The Enterprise, Poplar
Demolished c.1951, to be replaced with the Festival Inn opposite for the Festival of Britain in 1952, the Enterprise is an almost forgotten relic of another time. A phantom consigned to the East End’s annuals of the past.
But there are some stalwarts on the old manors that lived and thrived in this world of black and white which still (just) remember it. Some who drank in it.
Working on being 18 years old, former patrons still with us would likely have to have been born before 1933 to have sunk pints in this handsome Truman’s corner pub.
I know of only 2 (both ex-publicans) who are that age - and although there will be some in care homes – the stories and memories of these sacred places are almost lost.
For many of those left their world is shrinking as their contemporaries and family have moved or died. Their life can feel very small and isolated, and lots do not recognise or relate to modern society. The East End they knew has almost gone.
The redevelopment of Crisp Street Market (despite the 2 pubs staying along with the Pie & Mash shops) where you can still buy a coffee for a quid and have a chat with old Cockneys will also soon disappear. This adds further unmeasurable distance from their time and the aggressive hammer of progress.
Living that long can be a blessing or a curse if you are left behind. Often - despite having a strong identity - feeling that you no longer belong.
It is important to remember and include people in the autumn of their lives. Not just at Christmas, but always. Many people are bitterly lonely and don’t know how, as the kids say, to ‘reach out’.
If you know an old face who is alone I invite you to make a fuss of them. Until it’s you in your golden years, you’ll never understand the immense value of it.
One day it could be you existing in the corner of a pub in a vanishing London, desperately seeking comfort and the warmth of human kindness.
As my years advance, with only one family member left in London, I’m certain that will be me. Just like some of those old timers now: isolated. Trapped. And with nothing to leave and nowhere to go.
