The air was icy on Millennium Bridge, the footbridge spanning the Thames between Tate Modern and the City, but the rising sun was already illuminating the enormous dome of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. It was 8 am on this late October Sunday. The first tourists were arriving, eager to enjoy the neighborhood, the beating heart of historic London. At the end of the bridge, on the right-hand City side, an inconspicuous flight of steps allowed access to the riverbank and entry into a parallel world.
In an instant, the sound of the surf and river shuttles drowned out the din of the British capital. The Thames asserted itself once again, powerful and ever-changing, with its tides revealing wide banks of mud and sand twice a day. These shores are the domain of the “mudlarks” (the bank scavengers), both treasure hunters and keepers of history.
Sean Clarke is one of them. Equipped only with boots, knee pads and gardening gloves, he arranged to meet at the water’s edge to share his passion. “We’ll have at least until 1 pm to follow the tide as it goes out and then comes back in,” he explained in an email a few days earlier.
Luck and patience
Mudlarks have existed for centuries, perhaps since ancient London – the city was founded between 47 and 50 CE by the Romans, who made it the capital of Britannia until they left in the 5th century. These were people so poor that, in order to survive, they were reduced to scouring the riverbank in search of valuable objects.
Modern-day mudlarks have little in common with those destitute figures: Retirees, professionals or artists, they are amateur or compulsive collectors, less interested in money than in the fascinating fragments of the past that the river carries along its 346 kilometers.
You have 87.09% of this article left to read. The rest is for subscribers only.
