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THEHISTORY, PEOPLE AND

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This was the justification provided in law for the people of Southwark beingallowed to set up a market in its current position after the banning of the old market on Borough High Street. The new market opened in 1756 and has been there ever since—growing and adapting as the years pass, but still sticking firmly to those founding sentiments. As Borough Market evolves once again, with the reopening of Three Crown Square and the arrival of the Market Hall, this publication seeks to celebrate the history, people and products of a venerable but hugely relevant institution.

THEHISTORY, PEOPLE AND

PRODUCEOF BOROUGH MARKET

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BOROUGH MARKETA

BRlDGEBEGAN WITH

A THOUSAND YEARS OF BOROUGH MARKET HISTORY



BOROUGH MARKET BEGAN WITH A BRIDGE. For hundreds of years, London was a small walled metropolis on the north bank of the Thames. Its southern neighbour, Southwark, was an altogether different place—a frontier settlement where different rules applied; a town of pubs and prostitutes, hawkers and hucksters, craftsmen and criminals. The only link between the two—in fact the only route into the City of London from anywhere south of the river—was London Bridge. The medieval bridge was colourful and chaotic—a far cry from today’s grey concrete slab. In fact, the word ‘bridge’ barely does justice to this heaving mass of people, animals and rickety buildings, which was more of a municipality in its own right than a mere river crossing—imagine a small but lively provincial town, all piled up to vertiginous heights in a condensed space and elevated on legs. The road we now know as Borough High Street was the vital artery joining London to the ports and towns of the south. And as with any major access route anywhere in the world, the bridge, and the road that ran up to it, acted like a magnet for people wishing to sell things to travellers, especially after the murder of Thomas a Becket in 1170 turned Canterbury into a popular pilgrimage site. The presence of such commercial potential kicked off an epic struggle, enacted through the rather tedious medium of impenetrable paperwork, between authorities determined to regulate and profit from officially sanctioned markets and hordes of small traders who

wanted to make as much money as possible with the least possible interference. For a long time there were two legitimate marketplaces around Borough. The smaller of these started in the grounds of St Thomas’ Hospital, located at the southern entrance to London Bridge. In 1215, following a disastrous fire, the hospital moved to a new location on what is now St Thomas’ Street, on land that was then part of the manor of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the market, which specialised in corn, was transferred to the doors of the new site. This market opened three days a week—Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. A larger market, selling a wider range of produce and trading on Wednesdays and Fridays, found a home along the busy main highway near the foot of the bridge in the area known as the Guildable Manor, which was administered by the crown. Both markets caused constant irritation to the authorities across the river by providing stiff competition to the City of London’s own traders. In the 1270s the City forbade its citizens to go to Southwark to buy “corn, cattle, or other merchandise there”. It also banned traders from setting up on the bridge itself and clamped down on “regratresses” who bought bread in Southwark and resold it for a profit in the City. But the City’s biggest problem with Southwark wasn’t its markets. The vagaries of the legal system at the time meant that any felon committing a crime in London could, in the words of a petition presented to the King in 1327, “stealthily flee to Southwark openly where no bailiff of the City can attach them”. Frustrated by seeing known criminals blowing raspberries at them from across the river, the City constantly lobbied the crown to hand over its rights to the Guildable Manor. In 1406, Henry IV finally granted London the right to arrest criminals found in Southwark and at the same time granted “assay and assize of bread, wine, and ale and other victuals and of any other things belonging to the clerk of the market of the King’s household”. Borough’s market had, to all intents and purposes, become an extension of London. The residents of Southwark were far from happy about this

encroachment of City types into their town, so fought hard to overturn the new grants, but further charters in 1444 and 1462 cemented the influence of London over the Guildable Manor and added the right to hold a three day fair every September. Southwark Fair would go on to become one of the biggest and most riotous events in London’s calendar. In April 1550, for a price of just over £1,000 (£647 for the land, £333 for the liberties and £25 for expenses), Edward VI ended for good any debate about who ran Borough by selling Southwark to the City. In the same charter, it was agreed that the Guildable Manor market could extend to four days a week, adding Monday and Saturday to the schedule.

The Southwark of the 16th and 17th centuries was a hive of activity—partly a busy commercial district, where leather, felt, pottery and soap were crafted and sold, partly a giant travel terminus, and partly a seething maelstrom of licentious behaviour, packed full of pubs, brothels and theatres. Londoners flocked across the river to let off steam—think Kavos or Ibiza, but with fewer foam parties and more Shakespeare—while farmers flocked in from the countryside with herds of cattle and sacks of grain, seeking to make a living on the heaving high street. Out of this chaos, the City did its utmost to create some kind of order, with limited success. Traders were supervised by bailiffs and constables who together enforced price controls, inspected goods and collected fees. A weighing beam was situated next to the pillory in the middle of the high street, and it was here that sacks of grain were weighed in public before being put on display. Towards the end of the 16th century, a market house was built at this location to keep the grain safe from the elements. The authorities faced a constant battle to prevent the road from being completely blocked by sprawling stalls and wandering livestock. One set of rules from the 16th century required that traders set up their stalls in a fixed sequence, no more than a yard from the drainage channel running down the street, with the fishsellers closest to the bridge, followed by the butchers, the



poulterers from the countryside, the oatmeal makers, the fruiterers and herb sellers, then finally the local bakers and poulterers. A further set of ordinances from 1624 proved similarly rigorous, but with the traders lined up in a different order and with the further proviso that fishwives be forced to stay on their feet—in the face of growing chaos, bureaucratic fiddling seemed to be the main weapon in the authorities’ arsenal. Butchers were a particular source of drama. In the days before refrigeration, the best way of transporting and storing meat was in the form of a whole living animal, but a live ox or goat can cause considerably more mayhem than a French-trimmed rack of lamb. One of the 1624 ordinances attempted to force butchers to stop entering local shops or slaughter houses with oxen, bullocks or cows “that are so wild, that they will not enter but run away (as often it happeneth)”. In 1676, the churchwardens of St Saviour’s ordered the construction of a series of posts to keep out the wandering livestock. Unlicensed trading was a huge problem for the sheriffs, with many a rogue trader selling bread or fish on the sly outside of the defined marketplaces. Pubs—of which there were a vast number—were some of the worst culprits, causing the City authorities to complain in 1522 that “almost every inn holder within the said Borough kepyth market”. As London grew in size and importance and London Bridge became ever more critical as a trade route into the City, the semi-organised bedlam on Borough

