Could this be the face of ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley?

        A few weeks ago I was asked to pass an opinion upon the subject of a painting acquired by Plymouth-based art dealers Parade Antiques. It was the portrait of a man in his mid-twenties which was recently discovered in the attic of a house at St Ives (Cornwall). The canvas itself was in poor condition; minus frame, artist’s signature or any other distinguishing mark to shed light on his identity.

Could this be William Long-Wellesley?

        It was only after John Cabello (Parade Antiques) had this portrait restored that he noticed a striking resemblance between his mystery man and Arthur Wellesley (Duke of Wellington,1769-1852), who was Britain’s hero at the Battle of Waterloo. Mr Cabello immediately suspected he was looking at an image of ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley, the Duke’s wastrel nephew, best recalled for the destruction of Wanstead House. In Cabello’s opinion this painting is highly reminiscent of Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769-1830), who was a leading English portrait painter of the Regency period and the fourth president of the Royal Academy. 

       But what would a portrait of the black sheep of the Wellesley family be doing in a Cornish attic? And if it can be attributed to Lawrence (or one of his associates) why was it left to fester in such a decrepit state for nigh on two centuries? Most importantly, can we find any visual evidence to connect the cocky-looking man displayed in this picture to the illustrious Wellesley family?

 1. What would Long-Wellesley have been doing in St Ives?

      Strangely enough the obscure location where this painting was found may prove to be the strongest pointer to Long-Wellesley. Following his marriage in 1812, ‘Wicked William’ decided to enter Parliament, and purchased a seat for £500 in the rotten borough of St Ives. He was duly elected in November 1812, serving as the town’s MP until 1818. Long-Wellesley continued to live at Wanstead House, only visiting St Ives around the time of their assizes. Given that Long-Wellesley had civic as well as parliamentary responsibilities in Cornwall it is entirely possible that a painting was commissioned for the purpose of familiarising constituents with Long-Wellesley’s likeness in the days before photographic media. This painting may have been taken down after Long-Wellesley resigned his seat; its frame perhaps re-used for his replacement MP. Maybe the portrait remained in situ until after Long-Wellesley’s scandalous behaviour became public knowledge. Alternatively it could have adorned Long-Wellesley’s residence at St Ives, and he never bothered to retrieve it after he left the area.

 

2. Could Sir Thomas Lawrence really have have painted Long-Wellesley?

      Sir Thomas Lawrence is best remembered for his flattering style of portraiture, emphasising the positive physical attributes of his subjects. The man in this painting is in his mid-twenties, staring back at us unabashed, almost arrogantly, in the mode of a man of fashion. His style of clothing is very typical of the dandy, but the controlled wildness of his hair exudes masculinity with more than a hint of Romanticism. In 1814 Lawrence was commissioned by members of the Wellesley family to paint a series of portraits, including this iconic image of the Duke of Wellington.

Wellington by Sir Thomas Lawrence (1814)

        Another of Lawrence’s most notable works at this time was an ensemble entitled ‘The Three Graces’ : being Mary Bagot, Priscilla Burghersh and Emily Fitzroy Somerset – These women are Long-Wellesley’s sisters.

Wicked William’s three sisters as sketched by Sir Thomas Lawrence (1814)

        In the summer of 1814 William held an enormous fete at Wanstead House to honour his uncle the Duke of Wellington, which was attended by the crowned heads of Europe, in celebration of Napoleon’s defeat and exile. Given that Lawrence was at this time busily employed by the Wellesleys it seems plausible that ‘Wicked William’ could have asked Lawrence to do his portrait too. This was when Long-Wellesley was at the height of his pomp, having just turned 24 years old and thought to be so good-looking that even Lord Byron was envious. The St Ives painting has an element of swagger that would have typified Long-Wellesley. 

        It is important to acknowledge that the age of this portrait is as yet unproven. However the way this man is presented and what he is wearing does provide some hints. The sitter’s clothes are consistent with contemporary descriptions of Long-Wellesley, and the execution of the portrait is so close to the style of Lawrence that it is reasonable to assume it originates from (or relates to) the Regency period.

 

3. Are we looking at a member of the Wellesley family?

        The best way to determine a familial likeness is to set the mystery portrait against other members of the Wellesley family to look for common traits

The restored painting (left) and a portrait of Arthur Wellesley by John Hoppner (right)

       In this comparison we capture Arthur Wellesley in 1808 (aged 39). Both men have thick-set eyebrows and blue eyes, their mouths and chins seem to follow the same lines.

When we place the picture alongside contemporary images of William’s sisters the evidence seems even more compelling.

