Hackney Life

Every Saturday come rain or shine the Waste Market at Dalston attracts many locals looking for a bargain. Everything imaginable can be found there, from nuts and bolts to large items of furniture.
It's at the end of the day when the market closes, that the scramble starts to salvage, would be treasures from what the stall holders throw out. Amongst the refuse, it's the books that lay discarded, which saddens me most. To think they will end up in landfills or be incinerated, seems such a waste!

The weather was perfect for the Stokefest and I finally left for home about 2pm as the number of people in Clissold Park grew into thousands.
About midday, while I had lunch in Church Street the childrens carnival procession was assembling in the school yard nearby. I followed this along Church Street to Clissold Park, where it finally ended.
I think the fest seems to grows larger each year and all the organizers and participants did a great job. For more photos see my Fairs & Events album.

Work goes on at a rapid pace at Dalston, Hackney, to build the new Dalston Junction station, due to be completed as a temporary terminus in 2010.
The old station, which was originally opened in 1865, was part of the North London Railway, which ran to Broad Street station. This was closed in 1986 and finally demolished in 2005.
By 2011 there will be a through service on London Overground via Canonbury and Highbury & Islington. The complex will have a bus interchange and residential tower blocks.

This 32 acre park was opened in 1840 as a garden cemetery and a showcase for botanical education. Over 200,000 people were interred here, including William Booth,(1829-1912), the founder of the Salvation Army. It was in these grounds where Isaac Watts (1674-1748), wrote a number of his hymns and verses. By the beginning of the 20th century the cemetery became full and then fell into neglect.
In 1991 the Abney Park Trust took over the management of the site and today there are various educational events for visitors, including botanical walks, workshops and lectures.

A tragic end for the swan family today (28-07-07)! Three days ago when I last visited Beckmere Lake in Clissold Park, only one cygnet of the original three was still alive, but seemed to have a broken leg, and yet was swimming and eating happily with both parents. This morning a group of people including park rangers, were gathered around the dead female swan and there was no sign of the cob or the one remaining cygnet. I found the cob ten minutes later at the opposite end of the lake, but it was alone and refused to eat any bread. As yet no one knows what happened and the rangers are awaiting the arrival of the vet! It's so sad when I look back at the photos I took in June, (see Clissold Park Album) when the chicks made their first tour of the lake and now, at the above photo, less than two months later. All the three goslings in the other lake have grown to almost the same size as their parents and most of the ducks, moorhens and coots' chicks seem to have survived. Possibly a dog or fox has targeted the swans, I will check with the rangers at a later date to see if they know what was the cause of the deaths!

News Update 31/07/07 Checked with one of the park rangers today, about the death of the female swan and what happened to the cygnets. It seems that the first cygnet disappeared without trace (possibly a fox took it). The one with an injured leg was rescued and sent to a swan sanctuary, in Enfield I think, and is doing well. The third cygnet and its mother are thought to have picked up some toxin from the lake, which poisoned them both. I looked at the cob today and he is feeding and seems fine!

"The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
A white-hair’d shadow roaming like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn."

From "Tithonus" by Alfred Lord Tennyson.