High Street began to arouse significant opposition within the corridors of power. The location of the market house right in the middle of the road certainly didn’t help—imagine a busy warehouse being constructed across the middle lanes of the M1—and numerous representations were made to have it removed. In 1676 these were rendered irrelevant when a huge fire swept through the area, taking the market house with it. This alone did little to ease congestion, and the City, while enjoying healthy revenues from the market, eventually decided that these were considerably

outweighed by the dampening effect on business of having the only southern route into the centre completely blocked by bullocks. In 1754 a bill went before parliament declaring that as “the market obstructs much trade and commerce”, it would have to cease trading by 25th March 1756 and that thenceforth “no person shall use any stall, trussel, block, or other stand, or expose to sale upon such stands peas, beans, herbs, victuals or other commodities.” At the same time, residents of Southwark were petitioning to be allowed to start a new market, independent of the City, away from the high street. A second

A further set of ordinances from 1624 insisted that

fishwives be forced to stay on their feet.In the face of growing chaos, bureaucratic

fiddling seemed to be the main weapon in the

authorities’ arsenal



act passed through parliament declaring that “for the convenience and accommodation of the public” the parishioners of St Saviour’s could acquire land away from the main road and set up a market of their own, and that this market would “be and remain an estate for the use and benefit of the said parish for ever”. Through its status as a charitable trust, it remains inexorably linked to the parish to this day. The act also declared that “no provisions except hay or straw” could be sold within 1,000 yards of the new market. With this local monopoly in their favour, the parishioners quickly raised £6,000

by selling annuities to interested citizens—over £1 million in today’s money—and bought an area called The Triangle. Within two years, the parishioners returned to parliament for permission to raise a further £2,000 to enlarge the site and build a market house. In February 1756 advertisements were placed stating that a “commodious place for a market is now preparing on the backside of Three Crown Court on the west side of the high street of the Borough and will be ready by the 25th March next for the reception of all country carriages and others bringing

The City, while enjoying healthy

revenues from the market, eventually decided that these were considerably outweighed by the dampening effect on

business of having the only southern route into

the centre completely blocked by bullocks



any kind of provisions to the said market”. Borough Market as we now know it was up and running. For a century or so, the all new Borough Market remained busy and popular but, set back from the road, it was essentially fairly parochial in character, selling a large range of everyday produce in relatively small quantities. It was during the 19th century that all this changed, with the Market rapidly expanding to become an institution of national significance, devoted solely to the fruit and vegetable wholesale trade. The main engines of this transformation were the urbanisation of south London and the arrival of the railway—as the population boomed, the growing demand for a wholesale market with excellent transport links meant that Borough Market was perfectly placed to benefit. As business flourished, the Market took over the land that forms the Green Market, then later bought and demolished the buildings on Winchester Walk to make way for what is now Jubilee Place.

In 1862, as part of the South Eastern Railway company’s project to extend its lines from London Bridge to Cannon Street and Charing Cross, a railway viaduct was constructed through the middle of the market, bringing noise, soot and disruption, but adding to the accessibility of the Market. The need to widen the railway line in 1897 brought more disruption, as well as the sad demise of the Market’s magnificent but short-lived glass and iron domed roof, which had brought a touch of Crystal Palace glamour to Borough. In 1906, the Market’s constitution was changed, placing its management in the hands of 21 voluntary trustees, drawn from the local community. The Market grew still further in the early 1930s, when the old Three Crown Square—a once prosperous residential piazza that had become a series of ramshackle warehouses—was demolished. The same development project, which cost £50,000, saw the creation of the Market’s famous art deco entrance and the construction of its office building. At its peak, the wholesale market was a place of furious activity, responsible for feeding millions of people around the

southeast. As one 1950s market guidebook put it, “one only has to pay an early morning visit to see what a veritable hive of industry such a concentrated area actually is, and what a highly important and essential service is given in order that a vast population served shall have its daily requirements so efficiently met.” In 1933, it is estimated that 1,750,000 bushels of fruit and vegetables were sold at Borough. In the mid-1930s, 188 pitching stands were let to 81 different wholesale companies in the covered central area of the market, with a further 203 stands in the uncovered periphery manned by

farmers from the Home Counties. Hundreds of porters were employed directly by the trustees to carry produce to and from the stalls, with trading taking place all through the night, and continuing long into the following day. Borough Market’s days as a vital wholesale hub were ended in part by the construction of the huge New Covent Garden market in Vauxhall in the 1970s, but mainly by the relentless growth of the supermarkets which, by killing off independent greengrocers, destroyed the entire ecosystem in which fruit and vegetable wholesaling had thrived. The decline was swift and sad. Borough Market’s current incarnation began with the nascent revival of interest in artisan foods which began to take shape in the 1990s, leading to the arrival in the Market of pioneers such as Neal’s Yard Dairy and Brindisa, and the gradual realisation by the trustees that a specialist retail market could

offer a brighter future. Early experiments with retail trading peaked with the staging of the Food Lovers’ Fair in November 1998, the success of which left the Market with a network of enthusiastic traders keen to return. A monthly retail market established in 1999 soon became a weekly affair and is now a genuine international institution—probably the most famous food market in the country. The bridge that began it all is still there, of course; still bringing customers over from the City—thankfully now unencumbered by fear of prosecution for the crime of shopping in Southwark.

