You will remember that I went to hear Fiona Shaw read T S Eliot at Wilton's Music Hall recently - and some of you commented on this little known but rather lovely locale. Well, a few days ago, reading the London Library Magazine for Winter 2009, I came across a poem, East Ending, by Carol Rumen. I hope she will forgive me if I share two stanzas with you:
We turn the corner into
Where the best brothels were, and the best turns,
And, prettily distressed as Daisy Bell,
She begs our custom -
’s Music Hall. Wilton
Her fragile balcony’s a work in progress.
Be careful! She’s fresh bathed and tremulous,
Her tits like pearly scandals and her ankles
Barley sugar. To restore the old,
Make old just new enough not to disturb
The ghost of Champagne Charley and his girls
Back-stage. It’s kitsch. So what? So’s Shakespeare’s Globe.
An audience works the glitz until its gold.