Old Billingsgate Fish Market, EC3R

Think of the City, the 1980s and Tory politicians, and there doesn't seem much worth celebrating. But Old Billingsgate is an exception – if it were not for Michael Heseltine's listing of the building in 1980, the Corporation of London would have torn it down and buried it beneath steel and glass.

Although the present building dates from 1877, its removal would have meant the loss of a major part of London retail history, as a market had stood on this spot since at least 1000. As it was, only the lorry park suffered that fate, with the erection of the sinister-looking Northern & Shell Building, occupied by porn baron/media mogul Richard Desmond's company. It looks like a mountain of stacked-up TV screens.

According to whoever you believe, the market site was either originally the Gate of Belinus, built in the 5th century by the son of an ancient British king; a wharf owned by a Mr Biling; or Blynesgate to Saxon customs men. Anyway, it had been a market for a long time when Henry IV gave London citizens permission to collect tolls and customs in 1400.

A simple arcaded market building was eventually built, recorded in a 1598 drawing. This burnt down in the Great Fire, and its replacement was frequently repaired and renovated until George the Younger designed a new structure in 1800, which I'm assuming is that seen here (from the Illustrated London News, Nov 10, 1849):

Demands to expand or move the market seem to be almost as old as the market itself, as costermongers and their fishy wares blocked off nearby streets. There was also the smell. Visitors were told to find their way to The Monument and then follow their nose. An edition of the London Spy in 1703 says Billingsgate was renowned as "stinking of stale sprats". One wag suggested the odour was "the best means of defence against foreign invasion".

In 1850, the 1800 structure was replaced with a new building designed by John Jay, of red brick in an Italianate style, seen here:

It wasn't big enough - the market spilled out into the surrounding streets and the stink continued to offend City gents. Angry letters were written to The Times demanding the market's relocation. Some proposed a site just south of Blackfriars Bridge, where if a wharf were built fish could arrive by both boat and train. Shadwell was suggested and a market set up there, but it failed. (Even after the new market was built, there were still efforts to usurp Billingsgate - a Central Fish Market opened at Smithfield in Farringdon in May 1883, but again failed - after all, it wasn't even on the waterside.)

It was decided to go ahead with a redevelopment, and so the current building, designed by City architect Sir Horace Jones, was commissioned. When digging its foundations, 1,000 tonnes of oak, believed to be the foundations of the old dockside, was lifted out of the subsoil. The completed building, which cost £271,407, opened in 1877.

Described by Pevsner as in a French style, it is made from Portland stone with polished grey granite plinths and yellow brick facings between the upper windows. The glass roofs sit on lattice girders spanning 60ft.

The groined and vaulted 24ft-high basement was intended to be used as a shellfish market, the main floor for wet fish - Billingsgate salesmen used to say they could sell "Every fish that swims, except the whale and goldfish" - and an upstairs gallery for the sale of dried fish. This is the basement:

Outside, Britannia sits on the apex of a three-bay central pediment. The pavilions with dolphins on were meant to house pubs for the market workers. Jones used wood and brick mostly, as steel and glass had been found to be prone to overheating in the days before air conditioning. Shops and warehouses lined the east and west walls.

It was extended around 1919 with the building of a mezzanine floor between the ground and basement. An ice-making plant was also installed. This is the market in 1910 (pic from Billingsgate Institute):

And so for the next few decades Billingsgate continued as before, selling fish to London, choking the streets with vans and other vehicles, costermongers and their barrels, being complained about and called on to be moved "lock, stock and fishy barrel" out of the City. Here's the scene on Lower Thames Street in 1937 (picture from AP Photo):

And finally, that's what happened. Plans were made in the early 1970s to redevelop Billingsgate as part of the widening of Lower Thames Street - as in many postwar cities, town planners' ambitions for the motor car bulldozed through the urban landscape. MPs were told the market's days were numbered and it should be moved to a new £5m site in Docklands.

The Corporation of London planned to demolish it and sell the site to a developer, but didn't count on environment secretary Heseltine's listing of it. Save Britain's Heritage and Heseltine have to be thanked for the building's survival, and also for insisting that the riverside be opened up to the public, leaving us with the walkway out front.

