Covid feels like it has changed the world; the way we work, see our families, even how we celebrate Christmas - all has entirely shifted over the last year. Combined with some of the news from the States and the remarkable scenes on Capitol Hill last month, it sometimes feels very much like we are on a precipice where the world could groggily topple into an awful parallel universe. We all want to feel like our lifetime is exceptional and that no generations before ours have dealt with the challenges we face today. But that’s nonsense.

In 1936, the poverty-stricken edge of the City became a battleground that reflected a war that was being felt across the globe. On one of my lockdown walks, I picked through the site of a little-remembered incident where England lay down its determination not to follow other European countries into the arms of fascism and racism.

1936 never really strikes anyone as a particularly exciting year, but it was the moment that the world began to move inexorably towards a global war that has shaped (and continues to shape) the way we live today. Two great ideologies squared off against each other in those 12 months by tiptoeing in increasingly tighter circles before they inevitably came to blows. On one side, you had the new ideology of communism: `breathtakingly radical in its scope and brutal in its execution. Its focal point was Stalin’s Russia; a country bloodied by repression (and about to be more so as it slid into the Great Purge), but other countries would follow the strength of the ideology by birthing movements where the grasping of power was a possibility (Germany, Italy, China, to name but a few). 

On the other side sat fascism; a political movement that harked back to the ancient world (the word deriving from the Italian word, fascismo – the bundle of sticks that represented the authority of Roman magistrates). By 1936, Italy and Germany had already succumbed to the lure of a strong dictatorial rule and Spain would follow. This meant that (somewhat remarkably with hindsight) most of the significant countries on the European mainland were governed by fascist leaders (and France faced temptations to follow).

Hindsight is a remarkable thing, but in 1936, the world was sat between these two opposing political systems. The Second World War, and all the atrocities that went with it, were still in the future - Hitler hadn’t yet unleased Kristallnacht and there was a worrying willingness to put the extremely unpleasant elements of his ideology down to simple rhetoric. 

By contrast, the 1930s were not a great time to be declaring the virtues of liberal democracies. The Wall Street crash had brought the US to its knees, and France and Britain were struggling with the ideological conflict brought on by holding significant empires over people who were increasingly militant about wanting to rule themselves. Perhaps more concerning was the fundamental sore at the heart of nations that preached freedom but had conscripted and killed millions of men during the First World War in conditions that still beggar belief.

All of this is scene setting, but it leads back to the City. On 4 October 1936, Oswald Mosley’s Union of Fascists (a right-wing group with strong links to Nazism/Italian fascism and an ideology of hate that is about as repulsive) attempted to march into the East End where generations of immigrants had lived. The roads have changed quite a bit since then, but the aim was to walk into this predominantly Jewish and Irish area of London to stir up as much trouble as possible. 

Facing them was a rough coalition of anti-fascists organised and led by the London Communist Party. The anti-fascists threw up barricades across the narrow streets driving trucks into place (but not setting fire to them as had been suggested by the communist leadership). 

It quickly became clear that the 3,000 or so Blackshirts that had turned up for the British Union of Fascists were hopelessly outnumbered by the anti-fascist demonstrators (numbers reported vary but 20,000 seems realistic). In a move that, as an understatement, could be viewed as provocative, the Home Secretary sent in 6,000 to 7,000 policemen to clear the streets and allow the protest to continue.

The result was predictable. Improbably, the anti-fascists threw marbles to confound the hooves of the mounted police that repeatedly charged the crowds. Chamber-pots, bottles, rubbish, and anything that could be brought to hand flew through the air. The fascist march was called off (with the Blackshirts having to be escorted away by the police) but the riot continued into the night with 175 people injured.

Historical debate is still divided as to the impact of the battle, but it embarrassed Mosley deeply and appears to have undermined the credibility of fascism in the UK. As a legal footnote, it also resulted in the Public Order Act 1936 which banned the wearing of political uniforms (such as the Blackshirts) in any public place/meeting and required police consent for political marches.

The battle still represents one of the most successful protests held in England in the Twentieth Century and is notable for some of the leading British Communists that were present. One of the most remarkable being Charlie Hutchinson (who deserves an article all his own); he was the only black member of the International Brigade that fought during the Spanish Civil War. He was evacuated at Dunkirk, fought in North Africa, Italy and Iran and was present at the liberation of Bergen-Belsen. He died in 1993, a committed communist and a boxing fan.

Today, the battle itself is marked by an incredible mural painted on the side of St George’s Town Hall. It depicts the main events (and slightly oddly, the image of an individual who looks a lot like Hitler having his trousers stripped off).

The area remains poor and, despite being only a half mile from the middle of the City, it is not too difficult to image the barricades. Cable Street represents the uniquely British approach to one of the ideologies that so many other countries backed in the dark 1930s. It is relatively difficult to imagine urine being thrown at the SS in Nazi Germany during 1936 so perhaps we should all take the time to wander out of the City slightly and celebrate this battle and what it says about the British approach to those who preach intolerance.