London enigmas
The Albanian Shop in Covent Garden
It's 1am in the morning and I'm feeling compelled to jot down a few fleeting memories of the Albanian Shop that was situated in Betterton Street in Covent Garden.
It took me at least three or four attempts to enter the place, before I finally walked in, only to discover the remarkable treasure trove of ephemera lurking within. I had been rather intimidated by the shop window - jam packed with assorted artefacts devoted to the image and the words of Enver Hoxha, the leader of what was then the People's Republic of Albania.
Enver Hoxha keyrings
All I knew about Albania at that time was from a few students who had visited the place off the back of some Trade Union sponsored beano to comrades out in the East. Lots of fields and farms, and not much contact with the rest of the planet. But here was an Albanian shop situated in the heart of London - nestled among decadent boutiques and a stone's throw from the tourist magnet, Covent Garden Market - it all seemed rather odd. Who was paying the rent? Who actually bought little statues and keyrings of Hoxha, or wanted to read translated editions of his speeches?
Vinyl treasure trove
But the great prize for plucking up the confidence to wander in was lurking at the far end of the shop. Heaps and heaps of secondhand LP records, plus loads of unplayed ones too. Shelves bursting with intriguing stuff. I bagged some total gems, including a mint copy of Richard Brautigan reading his own poetry and loads of beautiful folk and sound effects records released on the Argo label. All which I still have, and occasionally play to this day. It seemed like all the records in the shop were what you may call 'sensible', not much in the way of pop or rock - more inclined towards classicals and jazz. And of course the price - everything was one pound, charity shop prices to boot.
But looking back now, some 20 years on, what could I have missed out on? There must have been some authentic Albanian recordings for the discerning punter. What other obscure stuff was on sale in the Albanian Shop? I also wonder why they were selling Western records in the first place? Where did they get them from?
I do remember having a brief conversation with the proprietor or shop worker, but I don't recall anything that was said, nor do I have any further knowledge about what the shop was all about. It must have closed down at least 10 years ago, and I'm sure there are others out there in the world of London RIP who can add more flesh to my hazy recollections of the Albanian Shop.
The story of Charles Lon
As London becomes more money-orientated
and homogeneous there are fewer and fewer places that defy explanation, where
there exists a sense of mystery, of a story left untold. While walking up Upper Street in
Islington I saw on the corner of Cross
Street, at number seventy-one, an old, closed
barber’s shop promoting, “Individual styling by Charles Lon”. This was written
in black in a stylised font, all curlicues, on a canary yellow background.
Brylcream and Durex
I looked behind the rusty metal grilles that covered the windows to see a complete hairdresser’s salon that looked like the barbers I was dragged to by my father as a child. There were two old pump-action chairs with the brand name “Belmont”, embossed in metal. There were pictures of pouting Brylcreamed men modelling the latest styles of 1965. There was a sturdy Durex machine advertising its sterilised wares. There were numerous mirrors both wall mounted and hand-held with which the barber would proudly show you how your cut looked at the back. There was a stylish very 50s’ bench seat in imitation red leather.
Time machine
It just looked as if someone had shut up shop in the mid 60’s and had never reopened the following day. I wondered what the story was. This is an area that changes daily with long-established shops closing and new ones taking their place at a frightening pace and yet here in the midst of this sought-after part of London was this barbers shop, long-closed and seemingly abandoned. It is a time capsule of a bygone era of hairdressing. What was its story?
I sent an email to that wonderful source of London wisdom, the Robert Elms show on BBC London. I explained to him my sense of wonder at seeing this splendidly inexplicable anachronism. A very sweet woman phoned in to say that the owner was a somewhat idiosyncratic Maltese gentleman who, after steadfastly refusing to modernise the shop, closed it down to return to Malta. It seems that he put a high value on the shop and as no one has met his asking price the salon remains idle but unchanged. His obstinacy has ensured that a little slice of a past Islington remains caught in urban amber. Charles Lon, (was it once Charles of London?), has long gone but is here to stay. Work that one out!
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| Date and time: | 30/12/2008 at 14:49:03 |
| Sender: | Biff |
| Another time capsule is located in Myddleton Road, Bowes Park, N22. The road is a very run-down and largely forgotten shopping street dating from the days when housewives did their daily shopping with a wicker basket. Many shops are abandoned or have become seedy kebab establishments and the like - however one really odd place is 'Moore's'. This is an old-fashioned gent's outfitters. In the window are sensible pyjamas and the like, all with hand-written price tags. But the shop is permanently closed and has remained untouched certainly since I first saw it in early 2005. By the way everything looked faded it must have been closed for a long time even then. Why it remains like this is a mystery. | |