But before it could be renovated, it was feared the building could demolish itself - structural engineers said the brickwork in the cellar, buried beneath a build-up of ice feet thick, could crumble away in the thaw, causing Billingsgate to fall in on itself. But after a painstaking melting process, said to have taken up to two years, it survived in tact.

The building was sold in 1982 for £22m, to the London & Edinburgh Trust and W Berisford, and the site (mostly the lorry park next door) was archaeologically excavated before being redeveloped.

Here's the Lower Thames Street side of the building:

Today it is a popular events space - I've attended a couple of awards dos there, but at dinner I wasn't served fish...

364-368 Kingsland Road, E8

While in Hoxton, I walked up Kingsland Road to see if some other shops were worth getting excited about. A Grade-II terrace of early 19th-century houses, from numbers 362 to 368, has three shops at 364, 366 and 368.

English Heritage lists 364 as having an altered 19th-century shop front, "with pilasters and console brackets to mutuled fascia cornice", and also mentions its six-panel door, which either doesn't exist any more (the door to the upstairs accommodation certainly wasn't it), or was hidden behind the shutters when I visited. The shop is now Shangri-La tattoo parlour, based in the basement, but retail space is also advertised on temporary store lettings website www.appearhere.co.uk

However, 366 and 368 haven't retained their 19th-century shop fronts, although there is some older ones hidden behind the modern fascias. Number 366, now occupied by vintage designer fashion retailer Storm in a Teacup, does still have a mutule cornice that dates from the 19th century though. Pictures of the store interior can be seen here.

As for their history, I've not had chance to research back into the early 19th century, but the 1882 Post Office Directory says number 364 was occupied by Alexander Towne, a junior surgeon - not an obvious shop tenant, but no one more obvious is listed. At 366 there was James Brown, who ran a library, no doubt as a commercial interest charging a fee for book lending.

William Catt, grocer and tea dealer, is at 368. Interestingly, an obituary in The Standard of November 6, 1884, records the death of Elizabeth, wife of William Catt, at the age of 43. It turns out Elizabeth was the fourth daughter of Alexander Towne, the junior surgeon at 364.

In 1895, James Brown and William Catt are still there, but lithographer Jani T Maffuniades is at 364.

And finally, the 1910 Directory has no record for number 364, but at 366 is a tobacconist, Jas Tomlinson Jr, and at 368 is Bernard George Hyatt, umbrella maker. A&W Hyatt, a manufacturer of trimmings, girdles and tassels, was a family business based in Hackney. It expanded into umbrellas in the early 20th century, opening four stores, including the one at 368 Kingsland Road.

2 Pearson Street, E2

While wandering around Hoxton recently, I nipped to Pearson Street, where there is an early mid-19th century Grade II-listed terrace, including a shop at number 2.

The shop isn't in a good way, and as I haven't had time to do more than research the address on Google, I'm not sure when it was last a shop. However, it's available to let at the moment, should anyone be interested, and willing to refurbish it!

The shop dates from the period the terrace was built, and although the shop front has since been altered, according to English Heritage, it is a standard, simple Victorian design.

However, it's difficult to see what is original and what isn't. It's ramshackle to say the least, with the pilasters sat unevenly on rough plinths, battered stall boards, and everything is heavily painted in battleship grey (apart from the console brackets and door).

There are lots of these types of Victorian shop fronts around, as their simple, inoffensive designs have proved less likely to offend the changing tastes of developers than the gaudier efforts also produced by the Victorians. What makes 2 Pearson Street interesting is its survival within the terrace as a whole, rather than the shop on its own merit.

In 1876 a furniture salesman, George Rolfe, was listed at number 2. The Post Office Directory in 1895 and 1899 records Edwin Merrill, a marble mason, at the address.

An advertisement in the Hackney Express & Shoreditch Observer of October 21, 1905, shows that "brake proprietor" and "cartage contractor" Thomas Cook was based here.

Thomas Cook's signage can still be seen on the side of the building.

The 1915 and 1921 directories list Lavington Bros, carmen, as the occupiers. Carmen were drivers of carts who were hired to transport goods around the city, so it seems to have been a continuation of Thomas Cook's business, but under a different name/ownership. Clearly these businesses would have all had use of the yard behind, with the entrance next to the shop.

Leadenhall Market, EC3V

At one time England's most important meat market, Leadenhall Market is today a monument to Victorian retail, with some great places to eat and drink, one remaining butcher, some good shops and some tepid, unremarkable ones – Cards Galore, Pizza Express etc, I'm looking at you.