         On the left is a portrait of Mary Bagot by John Hoppner c.1807. On the right is Emily Fitzroy Somerset by Sir Thomas Lawrence c.1815. Although their portraits were painted by different artists the sisters’ features are identical. Of the two, Emily seems to be uncannily like the man in this portrait, suggesting not only that he is a close family relation, but also that this man has been painted by the same artist (Sir Thomas Lawrence).

4. Is this portrait ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley?

     The story of William’s marriage to the richest heiress in Regency Britain, Catherine Tylney-Long, has become internationally famous since the publication of Angel and the Cad by Geraldine Roberts (2015). Long-Wellesley went on to wreck Catherine’s ancestral home at Wanstead House, leading to the fire sale of its priceless art and treasures; even her cherished family portraits were lost. Although William retained some of Catherine’s heirlooms, they had to be auctioned off in 1852 because he never paid the storage fees, and their current whereabouts are unknown.

       Apart from a few satires at the British Museum, there are no surviving images of William or Catherine Long-Wellesley for the duration of their marriage. All we can use for comparative purposes are a miniature of Long-Wellesley aged 16 (in the collection of the Duke of Wellington at Stratfield Saye) and etching of him in profile aged about 38 (the original of which is in my possession).

The unknown man replicates 16-year-old William in both appearance and dress

        Looking at youthful William (right), we see distinct features such as eyebrows, nose and the line of his jaw – which seem to be present in the later image. Their fashionable clothes seem to conform to the same dandy regulation of wearing a drab overcoat with high-necked collar. The curls of hair may not be so pronounced in the left-hand image, but this may have been deliberate – reined in to give the man an air of authority commensurate with his standing on public life.

         The portrait of Long-Wellesley in his late thirties (shown on right) depicts a more care-worn man with a receding hairline and a much bigger nose. His chin looks less prominent, but the eyes and eyebrows and his mode of dress are consistent in both images. We all know that the nose never stops growing as one gets older, and Wicked William certainly seems well on the way to a full-blown proboscis akin to the Duke of Wellington. As he got older William looked increasingly more like Wellington. Even the Duke gasped at the likeness when the pair met up in 1845.

         Georgian satires ridiculed celebrities of their day by exaggerating physical appearance to create an image fit for public consumption. Their primary function was commercial; providing a cheap, popular and in-the-moment source of entertainment. Satirical representations were parodies rather than true likenesses. But it was vital to capture the essence of those featured, to make them instantly recognisable. In Long-Wellesley’s case he was often depicted carrying a rake to sow his wild oats; and presented as a womanising fool bereft of common sense. Despite this, when we compare Long-Wellesley’s satires with the St Ives portrait we again find common ground. These examples from 1811 and 1812 could easily be caricatures of the man we see in this portrait.

 

Conclusion

     It is clear that the St Ives painting needs further examination by art experts to fully establish its age and provenance. I have considered it purely in the context of Long-Wellesley’s life. Long-Wellesley did spend time in St Ives; he also would have been closely associated with Sir Thomas Lawrence at this time. The sitter in this portrait is almost certainly a member of the Wellesley family. Having compared this new painting with existing images and satires of Long-Wellesley, I feel certain that Parade Antiques have unearthed the genuine article, and that this really is an extremely important find.

      I am not yet sure what will become of the painting, but it would be wonderful to see it back in Wanstead. Imagine the irony of forcing Wicked William to gaze upon the wreck of his once proud estate from his position on the wall of the Temple at Wanstead Park – This would be a small yet symbolic act of penance for the misery and cruelty he wrought upon Wanstead House and its ancestral owners.

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Images of the St Ives portrait are produced with the kind permission of Parade Antiques, and have been watermarked to preserve their copyright.

If you would like to learn a bit more about Wicked William Long-Wellesley, you might like to find out how he got on when he served under Wellington’s command in Portugal. To learn about William’s over the top entertainments at Wanstead you could join Wicked William’s Hunt – or witness his heartless treatment of Catherine in her final days

For Wanstead related history you might like to learn about Anne Rushout, Wanstead’s Forgotten Artist – or discover multicultural Wanstead in Thomas Hood’s Tylney Hall

I am currently in the midst of writing up my thesis, which is about ‘Long-Wellesley and Publicity during the Regency period’. I hope to publish more new posts as this year goes on. As usual I would appreciate any feedback, comments, or suggestions.

Victorian Monopoly from Regent Street to Mayfair

 

Monopoly Overview
“Go” to “Just Visiting” | “Pall Mall” to “Free Parking” | “Strand” to “Jail” | “Regent St” to “Mayfair”

Welcome to the final part of our journey around the Monopoly Board using only images from the Crace Collection of antiquarian prints and maps held by the British Museum. Can 1850s Londoners recognise the upmarket locations on the final stretch towards ‘Go’ which have been made so familiar since the London version of this iconic board game first appeared in 1936?. We will begin at Regent Street, moving through several exclusive enclaves (and one less attractive area) before reaching our final destination in Mayfair. But would Victorian Londoners have been so familiar with the places we visit?