At its peak, the wholesale market

was a place of furious activity, responsible for

feeding millions of people around

the southeast. In 1933, it is estimated that 1,750,000 bushels of fruit and vegetables were sold at Borough



GOODSPOR S

HOW THE

BOROUGH MARKET SPORTSDAYBECAME AN EVENT OF GENUINE NATIONAL INTEREST,

THANKS IN PARTTO THE WORLD’SMOST FAMOUS MAN



In 2012, Borough Market played its part in the celebrations around the London Olympics by opening its doors every day for the duration of the games. But grand sporting occasions were nothing new for this historic market—in fact it used to run them itself. For many years, the Borough Market Sports—an annual sportsday for market porters held at the Herne Hill Athletic Grounds—had a huge public profile, drawing crowds in their thousands. The foundations for the Borough Market Sports were put down in 1904, when a cricket match was arranged between the Market’s fruiterers and salesmen. According to one report, “the fruiterers beat the salesmen in hollow fashion”, but a good time was had by all. The next year they gathered for a more general sportsday, which became established as a genuine annual event in 1906. In 1908 it took place in Herne Hill and by 1911 it had moved to Crystal Palace. Unfortunately, just as the sportsday was becoming a regular fixture in the calendar, the First World War began and the event was seemingly consigned to history. One of the main organisers of the sportsday had been a fruit and veg trader and secretary of the Borough Market trustees by the name of William Blackman. By the late 1920s, he had begun to toy with the idea of reviving the tradition, no doubt encouraged by young porters in family firms who were sick of hearing their dads’ endless tales of athletic glory. Blackman set about raising funds and inspiring publicity for a Borough Market Sports revival, scheduled to take place in September 1930, by writing piles of letters to newspapers,

businesses and celebrities. His hard work paid off when, on 27th June 1930, a letter was sent from the Hollywood offices of Charlie Chaplin, whose impoverished childhood had been spent on the streets of Southwark. Chaplin’s manager announced that yes, the actor would love to contribute to the sportsday and so enclosed a cheque for £20. A famous name has always been PR gold, and with probably the most famous man in the world on board, the Borough Market Sports suddenly became a matter of genuine national interest. The headline event—partly because it was such a brutal test of

sought to spoil Borough’s big day. Many of the events were open only to staff of Borough Market and South London Fruiterers—as well as conventional cycling and running events, these included the obstacle race, sack race, band race, boot race, tilting the basket and novelty cycle race. In 1933 Chaplin’s contribution included “two valuable prizes” for a Charlie Chaplin lookalike competition. According to the South London Press, “Borough Market has among its porters a number of clever amateur actors, and they were practising ‘making up’ behind piles of potato sacks to impersonate the famous film star.” But although 10 entries were received, only five cane-wielding little tramps turned up on the day. “One would not think numbering bashfulness among the traits of a Borough Market porter,” wrote the Daily Telegraph. Ever the joker, in 1935 the actor stipulated that, as a consolation prize, £2 10s of his contribution should be presented to the wife who had endured the misfortune of being married to an unsuccessful competitor for the longest time. Some competitors found fame of sorts. A feature in the Evening Standard in 1938 included an interview with Alfred Hardy, 19, who worked on his father’s stall in the Market. As the winner of the half-bushel race, he had walked away with the Chaplin-sponsored prize of a suit, an overcoat and a gold watch. How did he train? asked the reporter. “Well, I gave up smoking for a month and practised carrying 18 baskets in short runs round the Market after work.” The Borough Market Sports, raised thousands of pounds for charity. The main recipient was Guy’s Hospital, but lots of other charities and benevolent funds also benefitted. It is a crying shame, then, that the event came to such a sudden end. The Borough Market Sports scheduled for 6th September 1939 was set to be the biggest yet, with the BBC apparently preparing to broadcast highlights. The posters had been pasted up and a chunky 64-page programme had been printed. Then, on 1st September German tanks poured across the Polish border and the battle for the half-bushel basket carrying cup was cancelled for a contest of a far more brutal nature.

strength, speed and balance and partly because it was the one that Chaplin’s prize money supported each year—was the half-bushel basket carrying handicap, which was open to all-comers and involved competitors racing around the stadium with 12 wicker baskets, each weighing almost 2kg, stacked precariously on their heads. In 1930, this was rendered particularly tough by strong winds—a comic scene captured on the day by a Pathé News crew. “I can’t tell you ‘ow ‘appy I am to win this event for the Borough Market chaps,” the bashful-looking winner tells the reporter at the end, clearly shattered by his exertions. From the back of the crowd of jostling porters, all wearing flat caps and big suits, a voice shouts out: “Now give ‘im a pint!” A similar event involved the carrying of 10 bushel baskets. Also fiercely contested, from 1933 onwards, was the inter-market relay race, in which the champion athletes of other London markets



THE MOST FAMOUSCURRENT INCARNATION AS

FINE FOOD RETAIL MARKETIN THE COUNTRYBEGAN AT THE END OF THE 1990S WITH A SMALL GROUP OF COMMITTED TRADERS WHO SAW THE VAST POTENTIAL IN A DECLINING INSTITUTION. MANY OF THEM REMAIN AT THE HEART OF BOROUGH MARKET TO THIS DAY. THESE ARE SOME OF THEIR MEMORIES OF THOSE EARLY DAYS.