However, they all strive to blend in with the Victorian scheme, and the building is a thing of beauty, all iron, glass and timber, hemmed in by red brick and Portland stone, sitting snugly in the City of London.

The site has a retail history stretching far beyond Leadenhall, as a Roman basilica and forum were built here in AD70. The forum contained shops, banks and offices, around a market place. The basilica housed the town hall and law courts.

Leadenhall Market – Ledenehalle originally, as it was conducted in the courtyard of a lead-roofed mansion – was first recorded in 1309, and in 1345 Edward III designated it as a place where non-Londoners could sell poultry (the market in the street called Poultry was for Londoners only), which he hoped would weaken the black market for the meat. It came under the control of City authorities in 1411 and was rebuilt between 1439 and 1455.

By the 17th century it was famous for its meat. An oft-quoted story tells how Charles II took the Spanish ambassador, Don Petro de Rouquillo, to visit. The ambassador was impressed: "There's more meat sold daily in your market than in all the kingdom of Spain," he said.

Samuel Pepys recorded a visit in his diary. It was a rare sojourn, as it was usually the job of a maidservant to shop in the markets, and not the done thing for gentlefolk. But Pepys was without a maidservant at the time and, to avoid embarrassment, went after dark. "Thence to my wife, and calling at both Exchanges, buying stockings for her and myself, and also at Leadenhall, there she and I, it being candlelight, bought meat for tomorrow, having never a mayde to do it, and I myself bought, while my wife was gone to another shop, a leg of beef, a good one, for six pense, and my wife says it worth my money. So walked home with a woman carrying our things."

The below image of the old market is from the The Illustrated London News of December 27, 1845.

The market in Pepys' time had three courts: one for beef, one for veal, mutton and lamb, and the middle taken up by fishmongers, which also took up the south and west sides. More fishmongers, poultry and cheese shops filled the passages penetrating outwards into the City.

Although damaged during the Great Fire in 1666, the market survived and was rebuilt as a covered structure split into the Beef Market, the Green Yard and the Herb Market.

This map of the market shows the area in 1772 – there is a Flesh Market, Fish Market and a Herb Market on the eastern side – and also an illustration of the front of the old market:

And so the market continued, through the 18th and most of the 19th century. Newspaper archives recount thefts of meat, selling of meat unfit for human consumption, retailers breaking The Game Act of 1831 by selling out of season (The Times of March 3, 1855 reported that 10 of the market's biggest traders were summoned to court for this), but otherwise business boomed, with vast varieties of poultry. In 1809 a new breed of duck was discovered on sale – named the ring-necked duck, a live one wasn't recorded in the UK until 1955, after it had been discovered to be native to North America.

By the late 19th century, the Victorian vigour for sweeping away the clutter and dirt of history meant the old market's days were numbered. In 1880-81 the current structure was built, designed by Sir Horace Jones (also responsible for Billingsgate Fish Market, and the Central Meat Market and General Market in Smithfield). It was influenced by the Galleria Vittoria Emanuele II in Milan, although somewhat smaller. It opened in December 1881, just in time for Christmas trading. Here's a picture from the The Illustrated London News of December 24, 1881, of the newly opened market:

The ornate cast-iron and glass structure has a classical look, with ionic columns and a timber and glass dome as the centrepiece where the footways meet. The cruciform plan isn't straight, due to the need to preserve ancient rights of way – it's always open to wandering Londoners through day and night.

Higher rents kept some of the old market's traders out of the redeveloped building, meaning the class of trader went up, although it was still primarily a wholesale market. Not that the poor didn't shop there too: "Just over London Bridge there was Leadenhall Market. Go over there in the afternoons, cos there was no fridges then so the fish that was left – you could get a bagful for 3d – we'd get the best of the fish, where they [artisans]'d be the buying the cheapest." (from Loaves and Fishes, History Workshop Journal, no 41, spring 1996)

The success of the redevelopment meant the market continued through the 20th century. A restoration in 1990-91 accentuated the internal colour scheme, and shop tenants have since been encouraged by the City of London Corporation to base their shop fronts on Sir Horace Jones's original tripartite pattern, including the decorative cast-iron ventilation grilles. Some shops still have wrought-iron hooks outside, which were used to display poultry.

