It is another warm, sunny day today with the thermometer weighing in at 22° C (72° F).
There were quite a few people about and a sizeable fraction of them – maybe 30% – no longer maintain even the pretence of social distancing. If allowed to, they will practically brush past you. Others are wearing masks and these generally do keep their distance.
We walked through this passage between the fronts of a row of houses and gardens of another row of houses set at right-angles to them. It bears the name of Cumberland Gardens. It’s one of those addresses that you would never find unless you happened to know where it is.
Beside the walkway was a large rose bush – practically a tree – full of white blooms. They were bouncing in the breeze which somehow enhanced their beauty.
One of the curiosities of Islington, or, at least, the district where we live, is the number of lions you encounter here. The photo shows a pair attached to these houses. There is a matching lion on the roof next door but it was partially hidden behind scaffolding.
As well as stone lions there are plaques representing lion heads or faces while lion door-knockers are also very common. Most of these lions show their age and perhaps date from when the houses were first built. I do not know why this animal is so popular but I am rather fond of them and enjoy discovering ones I have not spotted before.
We called in at Myddelton’s as usual and collected our coffee. We will miss this little ritual once life returns to “normal”, if ever it does. We will have to find reasons for dropping in from time to time, just to maintain friendly contact.
Inglebert Street and St Mark’s Church
Photo by Tigger
Tigger took this photo looking along Inglebert Street towards a sunlit St Mark’s Church. This street, when first built, was called Upper Chadwell Street but it was renamed in 1935 to commemorate William Chadwell, one of the engineers involved in the New River project.
Chadwell Street itself was named after the Chadwell Spring which, along with the Amwell Spring, provided the water that the New River brought – and still brings – to an ever thirsty London.
We should perhaps think of Hugh Myddelton whenever we turn on the tap!