Regent St | Oxford St | Bond St
Liverpool St Station | Park Lane Mayfair
Conclusion

Regent Street

Proposal for the creation of ‘Regent Street’ (1813)

Regent Street was an area of London which Victorians automatically associated with modernity and retail innovation. Conceived as an essential new thoroughfare as early as the 1760s – it did not become reality until 1813 when a commission raised £600,000 to begin the work of clearing away slum properties around Swallow Street and replacing them with a new Nash-designed boulevard where the emphasis was on elegance and beauty.


All Souls Church, Regent Street, was first consecrated in November 1824

The architectural brilliance of Nash is no better demonstrated than at All Soul’s Church, Langham Place, which still stands adjacent to BBC Headquarters today. The ‘New Street’ upon which it was built was soon re-christened Regent Street in honour of its chief advocate – the Prince Regent, who had a vision for a new aesthetically pleasing London, hoping to rival and exceed Paris. ‘Regent Street’ was the perfect name given that this new road began at the Prince’s home at Carlton House and wend its way to Marylebone Park (which was simultaneously renamed Regent’s Park).

A view of the Quadrant, Regent St (1822)

As far as the Government were concerned Regent Street was a godsend, providing work during a time of great austerity, unemployment and social disorder – and cost very little thanks to the practice of selling 99-year leases to encourage private investment. The centrepiece of this boulevard-style development was the Quadrant; designed for “shops appropriated to articles of fashion and taste.” Demolition of run-down areas around Swallow Street meant that many craftsmen and traders found themselves without premises from which to trade. But only the very select were invited to relocate to Regent Street, where the emphasis was on high-end goods to rival nearby Bond Street – which was then considered the most fashionable place to shop.

Gentrifying Soho, 1819

Another vision for Regent Street was its ability to segregate London’s enclaves, dividing fashionable squares around St James’ Park from working-class Soho. This was part of the larger scheme of managing public areas, involving installation of gas lighting, introduction of savage Vagrancy Laws to clear away ‘undesirables’ – and the creation of economic barriers precluding lower class business and culture from invading elite spaces. The above report from 1818 is perhaps the first where ‘Regent Street’ is named, revealing that even whilst it was under construction Regent Street remained a perfect location for criminal activity. Within a few short years, however, the underworld were forced to retreat from the new bright lights and well-policed covered walkways which lined Regent Street.

High-Class Retailers were enticed to relocate to Regent Street

Within a very short space of time Regent Street surpassed Bond Street as London’s most important retail area. In 1850 it became the first shopping area in Britain to support late night opening, when shop-keepers agreed to remain open until the ungodly hour of 7pm. But, as we shall discover, Regent Street’s title was merely borrowed – because Oxford Street was rapidly emerging to seize the crown of ‘best shopping street’. Although Bond Street successfully retained its exclusivity and high-end reputation, Regent Street never quite surpassed its primary function as a London thoroughfare – segregating late-Georgian London into self-contained districts – most of which remain familiar to us today.

This image from 1849 shows Regent Street full of pedestrians, traffic and workmen – certainly a familiar location for Victorian Londoners. The scaffolding reveals that Nash’s wondrous Quadrant Colonnade was in the process of being removed. According to shop-owners the lack of natural light rendered their shops less attractive to customers – But, as this contemporary report suggests, knocking down the Colonnade was sadly lamented.

For more information on Regent Street – Usha Rowan has written nice potted history of some of the buildings in Regent Street whilst IanVisits laments the loss of its Colonnade. Finally, Regent Street has its very own website.

For more details about life on the streets of London try Donald Low’s interesting guide to the Regency Underworld

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Oxford Street

Since the end of nineteenth century Oxford Street has been considered to be London’s busiest shopping area, but its ancient history was much less glamorous. Around since Roman times, when it was part of Via Trinobantina – this was an important route connecting Essex and Hampshire via London. By the middle ages it was known as Tyburn Road – being the way prisoners travelled towards Tyburn Gallows (at modern day Marble Arch) for their execution. The practice of accompanying convicts to their place of death was a very important ritual right up until early modern times. It is hardly surprising that Tyburn Road paid host to a variety of service industries geared towards ‘death tourism’ as we might describe it. Street-sellers would even distribute ‘final confession’ tracts as souvenirs before the prisoner was even dead.