There are offices above the shops, and today it is mostly City workers who bring money to Leadenhall. Looking at them in their expensive suits and crisp shirts, it all seems a long way from the blood and stink of the meat market.

As with any high street or market, the relentless tide of clone stores and decline of independent retailers have impacted on Leadenhall, meaning many of its 101 retail units are occupied by chain stores or restaurants. But it's had to diversify to survive, and its survival should be celebrated.

16-20 Barter Street, WC1

Tucked away behind High Holborn is Barter Street. The street name has only existed since 1937 – before then this was Silver Street, built as part of the Bloomsbury Square development in the 17th century. The street has a terrace of three early 19th-century shops.

All have neat, identical wooden shopfronts, with pilasters, unremarkable entablatures and bracketed cornices.

The fact that the street is hidden away means many of the past shop tenants seem not to be of the type that relied on passing trade. In 1882's Post Office Directory, only one of the shops is listed – number 16, occupied by blind maker Edward Jinks.

But by 1894 number 16 is occupied by John Hawley, tailor, who has been joined at 18 by bootmaker James Claridge. Number 20 is shared by Charles James Evans, a mathematical instrument maker, and wine merchant WJ Hollebone & Sons.

Leap forward to 1919 and confectioner Jane Owen has taken over number 16. At 18 is chimney sweep James Christopher Catlin, while at 20 is a printer, Jules Petit, and still WJ Hollebone & Sons.

In the 1951 Post Office Directory, Marine & Overseas Services Ltd's mail order office is the only shop listed, at number 16. This is the only business I've been able to find any significant remains of amid the depths of the internet. The exact nature of the company is unclear, but it did sell all sorts of bits and bobs such as watches and mathematical instruments, usually by mail order through adverts in newspapers and magazines. This one is from 1950 and was in Model Engineer magazine (from Grace's Guide):

I don't know about being the "ideal gift", but slide rules seem to have been a major part of its business for some time – it called itself The British Slide Rule Co at some time, judging by a classified ad in The Times (April 25, 1942). This is one of the company's slide rules (found here):

Perhaps a better gift idea was this "unique bed table", as advertised in Picture Post (November 5, 1949):

Another ad in The Times (December 1, 1949) offers "Swiss ex-RAF" watches for sale:

Perhaps this, from The Watch Forum, is one of them? Look closely and you can see Marine & Overseas Services Ltd written on the face:

Collage has a pic of the shops from 1956, but there doesn't appear to be much going on...

Today, numbers 16 and 18 are one business – London City Print. Number 20 is occupied by a solicitor, Brion & Co, which specialises in immigration law.

207 High Holborn, WC1

I set out last Sunday to take pics of Staple Inn on High Holborn, only to find it under scaffolding. So instead I walked a short way up the street to number 207, an early 19th-century Grade II-listed shop and terraced house clinging to the corner of Newton Street.

What stands out most about the shop, which has a wooden frontage, is the wrought iron cresting above the entablature. This was commonly used in the late 19th-century, so was most likely added around that time. According to Alan Powers in Shop Fronts, iron cresting was intended to catch the eye as shop fascias became weighed down with an accumulation of intricate details.

For most of its life the shop was a pawnbroker or antiques shop, under different owners but most famously under the name Shapland.

Back in 1834 it was a tobacconist, but the Lloyd's Weekly on September 16, 1849 has a court report involving pawnbroker G Webb of 207 High Holborn, who accused 40-year-old Jane Sinclair of trying to defraud him of 12 shillings by "tendering a spurious ring".

In Reynold's Newspaper on November 10, 1861, the shop was still a pawnbroker but now seemingly under the name Joshua Harding. The paper reported a case at Bow Street Magistrates' Court in which a young man named Henry Lewingstone stole a silver watch from Harding. A post office carrier, Thomas Bentley, told the court: "I was coming out of West Central District Office, at the the corner of Southampton Street and Holborn, when I heard a smash of glass in Holborn. I ran across the road, and saw the prisoner at the window of 207, with his hand through a hole in a pane [of] glass into the window. He had a watch in his hand. At that moment the assistant came out of the shop and seized him."

