whole street.
Let's look at some other things... I backtracked to No.20 to take pics of the lower half of the gate which bears the name VIVA. I have no idea what sort of company this was, but I always like a bit of bespoke metalwork.
It seems to me that the high street here has changed very quickly in the past decade or so. There's been a change in the type of shops. I used to love going in the auction rooms (they were between the Tesco and the Three Compasses pub, ditto a couple of little antiques and bric-a-brac stores on the opposite side of the street. Many of the shops are today either empty or being revamped, complete with UPVC plate glass fronts.
An old sign for the Smithfield Refrigerator Works still hangs above the lane at the side of the pub, giving a glimpse towards The New River and a bygone world. Nice to end on an evocative image.
