Wansteadium

We’re not going to make a habit of this, but to anyone wondering if Wanstead would make an appearance in Anya Lipska’s new novel, A Devil Under the Skin, the above is the answer. Don’t get touchy. It’s just what her protagonist would think. He lives in Highbury.

One of the great names of stand-up comedy is returning to Wanstead on Thursday. And it really is a return, though it’s taken 20 years for it to happen. The last time Ian Cognito was in Wanstead, he was up one of the trees, protesting against the M11.

He told Wansteadium: “I had me boy with me and a bulldozer came perilously close so I scooped him up and out the way. He was about two or three and had a red duffle coat so he looked like a little Santa gonk. Bloke from The Guardian (prob Waltham Forest) took a picture and I’m told it ended up on the front page. You’d think I’d have it but I’m a shit Dad. That’s all I remember apart from being dead good looking with long hair at the time.”

Cognito is headlining the Wanstead Comedy Club on Thursday night. Jon Fentiman, the organiser, says although most people will not have heard of him, Cognito is “possibly one of the UK’s most influential comedians…. He tells it how it is, doesn’t believe in being politically correct and everyone is fair game. But this isn’t a man being crude, or offensive, or racist. This is an intellectual, merging incredibly precise and ground-breaking comedy with real life. It’s what we all think, but very, very funny.”

Contact Jon for tickets 07950 759 587.

The Angel and the Cad is a heartbreaking tale of loss and betrayal told in gripping style by Wanstead author and historian Geraldine Roberts. The book, just published, tells of the doomed marriage of Catherine Tylney Long (who had inherited the magnificent Wanstead House) and William Wellesley Pole. This excerpt describes what may have been one of the biggest parties Wanstead ever saw.

Refurbishments at Wanstead House were progressing well enough for Catherine to host a ‘splendid déjeune’ on Wednesday 10 July 1811, a fete lasting all day and night with dancing and entertainment continuing into the early hours. It was an opportunity to prove herself to her new London circle and to show off her magnificent home. Guests began arriving at two o’clock, carriages rattling through the stone gateposts just when the house and gardens were at their most glorious, bathed in afternoon sunlight. Entering the park, visitors admired the aspect of the house in the distance, standing on high ground with lawns sloping gently down to the octagonal lake. The approach provided delights at every turn: Sir Josiah’s stately avenue of elms, the steeple of St Mary’s Church and perfectly manicured gardens. Alighting on the elevated terrace, London’s finest gazed in awe at their surroundings: the elegant sweep of the house, the majestic portico with soaring Corinthian columns, plus the beautiful prospect of the river with lakes, walks and wildernesses beyond. As Catherine stood in the portico greeting her guests, radiantly beautiful, framed by the backdrop of her magnificent Palladian palace, it was easy to see why her allure might be overwhelming.

The Royal Dukes of Clarence, Cumberland and Cambridge arrived at about four o’clock, and dancing commenced soon after on temporary platforms erected on the lawns. German waltzes graced one platform, while Mr Gow’s famous orchestra played reels in a tent some distance away and the Duke of York’s military band entertained in another area. Those who did not wish to dance promenaded through the pleasure grounds or took a guided tour of the house, passing through twenty staterooms sumptuously furnished with paintings and artwork. Déjeune was served around six o’clock, with Catherine seated in the Great Hall amongst her most distinguished guests. No expense was spared, with food provided by London’s most renowned caterer:

The company sat down, to partake of the delicacies of the season, provided by Mr Gunter, the celebrated confectioner . . . At the banquet there were seven hundred eighty-two dishes of roast and boiled; and five hundred baskets of fruit . . . Soups – turtle, vegetable and pea. Roasts – venison, pheasants, chicken, lamb, veal. Boiled – tongue, ham, prawns, lobsters and crayfish. To this it may be added, jellies, ice-creams, chantellias, and whip cream, crepes, pastries, [etc.]

Dancing recommenced in the ballroom and went on until two o’clock in the morning, when a second banquet was served, equally as costly as the first, and guests did not disperse until dawn. Newspapers reported over the course of several days, as snippets of gossip emerged. On 14 July, the Morning Post highlighted the frenzy surrounding Catherine, describing how villagers attempted to catch a glimpse of the proceedings: ‘A strong party of the police preserved order . . . upwards of ten thousand people . . . were standing over every barrier, and up every tree to gratify a more eager curiosity than we ever before witnessed on any similar occasion.’ On 15 July, the Morning Post reported that the fete excited such interest in the fashionable world that there were more than six hundred gate-crashes. Some turned up claiming to be related to dukes, while others ‘that had invitations, brought three and four persons with them, and as they were of titled distinction, Lady Catherine knew not how to refuse them’. As a result, the food was adequate but not plentiful because around 1,200 people sat down for the banquet, instead of the expected 550.

