Berkeley Square – A New Beginning
Berkeley Square House
London W1J
6BR
It is 1968 – and my already complex young life, living in a myriad of unusual settings,
would now take a further strange and eccentric turn. My father gained a new
position, as the senior property manager of Berkeley Square House. At the age
of 12 years I would find myself living with my family in one of the most
imposing buildings in central London that could be imagined.
Located in the heart of Mayfair on the eastern side of Berkeley Square, Berkeley Square House was built in the 1930’s and is thought to be the first fully framed reinforced concrete building in London. The building comprised of approximately 500,000 square feet spread over fourteen floors. Those floors included a sub-basement, basement, a two tiered underground car park, ground floor, nine tenant occupied floors and two service areas. At the time that we moved there the grand main entrance had a restaurant, shop and porters lodge.
Into this vast building, housing some of the most prestigious
international companies, I was to grow from childhood to young adulthood. Every
day I would pass through the grand entrance, and take the high speed lifts to
the second floor where we lived. At the end of a artificially lit corridor
there was an inconspicuous door with a Yale lock, and on the other side of that
door a small flat with windows that overlooked the rear of the building and the
then “Two Coachman” pub.
A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square
Three bedrooms, a kitchen, sitting room and bathroom, it was nothing out of the ordinary in an extraordinary setting.
A school boy in uniform walked out of this building every day, past the Rolls Royce showroom full of glittering cars, across the grand old London square and down to Selfridges on Oxford Street to take a bus.
The strange thing is I saw nothing strange in it. As I became a teenager, and started going out with my emerging young friendship group, it was the streets of Mayfair and Soho that we roamed.
A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square
Three bedrooms, a kitchen, sitting room and bathroom, it was nothing out of the ordinary in an extraordinary setting.
The 2nd Floor Flat - Sitting Room - My Reflective Mother - complicated times
The 2nd Floor Flat Kitchen
The 2nd Floor Flat - Sitting Room - Sue at 16 Years
The box in the corner is the TV!
A school boy in uniform walked out of this building every day, past the Rolls Royce showroom full of glittering cars, across the grand old London square and down to Selfridges on Oxford Street to take a bus.
Snow in Berkeley Square - The one & only Snow Man of Berkeley Square
The strange thing is I saw nothing strange in it. As I became a teenager, and started going out with my emerging young friendship group, it was the streets of Mayfair and Soho that we roamed.
Taking the lift to the very top floor of the building, and climbing some steep iron stairs unseen by the buildings wealthy business tenants, brought you to a flat roof bordered by a brick wall. From this extraordinary vantage point you beheld a panorama of the central London Skyline. In this tarred walled secret yard in the sky my mother kept a few flower pots that she tended. I remember her and my father on sunny days stretched out on deck chairs they bought and kept in a small store room on the roof. And at night, the city twinkled around you, polluting the night sky with light, but nevertheless the stars shone down. When my father bought me a small telescope (that I have to this day) i would stand at the top of Berkeley Square House, all alone, cocooned by the surrounding rooftops whilst peering at the moon and wondering that we were had conquered that distance. It was in the small sitting room of the flat that I sat late into the night with my father, watching our precious 1st colour TV, and we heard the words “One Small Step for a Man”.
My mother left Selfridges and started a job at the Nat West Bank in Holborn.
Here she sat in a little airless and windowless office, franking (stamping)
countless letters to the Banks customers.
And I started to ride the Underground – meeting her after her tedious work,
keeping her company on the return Tube journey from Holborn to Bond Street.
Music! My parents had always listened music, this ranging from the
classics through to the Big Bands and Crooners. My mother adored the ballads of
Nat King Cole and the Louise Armstrong growl. I had listened my Sisters music
through my bedroom walls, the Beatles, Tamala Motown. And now music began to
have its influence on me. We had a large Gramophone, and ornate piece of wooden
furniture that held the wonders of a turntable and built in speakers inside its
doors. Pink Floyd, Yes, Jethro Tull, the Moody Blues - all these represented the primacy of the “progressive” genre of music
that would grip me as a young adult and then throughout my life. Peter – my best
friend – of who you will hear more of later = would sit with me in front of
this Gramophone, and the 2 of us would listen dreamily, with fascination and excitement
to our music for countless hours.
Peter? The Brother I never had. We met in school, and his gentle eccentricity appealed to me. We became friends. Peter, the son of the Chief Inspector for Police at Hyde Park Police Station. Peter, my friend, confidant, mate. We instantly understood each other. We moved from Boy to Man together. Peter, smiling, chatting to my parents. Peter - Crying with my parents as he tortuously "came out". Peter and I - camping it up outrageously, growing up together, discovering sex, girls, boys - pushing the boundaries. Going swimming at the Serpentine Lido on hot sunny days. Walking across Hyde Park - brothers hand in hand - wildly singing "In the Summer Time". We didn't "fit" Peter and I - and we didn't care. Of this I have written already - and I will write more....
And what of my parents. Now middle aged life was not always easy for them. Despite living in such a grand setting money remained tight. We did not want for the basics, food, clothing - but there was little in the way of luxuries. And their relationship could be stormy, my Father had a tendency to drink to much of an evening, a regular to the all to convenient Two Coachmen. I remember some vicious and ugly verbal exchanges followed by tears and days of sulking silence. For all that I believe they loved each other, and peace and forgiveness would always eventually return. I also believe they had been emotionally scarred by their fall from wealth and grace. And there was never any question of their devotion to their two children. The overall sense I have of them at this time was turmoil, mixed emotion, and love.
My Sister was becoming a woman. Four years older than me, Sue discovered men, and parties, alcohol - and fun - it was after all "Swinging London". That this resulted in some tensions between her and my parents somewhat understates the issue. And so it was that the Berkeley Square House Flat was a place of growth, of love, of turmoil, of discovery, of tension, anger, extreme emotion, and evolution.
For me it all seemed so very normal, I knew no other life. I was growing up in an extraordinary place in an ordinary family but who had extraordinary circumstances.
And then - we moved upstairs!!!!!!