The shop crops up in a number of court reports down the years, due to its jewellery trade. In The Standard of May 5, 1879, the pawnbroker was now Mr John Allan, but this time it's the pawnbroker who is the defendant, with Allan accused of unlawfully detaining a gold watch. Allan was cleared but ordered to share the cost of the loss of the watch with the complainant.

At some point very soon after, diamond merchant Charles Shapland must have taken over the shop, at some stage also working jointly with someone called Cloud, as there are early advertisements (eg The Times, February 25, 1891) naming the business as Cloud & Shapland.

Shapland ran the shop as a pawnbroker specialising in old jewels and also as a clockmaker. A clock of 1880 (the 1833 visible is the clock number) is engraved with Shapland's address:

But Shapland eventually took sole control, and the shop traded under the Shapland name until the 1980s, specialising in antique silver. Here's an ad from The Daily Express in 1921, which sat on the front page beside the masthead:

Shapland was clearly a jeweller of some repute – the store had its own silver makers' mark.

The renowned Times wine correspondent Pamela Vandyke Price (who died just last week, aged 90) was clearly a fan, recommending the shop for silver tasting cups, brandy saucepans, toddy ladles and fine coasters in a few of her columns.

The City of London's Collage picture library has a great picture of the store, taken in 1974 – click here.

After Shadland closed in the 1980s, for some time it remained a jeweller, run by the Goldsmiths chain. When Goldsmiths moved out, its long association with jewellery ended, and instead of fine silver it now peddles distinctly non-precious greetings cards, One Direction face masks and 'Keep Calm and Carry On' tat as a branch of Cards Galore.

13 Rugby Street, WC1

The best known address on Rugby Street is number 18, where Ted Hughes was living when he wooed Sylvia Plath. But across the road, the shop at number 13 is more stimulating than the memory of dead poets.

Its mid-19th century wooden shop front has a covering of attractive blue tiles, with dentil entablature and a pair of lion mask consoles, atop flat pilasters. There is just the one, large window – still with pin holes above for wooden shutters – which has an odd post, maybe for structural support, just inside to the right.

The terraced house was built around 1721, and when the shop was added in the 19th century it wouldn't have stretched back so far. Hidden beneath the wooden floor of the newer part of the shop at the rear is a medieval conduit head, made from white marble and scribbled with 16th-century graffiti. It originally supplied water to Greyfriars Monastery in Newgate Street.

Now a jeweller's, number 13 was for many years a dairy shop – hence the 'Dairy' lettering on the tiled stallriser – run since 1887 by the Davies family. The shop name was French's Dairy – why I don't know – and the fascia was only recently changed by the current occupier, Maggie Owen.

The Davies's name suggests it was a Welsh dairy. During the Victorian period many Welsh-owned dairies sprung up close to the Marylebone and Euston Roads, which offered easy access from Paddington Station, the terminus for trains from South Wales. Demand for milk brought by rail rocketed in the late 1860s, following an outbreak of rinderpest among the cows stabled in London, from where most supplies previously came. Hence the influx of Welsh dairy families, and the growth of dairy shops selling products that were previously sold from dairy stables in the city (see An Economic History of London 1800-1914, Professor Michael Ball & David T Sunderland).

I did have a quick look to see if I could find out whether the shop had a pre-dairy life, but couldn't find Rugby Street in the Post Office Directory. However, I've since realised Rugby Street was until 1936 or 1937 called Chapel Street (after the Chapel of St John, which was demolished in the mid-19th century), and when renamed the street numbering system was changed too, so no wonder I couldn't find it. The name Rugby Street comes from Rugby School, which owned this area of Bloomsbury. Here's a map of the area in 1752, from the British Library (it spells Chapel Street with a double l):

Post-dairy, by the 1980s number 13 was a general store, still run by the Davies family, then in the 1990s was taken over by Rennies, a gallery-cum-shop specialising in original posters and graphic design. Interviewed by The Observer in 2003, Rennies owners Paul and Karen Rennie said the cellar of number 13 was still stacked with milk bottles.

Eight years ago Maggie Owen moved in. Her range of contemporary jewellery and accessories from various designers is well worth a look if you're passing by.

49 Gough Street, WC1

Number 49 Gough Street is a small shop with a big history. Situated behind Gray's Inn Road, it seems to have thrived for a number of years within the furniture industry, particularly as an outpost of larger furniture firms.

