Richard Stompidou wrote:djmills wrote:the 'real Bermondsey' doesn't exist - Of course it does, the Bermondsey you live in now, is the
real Bermondsey. The Bermondsey I lived in, forty five years ago, that was my real Bermondsey.
You see from my point of view we all live in the real Bermondsey, in the past, the present and the future
djmills - thanks, that was beautifully put!
dee dee wrote:I had forgotten about The Fellmongers, it was ran by Neville Axford who eventually took over The Ring in Blackfriars Rd. Sadly Neville is no longer with us. For some reason I can't place Uncle's although I have a feeling that it was in Spa rd. but I remember The Lilliput well enough. They played jazz in there and I couldn't stand it, but a girl I fancied wanted to meet me in there one night as her cousin was going to be there. Thinking with my hormones, for want of a better phrase, I stood for it. The things you did for lust !I can remember Weekend nights used to start meeting up with my mates at Uncles or Gillys on to the Vic, the Fell then the Red Cow and end up at the Lil as that was open till 2 am.
I don't remember any of us looking like something out of Vogue though but I was a student back then so would not have had the money!
Jan the old one wrote:Your posting cracked me up Jan, I vaguely remember my ex wifes sister saying something years ago about sugar water and stiffening petticoats. BTW I now think that Uncle's was off TBR somewhere near the after hours drinker Southsides. The ashtray experience was worse for us non smokers I guess. It was the price you paid for a good night out. People used to ask me why I didn't smoke and my riposte would be, "I only ever got into alcohol and women, two out of three ain't bad!"It was the smell of the pubs Tom for me in the /fifties/sixties/..or rather the excitement of getting ready for a Friday or Saturday night.
Petticoats had to be soaked in sugar water to stiffen them, shirtwaisters ironed, hair back combed within an inch of it's life, then the hair lacquer, squeezed out of little plastic bottles till your hair was rigid! Lashings of Evening in Paris or Laimant in a small black bottle with a spatula , you wiped the creamy perfume on with it. You walked in the pub smelling like a rose garden, and left smelling like an ashtray, and having spent five bob on 4 light an limes!
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