BOROUGH MARKETS



THE MOST FAMOUS

BOROUGH MARKETS



In the mid-1990s if you found yourself wandering through Middle Road or Stoney Street on a Saturday afternoon then you would probably have been on your way to somewhere else. At night, Borough Market continued to function as a wholesale market, but during the day it was something of a desert. There were though some highly committed people who wanted to change this—people such as Randolph Hodgson of Neal’s Yard Dairy and Monika Linton of Brindisa. “I came to Borough with the idea that we would be able to attract retail customers here,” says Randolph. “I spoke to the then director of the Market about my plans.” Dominic Coyte of Borough Cheese Company, who worked with Randolph at Neal’s Yard, remembers: “When we looked at the site where the shop is now, which was then a wine bar. I had my bag stolen from the van, so I got a touch of the Dickensian element of Borough at that time.”

Neal’s Yard Dairy and Brindisa began to host special retail events for the public both at their respective warehouses and around the Market. These became increasingly popular. “I remember we’d put out our little cardboard signs and it just created a buzz and an atmosphere. Everyone would open up their doors and there would be stands on the Market. It started off like that and grew very organically,” says Dominic. “Things really gathered momentum after Neal’s Yard suggested that we combine events with them and Turnips,” remembers Monika. Brindisa then took on a stand in the centre of the Market. “We managed to set up our stand very beautifully despite the rough edges of a cage and our lack of retailing experience. My most vivid memories are the howling wind, the desolate space, the darkness and the sadness that this amazing place had been so forgotten.” Thanks in part to the encouragement of these traders,

EVERYBODY WAS FREEZING COLD AND YOU REALLY HAD TO ADMIRE THEIR DETERMINATION.THEY’D SLEEP IN THEIR VANS BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T HAVE MONEY FOR HOTELSMaria Moruzzi, Maria’s Market Cafe

I REMEMBER WE’D PUT OUT OUR LITTLE CARDBOARD SIGNS AND IT JUST CREATED A BUZZ AND AN ATMOSPHERE. EVERYONE WOULD OPEN UP THEIR DOORS AND THERE WOULD BE STANDS ON THE MARKETDominic Coyte, Borough Cheese Company

MY MOST VIVID MEMORIES ARE THE HOWLING WIND, THE DESOLATE SPACE, THE DARKNESS AND THE SADNESS THAT THIS AMAZING PLACE HAD BEEN SO FORGOTTENMonika Linton, Brindisa



Henrietta Green was asked to hold a three day Food Lovers’ Fair at the Market in November 1998, which gathered together around 50 of the best food producers in Britain as part of the annual Southwark Festival. “It was quite extraordinary,” declares Wild Beef’s Lizzie Vines, who took part in the fair. “There was an official opening with the Two Fat Ladies. They had a little Guernsey heifer that they walked down Middle Road in front of us all. It was really good fun. I’d almost sold out by lunchtime on the first day. It was like a fever pitch of excitement in the desert of London, with all this fine food suddenly arriving.” The overwhelming success of the Food Lovers’ Fair led to a decision to hold a regular retail market on the third Saturday of every month. During those first cold winter months Maria Moruzzi could at least offer the retail traders a moment to shelter in the warmth of her Borough Café on Park Street. “Everybody was

freezing cold and you really had to admire their determination,” she says. “They’d sleep in their cars and vans because they didn’t have money for hotels. It must have been demoralising, but it was their persistence that got the retail market going.” But it wasn’t the falling temperatures that stuck in the mind of Sillfield Farm’s Peter Gott. “It was the appreciation of the customers,” he says. “They were very grateful for the quality of the produce, and that to me was overwhelming. We couldn’t believe it because out in the sticks where we live we’d always been used to good produce, so it was nothing new to us. But to actually turn up somewhere where people asked questions about the produce such as what it was made from, the provenance, breed and age profile and so on, it was something that we’d never really had before. And that was thrilling.” The Market was attracting a growing army of food lovers.

“In those days we used to have our van parked behind us,” says LizzieVines. “We’d put a table up in front of it and people would start queuing from about 8:30am to buy the best cuts. I remember when a very nice food writer called Philippa Davenport did a piece on our beef. At the time she was writing for the Financial Times on Saturdays and she did the most wonderful shin recipe with mushroom gravy. Our queue that morning was full of people with the FT tucked under their arm and we sold out of shin by 10 o’clock in the morning.” Peter Gott found he had to increase his range of sausages. “Somebody would come along and ask me if I did a gluten-free. And I’d say: ‘Er, no I don’t.’ But luckily 90 per cent of our sausage is meat anyway, so it was only a case of going back and investigating what gluten-free meant, and hey presto, we’d come back with one for the customer to try. Taking a cross section of people’s reactions was a great way to develop our products.”



I’D ALMOST SOLD OUT BY LUNCHTIME ON THE FIRST DAY. IT WAS LIKE A FEVER PITCH OF EXCITEMENT IN THE DESERT OF LONDON, WITH ALL THIS FINE FOOD SUDDENLY ARRIVINGLizzie Vines, Wild Beef



Having been at the Food Lovers’ Fair, Barry Topp of New Forest Cider was invited back the following February and has been a regular ever since, driving up with his extraordinary thatched trailer. “Being a country person I used to drive up early on the Friday morning to avoid the traffic,” he says. “And quite often I was told by the wholesalers that someone had phoned into LBC to say they’d seen a thatched cottage going across the Hammersmith flyover.” Barry fondly recalls the bonhomie between traders. “On Friday nights we would all generally have a drink and something to eat, with Lenny Baxter [of Baxter’s Café] taking us to various city venues. We’d arrive back in the small hours in an inebriated state to rough it overnight in our vehicles until the Saturday market the following morning.” Some even built their own onsite accommodation. “Sillfield Farm eventually put in fridges on their stand with a built in bunkhouse in one end where Peter and Robert