Tyburn Road c.1780  – A place to watch death unfold

Enormous crowds attended hangings, but whenever spectators disagreed with sentences passed the Government increasingly met with crowd disorder and riot. To quell this unrest Tyburn Gallows ceased to be used after 1783, and public hangings were moved to a yard immediately outside Newgate Prison. Around this time road surfaces were improved to form important transport routes, thus perhaps Tyburn Road became ‘Oxford Street’ to reflect its new function as the main road out from London heading northwest towards the city of Oxford.

By 1815 Oxford Street was already very gentrified

So, we know that ‘Oxford Street’ arrived in the 1780s, and that within a century it was synonymous with shopping. But what was it like in between these times? And would Oxford Street have been recognised on an early Victorian monopoly board? Well, the answer is an emphatic yes – because it was very quickly transformed by the arrival of many elegant mansion houses built to accommodate the increasingly wealthy aristocratic and mercantile classes, who were eager to own a fashionable London pied-à-terre. By 1850 one such dwelling, named Camelford House, was a long-established tourist attraction connecting curious Victorians with one of the most important events of the century – which (we shall discover) truly changed the course of British history

Half-Mad Lord Camelford (1775-1804)

Camelford House first became renowned in the early 1800s as the home of Thomas Pitt, who known to many as the ‘Half-Mad Lord’ on account of his eccentric, often aggressive lifestyle. A first cousin of Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger, Camelford was a hot-headed naval officer who could quite easily start a fight in an empty room. In March 1804 Camelford challenged Captain Best to a duel despite knowing full well that his best friend was a deadly marksman. In such an unequal contest there was only going to be one outcome, hence Best was very reluctant to oblige. Geri Walton has written an account of Lord Camelford’s fatal duel – news of which filled the public with dismay.  Before he finally died in Brighton a week after the duel, Camelford absolved Best from any blame for his demise. When his body was returned to Camelford House pending burial The Morning Post wrote

A few days later, it was reported that Camelford’s body had gone missing from the vault at St Anne’s Church, and its whereabouts are still the subject of conjecture today.

Front view of Camelford House, Oxford Street (1850)

Lord Grenville inherited the mansion and used it primarily for entertaining until 1816 – when he was made an offer he couldn’t refuse and agreed to lease Camelford House to the most talked-about couple in Regency society: namely Princess Charlotte of Wales and her new husband Leopold of Saxe-Coburg.

 

Princess Charlotte – unwilling to follow the Prince Regent’s direction (1814)

Charlotte, Princess of Wales was the product of a short and unhappy marriage, having spent her formative years neglected by her selfish father the Prince Regent, whilst granted only limited access to her mother Caroline of Brunswick – who was kept at arm’s length by her grandfather King George III. At the age of 18, in 1814, Charlotte was now de-facto heir to the British Crown, being next in line after the Prince Regent. She was then placed under enormous pressure to marry but Charlotte stood firm against her father, the press, and polite society by refusing to accept William, the Prince of Orange – who had been foisted upon her. Instead she dug her heels in and demanded marriage to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, who was considered by many to be ‘a pauper’. Eventually she got her way, with the last obstacle to fixing a wedding date was Charlotte’s earnest desire to have Camelford House made ready as her marital London home. For Charlotte Camelford’s excellent gardens, upper rooms overlooking Hyde Park, and sumptuous ballroom were ideal, guaranteeing her place amidst the beau monde.  On May 13th 1816 the happy day arrived

Once married, Charlotte stepped out from the shadow of her unpopular father, and began to be judged in her own right. She became a refreshing antidote to the uncaring and wasteful Regent – offering Britain a genuine cause for optimism during a period of bitter social and political distress. To pinch a phrase, she became a kind of ‘people’s princess’ through her relatively down-to-earth choice of Oxford Street rather than a remote palace, away from the public gaze.

Once wed – the public took to Princess Charlotte into their hearts

Britain was agog with excitement when it was announced that Charlotte was expecting a child, and a new age seemed to be dawning. However, this proved short-lived as Oxford Street’s most glamorous couple were dealt a hammer blow by the double tragedy of Charlotte losing her baby boy in childbirth and then her own life on 6th of November 1817. She was just 21 years old; and her death triggered a nationwide torrent of grief. The country was dumbfounded, as two simultaneous deaths blew a hole in the Royal succession, endangering the very survival of the House of Hanover. Suddenly the Prince Regent’s younger brothers were called upon to produce a new legitimate heir to the throne. The Duke of Kent, aged 50, & hastily married in June 1818 was to finally came up with the goods, when his only child Victoria was born in May 1819.

