The Genesis of East End Underworld: Chapters in the Life of Arthur Harding by Raphael Samuel

One of the most highly esteemed works of the historian Raphael Samuel, who died in 1996 at the tragically early age of sixty-two, is his book East End Underworld: Chapters in the Life of Arthur Harding, published in 1981. Raphael Samuel, whose name is commemorated in the History Centre at the University of East London and by an annual memorial lecture, lived in the London borough of Tower Hamlets and amassed an invaluable archive of rare books, documents and other memorabilia on the history of the East End. His book, The Lost World of British Communism, has recently been published by Verso. Had death not cut short his tenure of the Chair of East London History at the University, he would undoubtedly have produced a number of other fascinating volumes, one of which might have been the companion volume to East End Underworld, promised in his Prefatory Note.¹

Raphael assured me that this would tell the story of the origins of the book. In its absence, it seems appropriate that I should put this on record as I was personally deeply involved.

In the early months of 1970, when I was the Labour MP for Epping, I received a letter from one of my Chingford constituents. asking me to take up a personal problem on his behalf. In an aside, he mentioned that he came from the East End of London and in my reply I stated that I originated in the same area. On the strength of this, my constituent wrote to inform me that he had written his autobiography of 100,000 words which he had entitled 'My Apprenticeship to Crime'. He had presented a copy to the Cambridge Institute of Criminology and wanted to send me a copy to assess the possibility of publication.

One of my problems as a Member of Parliament was that of keeping up with the mountain of correspondence which arrived on a daily basis. I was therefore anxious not to land myself with an additional heap of paper and a fruitless, time-consuming exercise. However, I did not wish to appear unhelpful and I told him I should be delighted to see his manuscript.

In due course a two-inch thick typescript bound in wallpaper was delivered to my home. I groaned and put it on top of my desk until I could deal with it. It stayed there, unopened, for some three weeks, at which point I felt I had to take a look at the contents. Arriving home from the House of Commons at 11.30 one night, I took it down and began to read, as I ate my late evening meal.

It was four o'clock the next morning before I could tear myself away and retire to my bed. I was totally hooked. The author knew my childhood haunts in Bethnal Green, Shoreditch and Stepney like the back of his hand. He had been a professional criminal whose memories opened up new vistas on events my parents and grandmother had recounted to me. At the first opportunity I devoured the rest of his story, but I was left wondering whether it had been lavishly embroidered or even fabricated.

To settle my doubts I decided to check it out. My constituent said he had appeared before the Police Commission in 1909 and had clashed with Detective Inspector Frederick Wensley, a well-known figure in the police force at the time, who rose to the rank of Chief Constable. I searched the Police Commission record and Frederick Wensley's reminiscences.² Sure enough, the facts as stated by my constituent were confirmed.

By chance, furthermore, Detective Sergeant Jack Stevens – nicknamed 'Jewboy' Stevens because he could speak Yiddish – who appeared in my constituent's text had retired to Potter Street, Harlow, in my constituency. I sought him out and he confirmed that my constituent, who used the name Arthur Harding, although this was not his real name,³ had been a leading villain in Bethnal Green before the First World War.

After further research and enquiries...