Another importer who saw the potential was Marco Vineis. “I began Gastronomica at Borough Market in February 2000,” he says. “I was convinced that this market was the right place.” Mind you, that was before he counted his first day’s takings. “My turnover was £70, and I thought to myself that maybe I’d made a mistake. But then an elderly English couple came to my stall and tasted a piece of my cheese. They told me that it reminded them of a British cheese they’d eaten some 40 years ago. They were both very happy as it took them back to their youth. And I thought that was great.” Marco remembers the strong rapport that developed between traders. “People like Randolph from Neal’s Yard Dairy and Peter from Sillfield Farm were very keen on quality. Peter used to bring some of his customers over to see me. He’d say to them: ‘Come with me and I’ll show you an Italian guy who’s got this stall full of beautiful cheeses.’ At Borough there was this feeling of real friendship that still exists today.”

used to stay,” recalls Barry. “At the other end was a storeroom, and I remember Farmer Sharp kipping in there on some of his Herdwick sheepskins after a night out.” One of the reasons that the Market did succeed was the truly international range of quality produce available from the likes of Brindisa and Scandelicious. Stephen Harrison of Le Marché du Quartier joined Borough in March 1999. “My company was then called Francedirect—and that was what it was—I went over to France in my car and brought the produce direct.” Stephen used to store the produce in his spare bedroom and had his mum helping out on the stall. “She had never tasted the foie gras—in fact she had only heard of it from Bond movies. I sold a red wine from Gaillac, and still do, a wine that was drunk by the early Plantagenet kings, and I loved the idea that this wine would have come up the Thames to the Tower or over London Bridge in 1175—and Borough Market was trading then.”

I REMEMBER FARMER SHARP KIPPING IN A STOREROOM ON SOME OF HIS HERDWICK SHEEPSKINS AFTER A NIGHT OUTBarry Topp, New Forest Cider

AN ELDERLY ENGLISH COUPLE CAME TO MY STALL AND TASTED A PIECE OF MY CHEESE. THEY TOLD ME THAT IT REMINDED THEM OF A BRITISH CHEESE THEY’D EATEN SOME 40 YEARS AGOMarco Vineis, Gastronimica



My grandfather was a fisherman, hand netting for shrimps and setting nets for plaice, cod and flukes, which were a big thing back then. He was what they called a hawker—going around the village with a hand cart, pushing his wares

Les Salisbury, Furness Fish & Game

FAMILIAR FACESBOROUGH MARKETS



FAMILIAR FACES THEIRSTORIES

MYmarketBOROUGH MARKETS

MOST

TELL



Les Salisbury, Furness Fish & Game

I fish for shrimps, sea bass, cockles and mussels on Morecombe Bay, and I’ve been doing so ever since I was a young lad. My grandfather was a fisherman, hand netting for shrimps and setting nets for plaice, cod and flukes, which were a big thing back then. He was what they called a hawker—going around the village with a hand cart, pushing his wares. I got the fishing bug by going to my grandfather’s during the summer holidays. When I was 10 or 11, I would go fishing with a local fisherman called Bobbie Dickenson. On the way out, which was five or six miles, you’d walk alongside the horse and cart, but when you were coming home you’d jump on the cart and trot back so that you could get the shrimps boiled while they were still alive. If they’re dead, or even half dead, they go soft and it’s more difficult to peel them, so they need to be alive and kicking when they go in. I started my first market stall in 1978, when one of the old fishermen at Ulverston market retired. I took over his stall, and we sold fish and eventually game from there. Then I bought some premises in the town centre—a big warehouse, an old butcher’s place—and we started doing more fish and venison, supplying hotels around the Lake District and building the business up. Peter Gott, who I knew well, was one of the first traders at Borough Market, and right from the start he kept asking me to come down with my potted shrimps. “You’ll sell them down there,” he kept saying. I was a bit wary so I gave Peter some shrimps to sell, and he sold two or three dozen. Eventually I said, “Go on then, I’ll give it six months.” It was tough at first, but you could see the turnover gradually increasing—even if it only went up £5 a week, it was on the up. My daughter used to help me at weekends, as she lived down here. Then my son, who had been up north looking after the shrimping side, started to come down here too, and he’s been with us 10 or 11 years. In those days he slept in the fridge—we couldn’t afford a hotel. I think Borough Market hit at the right time. Back then London had very few proper, genuine

fishmongers—you had the street markets, but you could see frozen fish being thawed out in dustbins full of water. The supermarkets hadn’t really got into fish, and the quality was low. There weren’t many traditional butchers either, so when people could come to a place like this, where they could meet the fisherman, the farmer, the producer, it was great for them. If you get the best quality you can, it will always sell.

Thea Wunderer, Exquisite Deli

I don’t really know how Exquisite Deli happened—it just happened. I’ve been in London for 14 years now, but I was missing the flavours of home. The speck and the smoked sausages of the South Tirol were part of my childhood. They represent my heritage, my family history and who I am. The South Tirol is the most northerly region in Italy, on the border with Austria and Switzerland, and the food reflects this—a mix of alpine culture and Italian sophistication. The people are very proud of everything they do—how the houses are built, how the streets are maintained—so it’s important to them to create good quality produce. I thought it would be an idea to bring the produce over to London, so I just decided to open a market stall. At the beginning I was a bit overwhelmed by it—I thought, I can’t do this, little me from the mountains! But before I knew it I was standing behind a table at a small market in west London selling sausages and speck. It’s a small-scale operation and it’s all sourced from my local area. And then about 10 months later I got into Borough Market. When I told my friends, most of them were speechless, especially when I said I was going to sell sausages and ham, because that’s the last thing anybody thought I would do—it was more likely to be shoes and handbags, not sausages! My parents had a restaurant, and I have a hotel and catering degree, so I already had a very good basis, but there was so much to learn about running a small business. I learnt so much at the beginning, and I continue to do so. For me personally, it has been a huge success. When I came to London I worked in new media and I was sitting in front of the

computer all day, not really having to deal with people. It suited me at the time, as I’m actually quite shy. The first week at the market stall I realised, hmmm, actually I need to change that because otherwise I’m not going to make a living. Then I realised how nice it is to talk to people. A totally different person came out of it. The Market is now part of my life and I’m very proud to be a part of its community. I feel like this is where I belong. In a way, I feel as though I have found myself through what I’m doing here. That is why Borough Market is so special to me.

