Whitechapel

I started in the middle of the afternoon, accompanied by the burning young socialist and another friend, and all I had in my pocket was thruppence.

They piloted me to the Whitechapel workhouse, at which I peered from around a friendly corner.

It was a few minutes past five in the afternoon, but already a long and melancholy line was formed, which strung out around the corner of the building and out of sight.

It was a most woeful picture, men and women waiting in the cold, gray end of the day for a pauper's shelter from the night, and I confess it almost unnerved me.

Freddie Lawton, we know him.

He was the British Union of Fascist Candidates in the East End for Whitechapel.

He never got to stand because of the war.

There were no elections.

The Victorian public had a complex relationship with class.

Street lamps lit the high-end Regent Street, while slums of Whitechapel were only a stone's throw away.

The stark divide is visible in Doyle's descriptions, polished leather boots and waistcoats beside tattered cloaks, subbles that even a detective must navigate.

Holmes often operated outside the strictures of social status, using his own private laboratory on Baker Street as a quasi-government resource for the police when required.

So we booked a podcast studio, amazing studio, by the way, London Podcast Studio.

Shout out to you guys over in Whitechapel.

And we did it.

It was great.

one.

Right, okay, so I guess it's time to ring the Whitechapel bell.

Right, end of show.

Let's bring it up once more, thinkingproductions.com.

We're London's largest public debating platform for adults.

So we run weekly debates, both in Whitechapel and in Victoria, covering anything from politics to polyamory.

If it's in the papers, we'll talk about it.

We don't mind.