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You can buy The Angel and the Cad from Amazon here.. Geraldine Roberts will be holding a launch for the book at Wanstead Library on Friday 3 July at 7pm at Wanstead Library, courtesy of Newham Bookshop. Tickets are £5 either from the library or on 020 8708 7400 or 020 8552 9993

Wanstead is becoming quite the mecca for writers. While Anya Lipska’s latest novel was being launched, another book by a Wanstead writer was also finding its way to bookshops. The Angel and the Cad by Geraldine Roberts, left, has already been nominated as a book of the week by the Times, and more accolades seem certain to follow.

The book is dubbed “Love, Loss and Scandal in Regency England”, but for many Wanstead readers the intrigue and the scandal will be overshadowed by a sense of loss. It’s the tale of the disastrous marriage and betrayal of Catherine Tylney Long by William Wellesley Pole, which resulted in the plundering of family treasures held in her Wanstead House mansion – all to pay the debts of his high living. And of course, the fact that there is nothing left of the mansion except a bunker near the 18th hole at Wanstead Golf Course, the result also included the destruction of the house to be sold for timber and stone.

Geraldine (a Wansteadium reader, incidentally, whose website is here) has over a period of 10 years pieced together the story from records, letters and newspapers and, as the Times reviewer said, describes it in such detail “you would swear Roberts had been there”.

The reviewer in BBC History Magazine said: “Roberts does an outstanding job of bringing this dark tale to life, and her book truly is a page-turner that surpasses any work of Regency fiction…the author’s meticulous research is commendable.”

You can buy the book here. And on Tuesday, it will be Wansteadium’s privilege to be publishing an exclusive extract.

Geoff Wilkinson writes at Wanstead Daily Photo: “If you are interested in photography you may have heard of ‘the rule of thirds’. That’s exactly what sprung into my mind when I spotted this grass, pebbles and bark combination in a Grosvenor Road garden. Not that the composition of this picture bears any relationship to the photography ‘rule of thirds’, that’s quite different…”

The third novel by Wanstead’s own Anya Lipska, A Devil Under the Skin, is being published today. Wansteadium is delighted to offer this exclusive extract. (Contains strong language.)

PC Natalie Kershaw gripped the wheel as she steered the armed response vehicle around the Green Man roundabout, the scream of the two-tone scything a path through the rush hour traffic.

‘Third exit. Left, left,’ said Matt from the passenger seat, sending her a grin. She smiled back, breathing fast, her pulse marking a purposeful beat, yet feeling totally focused. This was what she’d spent eight weeks training for, and from what they’d been told about the shout, it was no false alarm this time – no kid poking a toy gun out of his bedroom window. Her brain noted the comforting cocoon of the body armour flattening her breasts, forcing her to sit upright, and the reassuring pressure of the Glock in its pancake holster against her thigh.

She felt … safe.

‘It’s the Maccy D’s on Leytonstone High Street, right?’ she asked, her voice sounding to her ears as tight and high as the engine of the BMW. She knew where they were going, obviously, but saying it out loud made it feel more real.

The gravelled voice of the Silver Commander came over the radio: ‘Control room to Trojan 3. Latest we have is the suspect is in the toilets. Staff have been instructed to stay clear.’

The Sarge leaned in from the back seat, his face impassive. ‘Pull up beyond the curry house, Natalie,’ he said, as calmly as if they were about to pop in for a biryani. A restless knot of rubberneckers had gathered on the pavement outside the McDonald’s. ‘No borough uniforms,’ he noted, with just the ghost of a sigh. ‘Natalie, you cover the front exit and manage the MOPs, okay?’ Although still conversational, his tone brooked no objection.

‘Sarge.’ She knew her place in the trio: she was the newbie, just a couple of months out of firearms training – still learning the ropes. No problem.

Matt and the Sarge approached the glass door of the McDonald’s at a crabbing run, cradling their weapons, while Kershaw radioed in an update. After signing off, she left the ARV and took a few steps towards the onlookers. ‘Armed police!’ she shouted, one hand on the MP5 carbine slung from her shoulder, the other gesturing south down the high street. ‘Move away now!’

Most of them scurried off sharpish, either at her tone or the sight of the gun. But one guy stood his ground, ignoring her. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked in that ‘I know my rights’ tone that always made her heart sink.

She threw a look back at the Maccy D’s – wondering if the boys had immobilised the suspect yet. Where the fuck were the local uniforms?

‘Sir, will you just …’ She didn’t finish the sentence. Registered instead the sudden widening of his eyes, fixed over her shoulder. Heard the Sarge bellow ‘Natalie!’ His voice not cool any more.

She spun round. In the car park, jogging towards her from behind a parked van was a young guy. Not very big or threatening to look at. Mousy, you might call him. Except for the thing he whirled in a great flashing arc out to one side. Something that made a rushing noise as it carved a passage through the air.

A giant samurai sword.

A Devil Under the Skin is published by the Friday Project/HarperCollins, and is available from the Newham Bookshop, Foyles at Stratford and from Amazon, who have it as a paperback and as an audiobook.

*Anya is offering a free signed copy to a Wansteadium reader. Email your name to info@wansteadium.com – the winner will be chosen at random.