Jenny Dawson, Rubies in the Rubble

Rubies in the Rubble was founded on two things that I am very passionate about confronting—food waste and unemployment. After reading quite a lot about food waste I went down to one of the wholesale fruit and veg markets and saw the extent of the surplus there. The more I looked into it the more I thought, this is crazy. I was brought up on a farm in the southwest of Scotland and we have an amazing fruit and veg garden. Mum used to always turn any gluts into chutneys and jams as a natural way of preserving them. So it seemed a really obvious thing—we’ve got a glut of food, let’s turn it into a preserve and make a new value out of it. At the same time I was working with disadvantaged communities and the thing that really struck me was that they were so capable in so many different ways but sometimes, due to circumstances or background, they didn’t have the confidence needed to get back into work, especially the women. I knew that I wanted to provide employment, give them something that was worthwhile, something to wake up for in the morning. I really believe that a job is crucial. You’ve got purpose, meaning, you’re part of a team, you’re in the community. So once I put two and two together it seemed really obvious. It started from there—I got some of these women together and we started making chutneys. I called it Rubies in the Rubble because I thought the name highlighted both concerns—that there is so much in our society that we discard or think of as waste, from people to food, that is perfectly fit for purpose.



When I came to London I was sitting in front of the computer all day. It suited me at the time, as I’m actually quite shy. The first week at the market stall I realised, hmmm, actually I need to change that because otherwise I’m not going to make a living

Thea Wunderer, Exquisite Deli



Mum used to always turn any gluts into chutneys and jams as a natural way of preserving them. So it seemed a really obvious thing—we’ve got a glut of food, let’s turn it into a preserve and give new value to it

Jenny Dawson, Rubies in the Rubble



Borough Market is like a synthesiser—there is a rhythm to it, a harmony. Sometimes it goes up, sometimes it goes down

Ratan Mandal, Tea2You



The Market has just been incredible. It’s all about quality and high standards, but it’s also got this really nice family friendly feel. I’ve always loved coming here—it’s just got so much life about it, so much colour, and being on the Market you have interaction with your customers and you meet people who are doing similar things. I remember calling my dad when we were offered a stall for Rubies and saying, “This is really exciting, but I know I’m going to have to turn it down, we’re on such a tight budget!” But the management were incredibly enthusiastic, and said, “We want you here, we want to support you, we love what you are doing. Let’s just start you on Saturdays and see how you go.” I was starting something new, and didn’t know if it was going to take off, so it was just really encouraging. We got a stall in September 2011, and I’ve been here ever since. We’re still such a small fish in amongst everybody, but because we are really passionate about being the best, we won’t falter. We’ll never deviate—whatever we’re doing we want to make sure it’s great. Borough just feels like the right place to be.

Ratan Mandal, Tea2You

I’ve been a tea taster for the past 10 years. I began making ceramics in Calcutta, and I started a small tea room so that people could try drinking out of my pottery. I have very good friends and family in Darjeeling, so I was getting the tea from there—and that was how I came into the tea industry. I always want things to be better and better, so within three years I had become a tea taster. When I taste the tea, it’s not like in a special room, in a special chair, at a particular time. When my mind says taste the tea, if it’s 10 o’clock at night, first thing in the morning—that is the time for the tasting. I came to Britain on a scholarship to attend the business innovation centre at Sunderland University—they are famous for their ceramics there too. In the meantime I kept on thinking about tea. I came down to London and worked at a lot of things—I used to be a cleaner in big restaurants and bars. But during that time I learnt so many things—what British people like

in their tea, the colour, the texture, how to speak to people. I was thinking all the time that I should do something for myself— I wanted to be my own boss. I had been to Borough Market around four or five times before applying, and suddenly it came just like a bolt to my life. You can’t imagine—this is a place where I can express myself, and bring my tea directly to the people. It’s a very friendly market. It is like a synthesiser—there is a rhythm to it, a harmony. Sometimes it goes up, sometimes it goes down. In the morning everybody is coming, people are laughing, gradually the rhythm is going up, then after two or three hours everybody is busy buying, and then the energy goes slowly down. You can hear the sound of them opening the tables at the start, and closing the tables at the end of the day—it’s a very good sound. My product has changed since I started here. I used to taste around 60 types of first flush tea to choose one, and now I am tasting 100 to 130, which means the product is getting better and better. When you buy Darjeeling tea in tea bags, it cannot be proper tea. Proper tea is something different—you cannot keep tea inside bags, proper tea is loose. Let the tea leaves play inside your cups, then you will get the flavour. Don’t confiscate it into bags.

Maria Moruzzi, Maria’s Market Cafe

My parents originated from Parma, Italy. They moved to London in 1964 and opened the Borough Café on Park Street. The wholesale market started at 1am and carried on until four or five in the afternoon. In those days every high street had a greengrocer and they’d come and load up with fruit and veg several times a day. My sisters and I helped out at the café from about the age of seven. My parents used to stand me on an apple box so I could reach the washing up sink. Back then our customers were the porters and greengrocers, and I remember the whole place going dead quiet the first time a man in a suit came in. Our regulars were very territorial, but also real characters. They loved the bread and dripping, and lots of them would drink tea out of a saucer because it cooled down quicker.