Typical representation of Princess Charlotte’s death scene (1818)

It’s hard to believe that there would have been no Victorian era at all but for the untimely death of Princess Charlotte. Mid-Victorian London fully understood this tragic twist of fate and people often visited Oxford Street to take a peek at Camelford House, the place where their lost queen spent the happiest days of her brief life.

English Monarchs site has a concise biography of Princess Charlotte

The National Trust has written some articles on Princess Charlotte and the Media;

For more information: Time Out has an interesting pictorial history of Oxford Street; The Guardian succinctly reminds us that Oxford Street has not always been known for retail via an article entitled ‘death and shopping

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Bond Street

Bond Street, c.1825

Bond Street was unquestionably famous as a London landmark well before the Victorian era, having first appeared in the 1720s courtesy of developer Sir Thomas Bond, from whom it took its name. Almost from the very beginning Bond Street was synonymous with luxury, attracting the most prestigious clothiers, perfumiers, jewellers and other elite shops. For aspiring socialites Bond Street represented the apogee of trendy living. By the 1790s it was considered cool to be described as a ‘Bond Street Lounger’ for this signified a person of high fashion, whose sole purpose was to display their exquisite taste by parading the wide pavements around Bond Street in order to see and be seen.


Looking at the latest Bond Street fashions (1796)

Bond Street helped to formulate a new democratic route to fame, overturning age-old prerequisites such as family status and personal achievement, to create what we now describe as celebrity. Here it became possible to reach the summit of high society simply via exerting influence in the realm of popular culture. Ordinary men like George ‘Beau’ Brummell (who was the son of a tailor) became universally acknowledged for their insight and wit, helping Georgian England to cast off its wigs, tights and powder puff faces – in favour of a fresh clean cut trouser and cravat wearing style. Women were equally ready to shed their horrible courtly garb which demanded the wearing of ridiculously wide hooped dresses, in favour of sleeker, more ravishing attire they saw worn around Bond Street by ladies of influence such as the Duchess of Devonshire. The above satire from 1796 reflects a craze for ostrich feathers in ladies hats – which caused much chuckling in some quarters, but was widely emulated – as far as the lower orders could afford to purchase.

Bond Street could also be the road to ruin (1800)

An Irish visitor to London in 1809 reported on the phenomenon of city gents and other middling class workers flocking to Bond Street each afternoon to pass themselves off as ‘Bond Street Loungers’. He noted that the most important part of their daily routine was to read the newspapers to see if their names appeared on the list of attendees at fashionable events. Almost all luxury purchasing was carried out using an informal system of credit, usually relying on a person’s status and family connections. Because it was considered impolite to actually ask for payment from clients some shop owners and tradesmen often waited years for their accounts to be settled. Not surprisingly many an honest retailer got to the brink of ruin before they took action against non-payers. Inevitably some young bloods found to be lacking in funds ended up in debtors prison having been apprehended at their lodgings. These reckless non-payers often shared cells with bankrupted businessmen who had failed to act quickly enough to recover their debts, and whose chances of redemption were much less likely.  ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley (of Wanstead House notoriety) was one such wastrel –  In 1804 his father became so fed up with writs arriving at his house in Savile Row, that he had to banish his 16-year-old lad to the wilds of Suffolk until arrangements were made repay the £600 debt ran up with various exclusive fashion outlets.  We can see why Wellesley-Pole called a halt to his boy’s extravagance, especially as an ordinary family household could live reasonably on just £50 per year at that time. But for those of us today lamenting  the untimely  loss of Wanstead House and its magnificent estate, it might have been better if Wellesley-Pole had let his son to face the consequences, and perhaps have leart his lesson, by spending time in  a debtor’s prison.

Wicked William Long-Wellesley – A Bond Street Lounger and proud of it

As the nineteenth century progressed Bond Street enhanced its high-end reputation by hosting a number of art dealers and antique shops, placing it firmly at the top end of Victorian London’s connoisseur market. Not surprisingly a clutch of specialised auction houses were established handling the sale of luxury items on behalf of clients throughout Britain. As this advertisement from 1848 confirms, Bond Street provided the best marketplace for both sellers and buyers of quality goods. Given this tradition, it is hardly surprising that Sotheby’s London headquarters was relocated in Bond Street in 1918, and remains there today.

Hedgers was one of the many niche auction houses situated in Bond Street c.1850

To discover more about Bond Street, why not look at its fashionable connection with ‘Beau Brummell’ – check out the Bond Street Association or discover London’s Bond Streets – Old and New via The Regency Redingote.

The fascinating story of Jean Louis Bazalgette (1750-1830) – who was taylor to George, Prince of Wales, has been written by his great-great-great-great grandson, Charles Bazalgette and is entitled Prinny’s Taylor –  providing a revealing insight into the private relationship between a craftsman and the heir to the British throne.

