GENEALOGY
The Smell Of Burning Wood — My First Memory
Furniture makers were the lifeblood of Hackney Road
My earliest recollection is the smell of burning wood, not the stench of a forest fire, but the sweet smell of wood being cut in a wood yard. The smell would not have been unusual had I been brought up in a rural environment, but I was born in the heart of East London in the 1950s.
The family home I lived in as an infant was at 21 Tuilerie Street, Shoreditch, known locally as Toolaree Street and not Twillaree, as the French would have it pronounced. I never understood the address as the front door was in Busk Street, but this is a quirk of historical town planning as the window to the front room, or lounge as it’s known nowadays, was looking out into Tuilerie Street so that was where the house address was placed. For a toddler trying to grasp the rudiments of life it was an early introduction to how complicated the world is.
As this was a compact, in estate agent parlance, an area with the houses squeezed in to maximise the space, why could I smell burning wood? The answer is that a working woodyard was right across the road, situated in the middle of terraced houses. If a child knows no different, then this is what it grows up believing to be the norm, and that was what I believed.
This is the start of my family history; my recording of it will almost certainly not go in a linear, or even logical, direction, but it will get there in the end. It’s not going to read like a list of names, dates, and numbers, but I will, hopefully, be putting context into the lives of my ancestors.
The houses were built in the late Victorian era, and the streets still had cobbles; in fact, they were never changed until the whole area was demolished. Wood yards were commonplace in the area due to the local industry being predominantly furniture making.
The first of the family to live on 21 Tuilerie Street was my great grandfather, James Broomhead, and my great grandmother, Clara Broomhead, nee Styles. Both of them were born in the East End of London, James in Bethnal Green and Clara in another part of Shoreditch; neither moved very far in their lifetime. I’d probably have gotten a clip round the ear for calling them by their first names, but I’ll take my chances as they’ve been dead for over a hundred years.
Back to the woodyards. There was a proud tradition of furniture-making in that immediate area; I can recall stories of furniture makers all along Hackney Road, although most had disappeared by the time of my birth. The woodyards were the lifeblood of the industry, supplying the raw materials to the trade.
These highly skilled craftsmen built the furniture for the monied classes, as nobody in the locality would have been able to afford the bespoke items they were manufacturing. It began in the early 19th century with timber yards being built along the River Lea, a few miles away from Shoreditch, but a vital route to bring the basic lumber into the capital.
I remember one such woodyard tucked away on the towpath of the river and still operating in the 1970s. There was also a pub hidden away by it, which had seen better days by that time.
Furniture makers relied on the woodyards not only for the materials but also the expertise that would invariably influence their designs and manufacturing techniques. Working in a woodyard was more than just cutting pieces of wood to order, as their name of sawyer would suggest.
The woodyards offered a variety of timbers, each with its own properties, which enabled furniture makers to create items that were not only functional but beautiful as well. Sawyers needed skills that were diverse and also physically demanding. They required a keen eye for detail to select the best timber and understand the nuances of grain patterns and wood behaviour.
To me, a plank of wood is a plank of wood, and if it’s the length I’m looking for, I’ll buy it. Modern-day living doesn’t lend itself to looking at the flow of the grain, but in the 19th and 20th centuries, they had to know how to use a variety of tools, from saws to chisels and planes. Additionally, they were required to use mathematical skills, including being proficient with geometrical techniques, which made this a skilled job. All of these skills would have been used by men who were almost certainly illiterate, making it all the more impressive.
So, in the late 1950s, at least one small woodyard was working with the band saw, cutting the timber and creating the smell, which was one of my earliest memories. The industry would have declined tremendously by then, so Sadlers Yard, as I believe it was called, would have been one of the last suppliers to the trade.
My great grandfather, James, had been a turner all his life which is why he never moved away from the area as his employ was on his doorstep. There was no commuting for him.
A woodturner used a lathe to shape and form wood, which was a skilled job. In fact, the wood turner’s guild started as early as the 12th century, and there is even a Worshipful Company of Turners in the City of London that underlies the importance of the role in industry.
In some ways, a wood lathe works on the same principle as the potter’s wheel, and the wood grain affects the tools and techniques required to shape it. The role of woodturners during this period cannot be understated. Their craft not only contributed to the aesthetic and structural integrity of furniture but also to the evolution of design trends. Growing up, I heard stories of dozens of furniture-making shops along Hackney Road, and I felt a twinge of sadness that they were gone. But that was progress, and at the age of three, I was not drawn to the cause of the Luddites.
So James and Clara lived in the vicinity of Hackney Road, where James could get employment and make a living. Compared with other areas of the East End, Tuilerie Street was quite clean and relatively respectable. I say this as this was the East End and the bar was not set very high.
It is interesting to note that Booth’s maps show the inhabitants in the area north of Hackney Road, which included Tuilerie Street, as fairly comfortable, good ordinary earnings, whereas the inhabitants immediately south of Hackney Road as poor. This was recorded in 1888–9 which I would assume was the same in 1901 when James and Clara moved in after living in Treadway Street when first married which was on the other side of Hackney Road and shown as the residents being poor. So, they were upwardly mobile.
Charles Booth created the maps in the late 19th century and gave a geographical insight into London’s socio-economic framework. The maps detailed neighbourhoods according to the income and social class of their inhabitants. You have to remember that the class system in Britain was at its height during this period and social mobility was virtually unheard of in the working classes.
These maps give us an insight into the lives of people who lived in various areas of London and thanks to Booth’s pioneering work, we can build a picture of people’s lives during that period. James, being a turner, was a skilled worker but only moved to the relative comfort of Tuilerie Street in the final years of his life.
I use the term relative here, as even until the house was demolished, it never had a bathroom or an inside toilet. Using the facilities on a freezing cold morning is also an early memory, but not one quite so romantic as the smell and noise of a wood saw cutting timber.
My memory of the house was that it was jam-packed with Victorian items, such as decorative oil lamps, paintings, and bric-a-brac. This was not a house that would have been associated with the extreme poverty that existed in certain parts of the East End of London. Not only was the house jam-packed with items, but it was also jam-packed with people. When I was born, my mother and father lived there with my grandmother and two spinster aunts, all inhabiting four rooms, a kitchen, and no bathroom.
However, looking at the conditions around the area during the late 19th century, this would have been relatively very comfortable for James and Clara, who had four children. However, a daughter died as an infant aged 18 months, and a son died aged five.
I will return to 21 Tuilerie Street as the journey through my family history continues.