My father eventually became ill and then couldn’t work anymore. I helped out for what was supposed to be a few weeks, but it ended up being 20-odd years. I worked with my mother until she too became ill and as time went on I took over more and more. Borough Market changed with the rise of the big supermarkets—the high street greengrocers just weren’t there anymore. But then towards the end of the 1990s the retail food market began. I wasn’t sure it would work. The traders would come down once a month and lose money in the freezing cold. Many of them would sleep in their vans. It took a year before it really started to take off, and then it just boomed. You have to admire those people for their courage and fortitude. If it weren’t for them we wouldn’t have a market. The customer base at the café had already altered by then—we had started to get more suits in, plus lots of artists, media and IT people. I’ve served everyone from Big Issue sellers to an ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer. I get a buzz dealing with people and I find them fascinating. I meet people from all walks of life and everyone has a story. The Borough Café closed on 16th July 2003. I’d just lost both my dad and my gran and was also losing my mother, so I was very, very low. Thankfully the Market offered me the chance to open Maria’s Market Café, and that gave me the continuity I needed. I still do things very much as I always have. It’s a very simple, no nonsense menu. People talk to each other and there’s always plenty of banter. One couple actually met while sharing one of my tables. They got engaged here and she even had her hen party in the café. My customers have been so faithful to me over the years and have kept me going. They’ve given me lots of memories and have seen me through so much. I remember when my mum and dad were both ill upstairs, customers used to get behind the counter and help out. They’re not just customers—they’re my friends. Borough Market is my home. It’s where I grew up. It’s my security. It’s everything. You walk in here and you feel cocooned—you feel the warmth of the place. My heart will always be here.



Our regulars used to very territorial, but also real characters. They loved the bread and dripping, and lots of them would drink tea out of a saucer because it cooled down quicker

Maria Moruzzi, Maria’s Market Cafe



12SELECTI0NBOXA SELECTION OF A DOZEN PRODUCTS, EACH OF WHICH CAPTURES A LITTLE

OF THE

BOROUGH MARKET ETHOSPAIN DE CAMPAGNE•BERMONDSEY RED•CIDER•MATSUKAZE MATCHA WELSH BLACK BEEF•KURU SELE OLIVES•HONEY•NDUJA•CHOCOLATE

HAND-DIVED SCALLOPS•WILD MUSHROOMS•APPLES



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12 12WILD MUSHROOMSFITZ FINE FOODS Noel Fitzjohn first went foraging as a young child, and he has been seeking out wild foods ever since. When he’s not busy making his flavoured mustards, which utilise many of the ingredients he unearths, Noel can be found in the fields and woods of Sussex and Kent searching for mushrooms, cobnuts, plums, garlic, celery, horseradish, walnuts, herbs and anything else that grows freely and tastes delicious.

NDUJADE CALABRIA Giuseppe Mele imports foods from Calabria—the lush, hilly toe of Italy— including nduja, a soft, spicy salami made from pig’s cheeks, lard and pork belly ground up with salt and hot Calabrese peppers. One of his suppliers is Niccola Romana whose black pigs—the traditional local breed—roam free in the high mountains of Cosenza, walking and foraging until they’re at least two years old. The resulting nduja is deep and subtle in flavour and has a quite beautiful texture.

CHOCOLATECHOCOLICIOUS These rustic-looking slabs of high quality, Fairtrade Ghanaian chocolate, sourced directly by chocolatier Hayleigh and made from the same chocolate as her famous truffles, are an arresting sight on the Chocolicious stall. They are sold by weight, meaning you can buy as much or as little as you like—great for nibbling on, but absolutely perfect for cooking with. The rich dark chocolate goes really well in a chilli, and the white chocolate is perfect for grating over a dessert.

APPLESCHEGWORTH VALLEY Set in the beautiful Kent countryside, the Chegworth Valley farm grows a variety of produce, but it’s the orchard of apple trees that has made the farm famous—offering somewhere between 35-40 varieties, including lesser known examples like the Blenheim Orange or the very old Ashmead’s Kernel. All apples sold at the stall are grown on the farm and the stock changes with the seasons, although the farm’s sophisticated cold store means it can keep its fruit fresh for a while past harvest time.



12HONEYTHE GOLDEN COMPANY The Golden Company works with inner city young people to nurture their entrepreneurial skills through first-hand experience of running a business—a business devoted to creating honey and honey-based products. This would make Golden Company honey a worthy purchase even if it didn’t taste amazing. The fact that it does taste amazing, thanks in part to the wealth of flora on offer near the company’s hives in St Mary’s Secret Garden in Hackney, is a definite bonus.

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CIDERNEW FOREST CIDER New Forest Cider is based at Littlemead Farm, nestled in the parish of Burley in Hampshire. It is here that Barry Topp and his family make their magnificent range of ciders using traditional cider apples sourced from Somerset and Herefordshire. The apples are pressed in an American Goodnature Squeezebox press before being fermented using a cultured champagne yeast. The ciders vary in style—from bone-dry to sweet, and from still to sparkling.

KURU SELE OLIVESTHE TURKISH DELIHusband and wife Graham and Chiman Teale source most of their beautiful products from Chiman’s large, multi-generational family of olive growers in Gemlik, northern Turkey—a region that specialises in black olives. Kuru sele olives—a delicacy, rarely found outside Gemlik—are embedded in sea salt for at least six months, a traditional curing process that results in a small, firm, intensely flavoured olive.

12HAND-DIVED SCALLOPSSHELLSEEKERSDarren Brown trained as a diver while serving in the Royal Navy. Now he spends an inordinate amount of time submerged in the cold, dark waters off the Dorset coast with eight stone of tanks on his back, searching for the beautiful, sweet, plump scallops he sells on his stall. Unlike commercial dredgers, which can cause untold damage to the seabed, Darren’s methods are highly sustainable.



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PAIN DE CAMPAGNEBREAD AHEAD Matt Jones of Bread Ahead bakes his artisan breads, exceptional cakes and frighteningly intense brownies at a bakery in what was once a Bermondsey biscuit factory. His traditional pain de campagne (French for “country bread”, and one of the staples of that nation’s cuisine) is a rustic loaf with a lovely contrast between the thick crust and the open, light texture inside. It cries out to be torn off in hunks.

