Pearly kings and queens 50 years ago [All photos: Alfies Antiques market]

IT’S a sanctuary for eccentrics, a living museum, “a mini United Nations”, according to founder Bennie Gray. Punks hang out upstairs, jewellers barter, Geoffrey’s doing his crossword in the corner. As in 1976, it’s a sweltering summer, with hooves clip-clopping in Church Street as pearly kings and queens pose for pictures. Alfies Antiques has turned 50.

Trying to pin down a dealer for an interview is near impossible; a revolving door of mods, goths and caddy-pushing locals filter through the narrow corridors, grabbing sellers for a catch-up. With a free bar on the rooftop today, I give up the chase and head upstairs instead.

There’s a jazz band playing up here, as slices of cake are handed out. Bennie’s father, Alfie – the market’s namesake – was “one of the best jazz drummers in the country and one of the worst antique dealers in the world,” he tells me. It was Alfie who encouraged him to purchase the building we’re in today, “an old department store, selling knitting needles and knicker elastic”.

The aim was to transform the space into a home for dealers who couldn’t afford their own shops, allowing antique traders to have permanent stalls “for not very much money in what you might broadly call the West End,” Bennie reflects. “The demand was overwhelming. Within a few months, we were open five days a week and had filled the entire building.”

Sprawling over four floors, this Art Deco relic bursts at the seams with all manner of curiosities, and is home to traders of 24 nationalities. Rows of watches, fine art, African textiles, Victorian lighting, and taxidermy compete for space with half-upholstered chairs.

Pearly kings and queens return for the 50th anniversary

I stumble into Gillian Horsup’s shop, which is overflowing with costume jewellery.

“I was born a cockney just before the Second World War, and used to go to jumble sales, picking up bits of jewellery from the richer locals who would send their stuff down to the East End,” she tells me. “I’ve been a secretary and a teacher, but once I’d paid my mortgage and the children had left, I wanted to do something for me.”

A keen follower of fashion, Gillian now rents her antiques out; beside her are receipts from Condé Nast, who used her stock for a magazine shoot. “At 87, I’m so lucky to not be stuck at home. People drop in here all the time, you never know who you’re going to meet.”

Indeed, Alfies’ guestbook boasts the likes of Kate Moss and the late Vivienne Westwood.

Downstairs, Pari Fahimian tells me of a beloved, small porcelain piano she used to store her business cards in. “A gentleman walked in with flashy rings on and asked to buy it. I came up with a very high price because I didn’t want it to sell. He said, ‘okay, wrap it for me.’ When he left, the next-door trader said: ‘that was Liberace!’”

Pari has been here since day one, much like Eamonn Perris, for whom the market “was life-changing. I was really down and didn’t know what I was going to do,” says Eamonn. “Bennie and his dad encouraged me to sell silver here with cheap rent.”

“A lot of us are unemployable, really; we couldn’t work for anyone else. It’s funny, it didn’t dawn on me on my own 50th birthday, but this week, I’ve realised how much I’ve achieved.”

Alfie and Bennie Gray

Eamonn stops me on the way out. “You know, Bennie didn’t charge rent during Covid, and it meant that this whole place has come back damn stronger than before.”

Places like this are all too rare. Much of the second-hand trade has migrated online, while former markets have disappeared altogether.

The Mall, a former antiques hub in Islington, has been taken over by Amazon. Others are now luxury flats.

Bennie remains defiant, telling me that he’s “already planning” Alfies’ 100th anniversary.

“I try to keep it vulgar, keep the dealers real,” he says. “People want to be able to see what they’re buying. They want to be able to touch it, look at it and stroke it.”

Geoffrey has abandoned his crossword to tell me about his lifelong obsession with glass.

“You see fashions come and go, it’s about being ahead of it”, he muses. Down the hall, Monica tells me that her husband is currently in Italy, sourcing mid-century lighting.

“We love finding undiscovered designers,” she says.

Around the corner, Michael tells me about the challenges of sourcing vintage Christmas baubles from war-torn Ukraine. By the stairs, a singer croons into a lipstick-stained microphone.

As I head back up to the rooftop for a cigarette, the band’s still playing, the stories keep flowing; our little UN remains in session. “I make places that people like being in,” adds Bennie.