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Liverpool Street Station

Liverpool Street Station Facade c.1875 (Courtesy of Grace’s Guide)

Our intrepid Victorian-era Monopoly player would be finally stumped by the location of Liverpool Street Station. Liverpool Street was certainly familiar, but the Great Eastern Railway Station to which it gave its name was not constructed until 1875. Unlike many of London’s Monopoly destinations, however, Liverpool Street was only baptised in the late 1820s – a new thoroughfare off Bishopsgate that was named to honour the in memory of recently deceased Prime Minister Lord Liverpool (who had served between 1812 and 1827).

Prior to the coming of the railway terminus, the vicinity of Liverpool Street served as a key stagecoach hub for Londoners departing to all parts of the country. This association with travel could easily have pointed our Victorian Monopoly player in the right direction, so if we tweak this Monopoly square to Liverpool Street  ‘Coach‘ Station then perhaps our journey would not be thwarted after all.

Sir William Rawlins’ tomb at st Botolph without Bishopsgate,

Not all journeys through Liverpool Street involved the living, For in 1838 Sir William Rawlins – who had a house at 44 Liverpool Street – passed away but left very detailed instructions regarding the route of his funeral procession and design for his memorial crypt in St Botolph’s Church. He died aged 84 after a chequered life that saw him imprisoned at Newgate for electoral fraud (1805) but afterwards rise to civic prominence as a successful business man (joint founder of Eagle Star Insurance Company). He was a generous benefactor, especially in regard to St Botolph’s, which is in Bishopsgate. The London Dead has written a great blog concerning Rawlin’s funeral arrangements and the very recent restoration of his tomb

 

The Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate Street (1848)

I have written a blog recording the principal inns for departure from London (1819) but nineteenth century London was an equally busy arrival destination, receiving many troubled souls from locations, backgrounds and ages, hoping to make their fortunes, escape their woes, or occasionally just to put an end to their miserable existence. One such sad arrival occurred on December 3rd 1826 as a young man of ‘extreme gentlemanly exterior’ checked into The Four Swans Inn, which stood in the shadow of Liverpool Street.The Age reported what happened next

 He desired a bed-chamber [and] until 6 o’clock in the evening was undisturbed. At this time as it was imagined he was still asleep the waiter entered… and found the curtains of the bed closely drawn round… and the dreadful spectacle presented to his view; the unfortunate gentleman laid on the bed, completely undressed, and literally saturated in the gore of blood  [having] shot himself through the heart. In his right hand a duelling pistol was clenched. From letters found upon his person, he was found to be of highly respectable background;  William Jackson, aged 22, from Debenham in Suffolk. It is thought that he fired at the time a coach was coming into the yard.to drown out the noise of the report

This tragic story paints a picture of Liverpool Street very much part of a rather transient and deprived area during Victorian times; one serving as the backdrop to many of Charles Dickens’ novels. In this light the placement of Liverpool Street Station so far up the Monopoly board amidst the posher streets of London would certainly have confused our Victorian player. Setting aside this fact however, we do find that as early as 1850 Liverpool Street earmarked to be the site for a future railway terminus – giving us just enough grounds to admit it onto the Victorian Monopoly board

Liverpool Street and Broad Street c.1850 – designated as places for citing new railway stations

For an interesting run through Liverpool Street Station history visit Grace’s Guide or Network Rail

Alternatively The Londonist reveals seven secrets about Liverpool Street Station

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Park Lane

Turnpike at Hyde Park Corner c.1856 – southern entrance to Park Lane, London

For over two centuries Park Lane has been considered one of the London’s prime thoroughfares, so that its place on the most exclusive section of the Monopoly board is fully deserved. Running north from Hyde Park Corner to Marble Arch, Park Lane quickly evolved from being the boundary of Hyde Park into a sought after place to build or own a mansion in Georgian England. As London became increasingly urbanised the old Turnpike Gate (pictured above) was superseded by the construction of Hyde Park Corner. During the 1850s Park Lane underwent a second phase of development with many of the original mansions torn down and replaced by a combination of modern-style villas for the nouveau riche and luxury hotels or apartments serving the many visitors attracted to Town during what was known as the London Season.

The mid-Victorian visitor witnessed Park Lane was in the process of change; as older landmarks began to be superseded by newer attractions. This state of flux gave Park Lane a vibrancy that boosted its appeal, with traditional pastimes such as parading ones carriage around Rotten Row (Hyde Park) running parallel with modern retail and fashionable entertainments available nearby.

