31 images Created 14 Jan 2025
From Carcasses to Commerce: Life at Smithfield Market 1984
Notes from diary July 1984.
5:00am. Another world. Bloodied man. The ‘Smithfield shuffle’. Cockney slang. Italianate architecture. Stone creatures, griffins, carved grotesque, flaunt the city coat of arms. Pullers, pitchers, hooks. Carcasses. A severed head. Surrealism. Click, wind the camera on. Carcasses from juggernauts on backs of men. Pitchers. Half run, half walk, the “Smithfield shuffle”. Tradition, unchanged, unspoilt. From A to B and onto hooks. Row upon row. Repetition. Sawdust scattered on wooden boards.
6.15am. Pigs, lambs, use, bullocks, hanging. Once whole - then not. Nothing wasted, everything sold. Heads, livers, entrails, bins brimming. Bartering, pennies, pounds. Chats and smiles.
6.30am. Tea leaves floating in plastic cups. Carry meat, buyers bought, back on backs, to butcher shop.
6.50am. Tea laced with whiskey. “Wasser fit to warm the coldest cockles” The Smithfield Tavern. Rum and black, playing pools, pot the black. City rousing. Commuting starting. Lives reversed. Work at night, sleep at day, drink in the morning. It's gradually dawning.
8am. Business done; pavements hosed. Bloodied gutters run red, clogged with sawdust. Chatting, standing, grinning, calling out “fancy a jar”?
5:00am. Another world. Bloodied man. The ‘Smithfield shuffle’. Cockney slang. Italianate architecture. Stone creatures, griffins, carved grotesque, flaunt the city coat of arms. Pullers, pitchers, hooks. Carcasses. A severed head. Surrealism. Click, wind the camera on. Carcasses from juggernauts on backs of men. Pitchers. Half run, half walk, the “Smithfield shuffle”. Tradition, unchanged, unspoilt. From A to B and onto hooks. Row upon row. Repetition. Sawdust scattered on wooden boards.
6.15am. Pigs, lambs, use, bullocks, hanging. Once whole - then not. Nothing wasted, everything sold. Heads, livers, entrails, bins brimming. Bartering, pennies, pounds. Chats and smiles.
6.30am. Tea leaves floating in plastic cups. Carry meat, buyers bought, back on backs, to butcher shop.
6.50am. Tea laced with whiskey. “Wasser fit to warm the coldest cockles” The Smithfield Tavern. Rum and black, playing pools, pot the black. City rousing. Commuting starting. Lives reversed. Work at night, sleep at day, drink in the morning. It's gradually dawning.
8am. Business done; pavements hosed. Bloodied gutters run red, clogged with sawdust. Chatting, standing, grinning, calling out “fancy a jar”?
