Greetings, my fellow Bermondsey nerds! If you have ended up on my tiny parcel of digital property, you are probably as passionate about “biscuit town” as I am. But where are my manners? Introductions are in order.
My name is Leyla Breitner, and I was born at St. Thomas Hospital twenty-seven years ago. I have lived in SE1 my entire life, and though I like travelling, no feeling can substitute the joy of coming home. I have tried to pin back my passion for the place to a single moment in my childhood, an event that left an indelible impression in my mind. But the truth is my love affair with Bermondsey grew naturally, nurtured by the way my parents talked about the place and how much they cared about the local community and its future.
Bermondsey has dramatically changed throughout the last decade, especially the riverside area between London Bridge and Tower Bridge. One only has to stand in the mighty shadow of the towering Shard to be reminded of the influx of modernity. However, I am not one of the locals who bemoan the change in spirit and landscape. If a place remains static, it loses its vital energy and eventually dies – even if it is near the heart of London. Bermondsey needed the Shard, One Blackfriars, and South Bank Tower to remain relevant – and I, for once, am immensely proud of the futuristic skyline they produce.
But the real Bermondsey, my Bermondsey, lies just over half a mile to the southeast. And if I have to choose one place that embodies the spirit of the area and exemplifies all the best things about it, it must be Bermondsey Antique Market.
My first memory of the Antique Market is walking hand in hand with my father through the endless maze of tables. I must have been seven or eight years old, and the cacophony of sound and colour was overwhelming. And yet, I did not feel threatened or afraid – in my mind, the Market looked like a fairy-tale setting out of my children’s books, as if I had walked into one of the stories Mom and Dad used to read to me before going to bed.
Dad was a passionate collector of coins and must have passed the “history bug” onto me. I never became a true collector or antiquarian like him or some of his friends, but my fascination with the Market remained a lifelong feature. Much later, I learned that the area was once dominated by ancient Bermondsey Abbey – the first church was probably built during the Anglo-Saxon Age. How proper to have an antique market at one of the oldest sites in London!
I visit the place at least once a month and always find something new. I often think of my walks as browsing through an old encyclopaedia – you never know what page you will open by chance. How far has this coin travelled through space and time? How many hands has it seen, and how many everyday transactions? Or the floral china sets of Mrs Williams – who were the people who gossipped and argued over tea and cake? Did they have the same worries, problems, joys, and celebrations? I can almost imagine a proper Victorian lady overseeing the setting of the dinner table, giving instructions to her maids. And this is just one table! Imagine each story the next stand presents, the endless caleidoscope of fates you can create in your imagination!
That is if you are interested in things. Bermondsey Antique Market is an even greater treasure if you are interested in people. Many of them I know well. For the older ones, “the guardians of the market,” as I love to call them, I am “Adam Breitner’s girl”, and they treat me as a favourite niece. But what I love most is seeing new faces and hearing new stories. A few weeks ago, I met this guy who could not have been much older than me.
“My uncle’s fondest memories were of his Sundays on the Market, trying to cell the latest piece of junk he had found during one of his tours in the countryside. He never made any money from his hobby, but the memories and friendships were worth more than his 30-year salary as a civil engineer. I never quite understood what he was talking about until he made me promise to try and sell out his collection. He passed away a few months ago. I might never be able to sell it all, but I understand now.”
How can one remain cynical after hearing something like this? And how can anybody convince me there is a more magical and humane place in all of London than Bermondsey Antique Market?