 

Mrs Fitzherbert’s old house, Tilney Street, Park Lane c.1850

The 1850s saw London begin to forget one of its most famous locations, namely No 6 Tilney Street – which was on the corner of Park Lane – one-time home to one of the Georgian era’s most famous and enduring courtesans, Maria Fitzherbert.

Maria Fitzherbert (1756-1837),

On the 17th December 1785 twice-widowed Maria Fitzherbert married her ardent young lover George, Prince of Wales, in a ceremony held in the drawing room of her house off Park Lane. Because she was a Catholic the marriage was not considered valid without the consent of King George III. But even if the King had authorised his son’s marriage claim, under the terms of the Royal Marriages Act (1772) the Prince of Wales would still have had to renounce his claim to the throne. Six anxious months of behind the scenes wrangling ensued before the Prince of Wales was persuaded to give up his love. He agreed to marry a cousin Caroline of Brunswick on condition that the King wiped away George’s £600,000 of debt. Perhaps Maria Fitzherbert was the true love of George’s life – for almost as soon as he was married the Prince resumed their liaison, continuing a relationship that was to last until the 1820s. The depth of George’s feelings for Maria can be gauged by the fact that when he drew up a will in 1796,  he stipulated that all his possessions were to go to Mrs Fitzherbert whom he described as ‘to the wife of my heart and soul’.

Prince George marries Mrs Fitzherbert at her home in Park Lane (1786)

In later years, after the Prince had became George IV, their relationship ended – yet those decades of clandestine visits to Park Lane were not easily forgotten, for in 1830 the King’s dying request was to be buried wearing Maria’s eye miniature around his neck. In her twilight years Mrs Fitzherbert split her time between Brighton and the house in Park Lane.

After her death in March 1837 the celebrated auctioneer George Robins was engaged to oversee the sale of Mrs Fitzherbert’s house. The public were granted an unprecedented glimpse into the very rooms where Maria and George played out their love affair and to appreciate why this house was so important to their relationship

The grand suite embraces 5 drawing rooms, lofty and of the best proportions, all en-suite, and terminating with a conservatory, which entirely overlooks the Park. On the ground floor as the salon à manger, library, and breakfast parlour…. nothing is wanting to render it an abode especially adapted to a family of consequence. Thereis an abundance of stabling, two double coach-houses, with servants’ rooms

Amazingly the house was owned on a renewable lease expiring in 1865 with a reserved rent of just £5 and 10 shillings – an indication of the grace and favour Mrs Fitzherbert enjoyed through her personal connection with Royalty. No 6 Tilney Street continued to pay host to high society gatherings, remaining a place of curiosity and interest to Victorian London.

Dorchester House, Park Lane, built in 1853

One of the most architecturally important new structures in London was constructed in Park Lane during the early 1850s. Dorchester House was commissioned by Robert Staynor Holford and designed for the purpose of housing his art collection. Its most famous feature was a superb central staircase into which light cascaded and made the whole structure bright and airy.

The staircase at Dorchester House

In the 1890s Dorchester House served as the American Embassy, before it too was swept away in 1929 to be replaced by the Dorchester Hotel – which is even today still remains a popular base for American tourists. This might explain why Park Lane was ranked so highly by original creators of the London Monopoly board in 1936.

The Duke of Wellington’s funeral procession through Park Lane (1852)

We cannot depart Park Lane without a nod towards one of its most famous inhabitants, namely the Duke of Wellington. His house may not have quite been in Park Lane – being at Hyde Park Corner – but the Wellington Monument can be found there, and it was past this colossal tribute to Britain’s most successful military leader, that Wellington’s funeral procession passed on November 18th 1852. This was the end of an era as the hero of Waterloo was laid to rest, and Britain with a bright young Queen was preparing for a new generation. The Times gave a flavour of how Londoners filled the streets to say farewell

British History On Line has a thorough look at the buildings and places of interest in Park Lane though Hidden London’s guide is more readable

Frances Osborne has written a novel capturing the essence of Park Lane during the Suffragette era (1914)

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Mayfair

Berkeley Square, Mayfair (1813)

Mayfair deserves its spot at the top end of the Monopoly board because it is a district rather than one street situated east of Hyde Park between Oxford Street, Regent Street, Piccadilly and Park Lane. Originally largely rural Mayfair acquired its name from an annual May Fair festival held on the site of what is now Shepherd Market, near modern-day Piccadilly. As London expanded westwards a series of elegant squares swallowed up the countryside, and the force of urbanisation eventually forced the May Fair festival to close – its final appearance being  recorded in 1764. By this date developments such as Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square had already been around for 50 years or so.  These grandiose terraces were always designed to keep the poor and needy away, so the function of Mayfair as a rich man’s enclave was commonl knowledge well before the dawn of the Victorian era.

