Comments on: Hawksmoor http://kellybarclay.wordpress.com/2007/02/21/hawksmoor/ Miss Kelly Barclay lost amidst London fogs Fri, 16 Jan 2009 19:23:32 +0000 http://wordpress.com/ hourly 1 By: BTB http://kellybarclay.wordpress.com/2007/02/21/hawksmoor/#comment-186 BTB Wed, 30 May 2007 22:17:15 +0000 http://kellybarclay.wordpress.com/2007/02/21/hawksmoor/#comment-186 Hi Kelly. Thank you for leaving us with your psychogeographical tour of Hawksmoor's London. I, too, have my Hawksmoor story: as so many of our kind do. Many moons ago, a long time before I knew about any of this, I worked in Hanbury Street in East London. (You may know it as one of Jack the Ripper's murder sites.) Every morning I got off the tube- though I forget where- and straight out into the imposing frontage of Christ Church. I have never forgotten that church though little else from those drab days remains. More recently I have fallen into the terrible habit of haunting some of Limehouse's least salubrious dives. Every weekend, when my parole terms allow, sees me cutting up Commercial Road in my 4x4 in search of God knows what. Every time I pass St Anne's something registers. Until a few days ago I didn't know the connection between these two places of worship... but a series of strange events has placed the completed puzzle before me. Iain Sinclair, Alan Moore, Peter Ackroyd, the London Psychogeographical Association, Canary Wharf, 2012. Now I look with new eyes upon an illuminated landscape, ever more uneasy by the hour. Pray furnish us with more of your diurnal wanderings, o rose of Sharon... Adieu. Hi Kelly. Thank you for leaving us with your psychogeographical tour of Hawksmoor’s London. I, too, have my Hawksmoor story: as so many of our kind do. Many moons ago, a long time before I knew about any of this, I worked in Hanbury Street in East London. (You may know it as one of Jack the Ripper’s murder sites.) Every morning I got off the tube- though I forget where- and straight out into the imposing frontage of Christ Church. I have never forgotten that church though little else from those drab days remains.

More recently I have fallen into the terrible habit of haunting some of Limehouse’s least salubrious dives. Every weekend, when my parole terms allow, sees me cutting up Commercial Road in my 4×4 in search of God knows what. Every time I pass St Anne’s something registers.

Until a few days ago I didn’t know the connection between these two places of worship… but a series of strange events has placed the completed puzzle before me. Iain Sinclair, Alan Moore, Peter Ackroyd, the London Psychogeographical Association, Canary Wharf, 2012. Now I look with new eyes upon an illuminated landscape, ever more uneasy by the hour.

Pray furnish us with more of your diurnal wanderings, o rose of Sharon… Adieu.

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