Stepney Green — “There’s not going to be enough pavement to go around.”

020 : Evelyn Owen on Globe Road, Stepney Green
Born in 1983 in Birmingham. Evelyn Owen currently works as a student Why London? Because we are becoming friends. She digs the following London bits: its endless unfamiliarity, people-watching, cranes on the skyline, the Tate Modern and the place names. She is, however, a bit miffed by commuter aggression, the inconvenience of the last tube, the expense, the selfishness and the bored suits. For more info on Evelyn Owen you should send an email.

image: Evelyn Owen
“There’s not going to be enough pavement to go around.”

Crossing, I turned right and homewards. In front of me, staggering along the pavement, was an old man in a raincoat. On his head he wore one of those white caps that Muslim men often wear^[1]. He had a wiry beard and a walking stick poking out from his coat at a funny angle. He lurched slightly, his hunched back rocking from side to side, hips obviously not what they were.

As he swayed to the right and I got a glimpse over his shoulder, I saw approaching from the opposite direction an elderly, papery-skinned lady in dark blue. She too had a walking stick, and was shuffling along at an even slower pace. Her white hair was perfectly set, pillar box lips pressed firmly together in concentration, watery eyes fixed on the cracks in the paving stones. Her stick waved about alarmingly as she made to plant it a little further along in preparation for her next shuffle.

I smiled to myself. ‘When these two old dears meet,’ I thought, ‘there’s not going to be enough pavement to go around. They’ll be nodding courteously and trying to edge round each other without whacking each other with their canes. How polite old people always are. No doubt there’ll be profuse apologies and great embarrassment all round.’

I slowed down, not wanting to interfere in their doddering manoeuvres. The old man took another step. They were almost parallel now. Time to negotiate the passing.

The old man hawked and spat loudly.

‘Don’t do that! That’s filthy, spitting in public^[2].’

The imaginary bonds of old age and dodgy hips and walking sticks came crashing down. The old man lurched right, the old woman ploughed onward, glowering, her trusty stick forging ahead, and as she passed me, her fury scorched my bare left cheek. I nipped round her, side-stepped and pressed on past the old man, who snorted loudly as I went by. His phlegm sat wetly on the tarmac, a marker of the confrontation, soon to evaporate.

referenced works

This item of headgear is known as a ‘kufi’. Apparently, Mohammed’s companions would not allow themselves to be seen with their heads uncovered, hence a range of Muslim head coverings, including the kufi, the kaffiyeh and the karakul. No other piece of Islamic millinery has provoked as much scholarly debate as the kufi, however, and it is through exchanges such as this that many come to know the true meaning of their faith and traditional costume. ↩

Or so you might think, but as this collection of quotes about Islam’s attitude to spitting suggests, he may just have been warding off Satan, or even attempting to bless the old lady he was passing (although this particular technique may only have been used by Mohammed himself). ↩

location information

Name: Globe Road
Address: Tower Hamlets, London, E1
Time of story: Afternoon
Latitude: 51.522202463728135
Longitude: -0.04707813262939453
Map: Google Maps

commentary

020 “There’s not going to be enough pavement to go around.” — Evelyn Owen

019 “Then our eyes flicked back together again, and a tear was gathering on her cheek.” — Stephen Ledger-Lomas

018 “One of them shot me 'die hippy' neon rays from under his star-shaped glasses.” — Dylan Carline

017 “I often wonder how many of those photographs I have popped up on.” — Gemma Barder

016 “'Thank you, London!' cries possibly-famous scruffy lead singer.” — Jen Paton

015 “Around us, drivers beep their horns and pedestrians trample on my clean jumpers and skirts.” — Emma Hardy

014 “No chance for bloomers and wigs to outnumber tracksuits - we were on our own.” — Cecilia

013 “Then the unthinkable had happened. We met and became ‘friends’.” — John

012 “Nothing is forever, to live is to suffer, please give generously.” — Andrew Flynn

011 “The taste is salt water, and the rubbery texture never-ending.” — Janet Nesaule

010 “I pressed the side of my hand to my forehead, pointlessly.” — Tim Wood

009 “His voice falters, but refuses to capsize.” — Benjamin Mmusi

008 “A hollow understanding of togetherness wrapped around everyone.” — Zoonie (or Cait for short)

007 “In amongst the railway arches and Victorian masonry, the dead spaces remain intact.” — Richard Kovitch

006 “A big scruffy bloke began watching.” — Joseph Ridgwell

005 “Why did I feel so warm and fuzzy inside?” — Yuki Nakano

004 “I smiled and nodded in an informed and knowledgeable way.” — Pictorial Soup

003 “Bobo-the-hobo, swag, mighty mezz. It's all there right in front.” — Craig Mod

002 “To my shame, I realise I am crying.” — Jayne Newton Chance

001 “Her skirt snaps in the wind like a flag.” — Heidi James

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