Amid the tourists, history is still alive in Covent Garden
There are places in London which attract tourists in their droves, simply because they have name recognition. “Don’t get off here!” I want to tell visitors excitedly stepping off the Tube at Leicester Square, which is a grubby wasteland dominated by a Burger King. Walk past Eros in Piccadilly Circus and you will see it surrounded by disappointed tourists, who have arrived only to discover that it’s an unlovely traffic junction.
Covent Garden, though, is worth a trip, for the reason historian David Olusoga gave in The People’s Piazza: A History of Covent Garden (BBC Two). “It is one of those places where it feels like history is close to the surface,” he said. “It is one of those places where, if we are open to the idea, it is almost possible to sense the presence of earlier generations.”
Yes, it is now a chi-chi home to the Apple store and a Chanel beauty boutique and various other upmarket shops. The grand houses that were once homes to London’s aristocrats have been converted for retail use
– the last one to be occupied as a private residence, 43 King Street, is now an outlet for a make-up brand founded by a social-media influencer. But the piazza is still recognisable as the square commissioned by the Earl of Bedford in the 1630s, and its church is still standing.
The programme used “immersive technology” to recreate the Covent Garden of the past, but this turned out to be an underwhelming projection onto a screen. And it was unnecessary, because simply taking us through the history of the place was sufficiently interesting. Olusoga is a Professor of Public History and this documentary demonstrated how skilfully he can put this stuff together.
With the help of experts, Olusoga told us of the piazza’s early days as home to London’s wealthiest residents, before the arrival of coffee houses in the 1700s and the development of theatreland turned it into a place of Hogarthian revelry. Covent Garden cleaned itself up, but that spirit never left; one woman pointed to a building and recalled life in the 1960s: “Just there was a club called Middle Earth, which you would go in on a Friday and stagger out on a Monday.”
Covent Garden’s more recent history as a fruit, vegetable and flower market was also well-documented, and a reminder that this was a working-class community until the late 20th century. Council philistines wanted to demolish the place in the 1970s; this programme also served as a tribute to Jim Monahan, who led the campaign to save it.
If the prospect of a World Cup in Qatar makes you feel a little queasy, then Hurst: The First and Only (Sky Documentaries) offered a throwback to better times. This profile of England’s 1966 hero was a reminder of how much football has changed, in a game now transformed by money.
Hurst’s story is familiar. There are no new details left to tell. He only got the chance to play in the tournament because Jimmy Greaves was injured; the day after he lifted the World Cup, he was back at home mowing his lawn; after leaving the game, he ended up selling life insurance. Hurst has obligingly told and retold these stories, and the documentary acknowledged this. As the football writer Paul Hayward put it: “Geoff Hurst has been living in his own museum for 55 years.” In times of need – and every time we dream of lifting that trophy again – we turn to Hurst. “He is the comfort zone for the England game.”
Yet that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be celebrated with a profile such as this one. Like the man himself, it was a respectable, respectful documentary which did the job and never overstepped the mark. Even at his funeral, he said, he wants no fuss. Just his family there and that’s it. “Not anything at all that’s fancy or special.”
Hurst watched a playback of the game, chipping in with his memories. He gazed at a photograph of the ’66 team and paid personal tribute to each player, noting with sadness that only three of them are still alive. A couple of the German players also shared their recollections of the game, including their belief that the third goal was not a goal. “But that is football, so it’s done,” they shrugged.
There have been terrible sadnesses in Hurst’s life. His younger brother took his own life in his 20s. His daughter, Claire, died from a brain tumour at 46. Hurst says he never used to talk about his grief, but now he does, although still with a great deal of self-effacement. The impression we got was of a man who has just quietly got on with life. What a contrast to the celebrity footballers of today. Hurst isn’t fancy, but he is special.
The People’s Piazza: A History of Covent Garden ★★★★
Hurst: The First and Only ★★★★