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Updated: July 8, 2025
This district, which comprises Tower Hamlets, Shoreditch, Bethnal Green and Hackney, contains a population of 908,000; that is to say, less than one-fourth of the population of London. How do his statistics work out?
With only the vague address of Bethnal Green and the date of Tuesday morning to guide me, I set out for Worship Street Police Court, thinking it possible to gain some further particulars from the police. I found those functionaries civil, indeed, but disposed to observe even more than official reticence about the Slave Market.
The occasion was the opening of the Bethnal Green Museum. We had gallery tickets for the Chief and myself. It was an imposing display. The centre of the hall was occupied by all the great grandees in brilliant dress including natives of many a foreign clime. The arrival of Royalty was signalized by a clarion blast which thrilled through one's veins and set one on the tiptoe of expectation.
Bethnal Green, 65. Bexley, 41, 42. Bishop of diocese, 73. Black gravestones, 76. Blackheath, 38. Blacksmith, village, 31. "Blackwood's Magazine," 75. Blairgowrie, 88. Board of Health, 59. Bodiam, 16. Boutell's "Monuments," 36. Braemar, 86, 89. Brandeston, Suffolk, 56. Brash on "Ogams," 97, 103. Bressay stone, 100. Bretons, 62, 63. Bricklayer's gravestone, 33. British Museum, 99, 103, 104.
It was, for instance, on what has always appeared to me among the most affecting epochs of our Christian year, the Fifth Sunday after Easter Christ's last Sunday upon earth that, by one of those violent antitheses, I went to Gibraltar Walk, Bethnal Green Road, to hear Mr. Ramsey there demolish the very system which, for many years, it has been my mission to preach.
"'But first you shall promise and have it well knowne The gold that you drop shall all be your owne; With that they replyed, 'Contented we bee; 'Then here's, quoth the beggar, 'for pretty Bessee." Old Ballad. The day after Midsummer had come, and towards the fine elm tree that then adorned the centre of Bethnal Green, three horsemen were wending their way.
They told me the locality precisely enough, but were even more vague as to the hour than my own impressions. In fact, the sum of what I could gain from them was, in slightly Hibernian language, that there was nothing to see, and I could see it any time on a Tuesday morning when I chose to go down White Street, Bethnal Green.
For six weeks Ernest went daily with Ronald and the young artist into the familiar slums of Bethnal Green, and Bermondsey, and Lambeth, whose ins and outs he was beginning to know with painful accuracy; and every night he came back, and wrote down with a glowing pen all that he had seen and heard of distressing and terrible during his day's peregrination.
It seemed to him of the greatest import, though it amounted only to this, that when he was in London, he used to lodge at the house of an old Scotchwoman of the name of Macallister, who lived in Paradise Gardens, somewhere between Bethnal Green and Spitalfields. Whether he had been in London lately, she did not know; but if anybody could tell him where he was, it would be Mrs. Macallister.
Here and there are suspended tablets which are inscribed with bits of information, chiefly statistical. On my last visit to the place I could not observe that anyone was studying these tablets. This is, roughly speaking, all that the Bethnal Green Museum contains.
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