WELSH BLACK BEEFWILD BEEFLizzie and Richard Vines raise their Welsh Black beef cattle on the meadows and chalk downs of Wiltshire and the peat uplands of Dartmoor, Devon, where they feed on uncultivated grassland and natural forage. The animals, which spend most of their time roaming free, are treated with the utmost care and respect. The resulting meat, which is hung for around four weeks, has a peerless depth of flavour.

MATSUKAZE MATCHAEAST TEAS This shade-grown green tea from Uji, Japan is slowly ground between small millstones to create a fine powder, which is then traditionally mixed with water and whisked up into a smooth froth using a bamboo whisk. Alex Fraser of East Teas, who studied the Japanese Way of Tea full-time in Kyoto for three years, swears by the alertness provided by matcha’s strong yet subtle caffeine hit.

12BERMONDSEY REDBOROUGH CHEESE COMPANY This organic cows’ milk cheese is the result of a collaboration between two Market stalwarts—produced for Borough Cheese Company in Kappacasein’s cheesemaking facility under one of Bermondsey’s more picturesque railway arches. The recipe for this raw milk, traditional rennet Cheshire cheese, which is cloth-bound and matured for about four months, came from an old 1940s Ministry of Agriculture document.



I can’t remember when I first came to Borough Market. It was years ago though. Years and another lifetime, and I fell in love with the place. Like a faithful lap dog I have kept returning, sniffing around, if not quite marking out my territory. Over the years I have recorded some thoughts, in diaries and more latterly blogs, about what the Market means to me. As I re-read these thoughts I can see the steam rising in the early gloom, smell the roast coffee and ripe cheese. I can feel the rhythm of the Market as the traders arrive, the cries of greeting and the screech of brakes, the clatter of pallets and the low hum of activity as the grand old dame slowly comes to glorious life. The thing that sticks out again and again, throughout

my past meanderings is that Borough Market is for everyone, whoever they might be. There are bargains to be had, deals to be done, glorious inexpensive items—offal, wonderful veg and sardines—alongside foie gras parfait and truffles. Whether you do your weekly food shop or shop for treats, there is always someone on hand to ask for advice, recipes, cooking techniques—all of the traders are so helpful and knowledgeable. Whereas the supermarkets inherently just care about their bottom line, the traders care that you love their produce as much as they do. That’s a nice way to do business. Reproduced here are some of the snippets of my Borough Market past and some hopes

for my Borough Market future. They all speak of the wonderful inclusivity of the place, the eclectic democracy and the sheer joy. I have a decade’s worth of observations, but a thousand remain unwritten in my mind’s eye. I have shopped in the Market as an amateur and cooked in it as a professional and I have never been less than astonished at the depth of knowledge and the strength of passion from every single one of the traders. I’ve watched the Market adapt and evolve, but it has never fundamentally changed and I genuinely don’t think that it ever will. It is too valuable to London, too important to Londoners. It is the beating heart of Southwark and a second home for me and many like me.

LUKE MACKAY

SHOPPERDemonstration Chef and Blogger

ON WHAT MAKES SHOPPING AT THE MARKET

SUCH A REWARDING EXPERIENCE

THE HAPPY

BOROUGH MARKETS



SHOPPERBOROUGH MARKETS



Having been a regular visitor to Borough Market since I moved to London in 2000, I have seen it change subtly over the years. But the overriding passion always remains

Luke Mackay



‘‘ I AM SITTING ALONE, ON A FRIDAY AFTERNOON, by an open window in the corner of the Monmouth Coffee Company, opposite Borough Market. The suited and booted fraternity have gone back to the office and the atmosphere changes to reflect the fact that those left in the Market have little to do on a Friday afternoon but ponder what might be nice for supper.”

‘‘ AND THERE IT IS, RIGHT THERE—THROUGH MY LITTLE WINDOW—THE CHARM OF BOROUGH MARKET in a nutshell—continental and prosaic, proletarian and passionate. I can see lamb sweetbreads, a tenner a kilo, and English asparagus flying off the stalls. There is New Forest cider and fine Bordeaux. Everyone I can see is eating and a happiness pervades as friends, lovers and colleagues bustle and meander under the great wrought iron arches.”

‘‘ I WAS AMAZED AT HOW KNOWLEDGEABLE THE PASSING PUNTERS WERE—how interested and interesting they all were. I love talking about food—especially food that I want to see at its rightful place at the top of the culinary world. Talking about mackerel, whilst cooking it in Borough Market might just have been one of my favourite ever things.”

‘‘ HAVING BEEN A REGULAR VISITOR TO BOROUGH MARKET SINCE I MOVED TO LONDON IN 2000, I have seen it change subtly over the years, with different traders, lay out and opening days. But the overriding passion always remains. A constant unchanging theme; the pride with which purveyors talk about their produce remains undimmed in the shadow of recession and the way their eyes light up when discussing the minutiae of their product is inspiring for any chef or home cook.”

‘‘ I AM DRAWN ABOVE ALL ELSE BY BOROUGH’S ASTONISHING PERSONALITY. Sometimes it is dank and moody, at others vibrant and ecstatic. Come here at 9am on a Saturday morning in spring to find her at her pearly best. I love how cosmopolitan this place is and yet how fundamentally British. From my Monmouth vantage point, the window frames a microcosm of the very Market—Brindisa, with its exquisite jamon, chorizo, olives and almonds sits next to the quintessentially English Ginger Pig butcher—sausage rolls, Scotch eggs, wonderful streaky home cured bacon and huge black aged beef ribs...”


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All material copyright to Borough MarketEditor: Mark Riddaway, LSC PublishingDesigner: Mike Turner, Em-Project LimitedWriting: Mark Riddaway, Claire Ford, JP Aubin-Parvu, Luke MackayPhotography: John Holdship, Viel Richardson, Paul Thompson, Peter GreenwoodIllustrations: James Oses

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