We bought my engagement ring and my wedding ring in Hatton Garden many years ago. Back then, every shop seemed to have an orthodox Jew behind the counter. I don’t think I really thought about that at the time, or subsequently, but last Friday the memories came flooding back.
I knew exactly what I wanted way back when, found both rings quite easily, and valuations years later showed that we, (sorry) Hubby, hadn’t overpaid. So when I decided I wanted a pair of pearl earrings for my big birthday in September, off to Hatton Garden we went.
We looked in the window of the first shop but couldn’t see any pearls. We were about to move on, when a smartly dressed gentleman offered to help. Oh yes of course he said we can make you exactly what you want. I said I didn’t actually know what I wanted. I needed to see a few first to give me some ideas. We can help. We can help. He insisted. He tried to usher us into the shop. I hate being “ushered” and pressured into buying so made to move away. However, Hubby had an important phone call to make and said I should go in and he’d join me in a minute. Wind out of sails, I went in. Sat down.
That’s when I realised that the man who had pressured us outside was (I think) originally from Pakistan, as was the chap who gleefully pulled out a huge brochure to show me what he hadn’t got in the way of pearl earrings. Nothing on that page, or that one, or that one. Oh, here’s a pair. That it? Yes. But we can make you what you want. I don’t know what I want. The brochure gives me no sense of proportion or colour or finesse. He looked blank. I smiled (not sweetly), bade him thank you and good day, and walked.
The next store had one pair in the window. A bit blingy. But better than nothing. We went in and it was very busy, with blingy salesmen (Middle Eastern), blingy clientele (all foreign) and more blingy samples. So I turned 180 degrees and walked out.
The next shop was staffed by wannabe Del Boys and Triggers. Sigh.
Where are all the Jews I asked Hubby. He had no answer.
Still making important phone calls, he let me go into the next shop on my own, where a disdainful-looking Iranian lady looked up from languidly tweezing tiny diamonds into a brown envelope (I wonder which politician they were for). She waved her hand in front of her. I wasn’t sure if this was an invitation to take a seat, or an apology because she’d just farted. So I held my breath and sat down. And I sat. And I sat. And I sat.
Eventually she tweezed the living daylights out of the last bribe
diamond and sighed, “May I help you?” to which I responded, “Oh, would you be
so kind? I’d like a pair of pearl earrings that I can wear with this necklace,”
and I opened the box wherein lay the pretty single string my darling Mum-in-law
had bought me some years ago.
"Are they 5mm or 6mm?” she asked.
It was a quick glance but glance she did. My inexpensive necklace and earrings had caught her eye and she wasn’t impressed. Sighing, she showed me single studs. I have similar I said and want something dressier, maybe a drop? Five or six mm, she asked again. Stop the world, I thought, and ended up outside on the pavement with a look like thunder.
Hubby knows that look and said let’s go for a late lunch. We headed off down a side street and past a shop with a sign, “Pearl Specialists.” Glutton for punishment I said let’s have a quick look-see. But then realised that the sign didn’t refer to the smart shop I was heading for but a scruffy flight of stairs next to it.
Woops!
Still, momentum got the better of me and I led the way up the stairs. We were buzzed through more than one door and found ourselves in a tiny ‘hallway’ with three awfully cheap 1970s’-doors from which to choose. Narnia sprang to mind. One of the doors clicked and buzzed so with an in-for-a-penny mindset, I turned the handle and in we walked.
Two counters full of jewelry awaited us, plus an orthodox Jew behind the obligatory Covid-Perspex barriers. He had a friendly smile and a twinkle in his eye. I showed him my single string and said that I wanted dressier-than-single-studs to wear with them. Beautiful pearls he said. You have a very kind mother-in-law. Hubby beamed. Several pairs were lain on the counter top. All gorgeous. Two more Jews appeared from nowhere and started to busy themselves with locks and keys. Hubby realised that the store was due to close at 2.30pm; it was now 2.29 and I had that too-much-choice look on my face. So he tried to chivvy me along. Take your time, said the twinkly Jew, obviously anticipating a last-minute sale before the Sabbath.
Would you mind if I tried them I asked, removing the colourful pair the disdainful Iranian disliked?
Sure he said. What a fetching pair you’re wearing, and the necklace.
Yes! Fetching! Inexpensive they might have been but I’d chosen these particular earrings to wear with this dress with some thought. The simple navy-blue maxi had a V-neckline, and the Native American, desert-sunset-inspired diamond-shaped earrings from Utah contrasted nicely with the blue, and mirrored the shape of the neckline to boot. The necklace was formed of inter-locking, large gold-effect open-diamond shapes that also sat well with the V-neck and complemented the shape, colour and ambience of the earrings.
Who needs expensive jewelry?
Too late to ask that question because I’d narrowed the options down to two pairs. Hubby liked them both. So did I. The twinkly Jew said that this pair was dressier than that, so this pair it was.
It was now 2:40 and the other two chaps couldn’t finish locking up until we’d gone. But they stood there patiently, smiling, also twinkling. Probably because Hubby had his credit card in his hand.
Back on the pavement heading for lunch, Hubby said he had expected to pay a lot more than that and did I want a pair of diamond earrings for Christmas. Well it was a very hot day and he probably had sun stroke.
That would be nice I said, as long as you can find me another Jewish establishment. But it was 2:50pm and they would probably all be closing to prepare for the Sabbath. So very civilised.
Unlike Hatton Garden itself, which now feels more like the Wuhan wet market.
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