The house and shop, built in the early 19th century, were previously part of a terrace. Although altered at some point, the wooden shop front is original – English Heritage describes it as "exceptionally fine", with its dentil architrave, cornice and entablature atop fluted quarter columns.

It's no longer a shop. A Google search brings it up as the company address of the director of the British Parking Association, so perhaps it's an office, though there didn't look much happening when I visited on a Tuesday afternoon, and it looks more residential.

I don't know who the first retail tenant was, but in 1891 it was cabinet maker Baldassare Viscardini & Sons. Born in Como, Italy in 1831, Viscardini was living in the East End by 1841, working with his brother and father – the 1851 census shows all three were looking glass frame makers.

In 1857, Viscardini married 19-year-old Rose Martin, daughter of a carpenter. However, Rose must have met an unfortunate end – in 1867 Viscardini, now a widower, married again, this time to Eliza Sheppard, daughter of a boot maker. The wedding was in Holborn, and then the 1871 census has the family at Mount Pleasant, a stone's throw from Gough Street. In 1881 they're at 54 Gough Street, and by 1891 at 49.

Viscardini seems to have had two addresses at this time, the other being 15 West View in Islington, which must've been the family home. The census listing shows the whole of the family firm:

Baldassare Viscardini, 60, cabinet maker
Eliza Viscardini, 40
Amelia E Viscardini, 20
Carlotta B Viscardini, 18, jewel case liner
Baldassare G Viscardini, 17, cabinet maker
Giacomo Viscardini, 15, cabinet maker
John W Viscardini, 13
Beatrice C Viscardini, 10

However, life for Viscardini wasn't just about furniture making. He was clearly a patriotic Italian, as back in 1859 he went back to his homeland to fight alongside general and politician Guiseppe Garibaldi in the Army of the Red Shirts during the Second Italian War of Independence, helping Garibaldi form a united Italy. The Anglo-Italian Family History Society website actually has a picture of Viscardini from his time with the Red Shirts:

Clearly a remarkable man, Viscardini died in 1896 at West View, and is buried in New Southgate Cemetery.

Viscardini's business is still listed as occupying 49 Gough Street in the 1898 Post Office Directory – along with Frederick Nutt, an architectural modeller – but next to move in was possibly E Kahn & Co, listed as an artistic furniture maker in the 1906 directory.

E Kahn was a prestigious French furniture manufacturer, renowned for its copies of 18th-century French furniture, such as this E Kahn commode, which sold at Sotheby's in April 2012 for 37,500 US dollars:

However, there's no suggestion furniture this opulent was made at 49 Gough Street, as this was a smaller branch said to have produced pieces in an English Edwardian style. The company also had premises in St Andrew Street and Charlotte Street (the Shoreditch one) in London, and in about 1884 opened a New York office.

I've no idea what happened to the business, but here's an ad found on Grace's Guide, which lists E Kahn as still at number 49 in 1922 (this ad appeared in the British Industries Fair brochure):

The next Post Office Directory I checked was for 1951, and by this time shopfitters Frederick Sage & Co had installed themselves in number 49. Founded in 1860, the business was based around the corner on Gray's Inn Road until the Blitz in 1941, when its premises were destroyed. Whether it shifted some of its operations to Gough Street after that or was already there before then, this can't have been more than a small limb of a much bigger operation. A picture of the shop in 1947 can be seen here.

It may not look much in that picture, but Frederick Sage was a major shopfitting firm – it was responsible for the original shopfit in Harrods, and for many historic shop fronts on Regent Street, Oxford Street and Bond Street, such as Dickins & Jones, Selfridges and DH Evans on Oxford Street (now House of Fraser).

Remarkably, during each World War the company switched to manufacturing wooden airplanes, before picking up where it left off with shopfitting in peace time.

The business was global, with offices throughout Europe – Printemps in Paris was one job – the US and South America, as well as a factory in Cape Town, South Africa. It wasn't just shopfitting either – interiors were constructed for hotels, restaurants, and P&O and Cunard cruise ships. After the Second World War, Frederick Sage worked on the reconstruction of the bombed House of Commons.

The company struggled through the 1960s, and in 1968 was swallowed up by British Electric Traction. No doubt plenty of its work is still around today – in fact, I found these haberdashery shop drawers for sale on eBay...