Grosvenor Square (1830) already bereft of riff-raff

Mayfair was particularly involved in a late Georgian drive to clean up the streets of London. The Vagrancy Act of 1824 provided authorities with draconian powers against anyone deemed to be loitering or begging on the streets – Local beadles and the newly formed Metropolitan Police (1829) actively patrolled the streets of Mayfair harassing and removing undesirables. The introduction of gas lighting drove London’s underworld away, enabling the well-off began to enjoy a totally different existence to that faced by the vast majority of ordinary Londoners. Not all of the rich set agreed with this street purge. For example William Wellesley-Pole, who lived in Savile Row, went to Court to defend his right to assist a local beggar-woman but was unable to prevent her imprisonment.

Wicked William of Wanstead House notoriety was born in Mayfair and baptised St George’;s Hanover Square in July 1788

Despite its opulence, Mayfair remained a key area for employment – vital to London’s economy. Legions of servants, tradesmen, delivery and service providers were called upon to keep the wheels of luxury turning. For these less fortunate souls the dangers of Mayfair never quite receded. On February 9th 1860 Bell’s Life in London reported of a tragic accident befalling a coal man making his deliveries in Mayfair – leaving his wife and family destitute

For Victorian England the iniquity of life did not go unnoticed. In 1858 this was encapsulated by the publication of a 3-volume novel entitled The Morals of Mayfair by Anne Edwards. Certainly not good enough to be considered a classic, her tale of high society recklessness received this rather telling review:

Through this we learn that Victorian London was developing a conscience – with dissent against aristocratic selfishness and privilege becoming more vocal .Yes, Mayfair was well-known to all Victorian Londoners, but not everyone championed its virtues.

Learn more about what Mayfair has to offer today, find out about Mayfair and Belgravia’s Grosvenor Estate or visit History of London’s history of Mayfair blog

 

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Concluding Comments

So we have now reached the end of our journey into Victorian London via the Monopoly Board route. Overall it must be said that the streets and locations chosen in 1936 held the same resonance for 1850s Londoners. In fact some Monopoly squares, such as Vine Street and Coventry Street, were more familiar to the Victorian than they would be to modern players. However we have to admit that the continual evolution of London has created some sticking points that (at the very least) would have had Victorians scratching their heads. Understandably the railways stations of Marylebone and Liverpool Street were not to be found. Also we must agree that Northumberland Avenue was a later addition to the London map. However, the beauty of London has always been that buildings and landmarks change – but names often seem to endure. In the same way that ‘Kings Cross’ survived long after the monument it refers to had gone – Marleybone Station, Liverpool Street Station, and Northumberland Avenue have assumed names very much in keeping with what Victorian London would have known –  landmarks whose location they could still safely guess (even when the original places such as Northumberland House) were long gone.

Automated public transport being trialled in London (1830)

Another lesson we may learn from our trip through Victorian London is the sheer familiarity we still enjoy with that era. Who would have thought, for instance, that steam carriage omnibuses (1830), railway stations (c.1840), water works (c.1600), or an Electric Company (1852) would have been part of their lives? There is so much continuity about London – its buildings and people may change, but the distinct areas seem to maintain their traditional flavour.

If Monopoly had first been drawn up in 1850, it would contained most of the key places and thoroughfares we expect to see today. However, there were certainly some Victorian hot spots missing: for example Vauxhall (for its pleasure grounds), Chancery Lane (legal hub), Smithfield (meat and other produce markets), Covent Garden (entertainments, both legal and illicit), or Cornhill (banking district).

In conclusion I hope that the many images used within this series of Monopoly related blogs will serve to promote the British Museum’s image collection, particularly from the Crace Collection, as a fantastic resource for ALL. This has been a long journey with some lengthy sections, but I hope you have enjoyed accompanying me to the finish line…

Further Monopoly Related Links

  1. Barry Palmer, Ben Skinner and Steve Rose have published a series of interesting pub crawls round the Monopoly Board venues
  2. The Londonist has created a great real life Monopoly Board
  3. Visit Britain suggests you walk the Monopoly Board
  4. 501 Places reckons you can do the London Monopoly Board by foot in 12 hours!

I would be happy to add any further links on request

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Wicked William’s blog has a special focus on London, so you may also be interested in meeting Peggy Jones, the London Mudlark or Regency Prizefighter Tom ‘The Navigator’ Shelton or the learn how multicultural East London actually was back in the Georgian era.  As for William and his dastardly deeds – you can follow him to war, join him at the Epping Hunt, or attend his wedding ceremony at St James, Piccadilly

Has Wanstead become a byword for neglect?

The grotto, Wanstead Park, a symbol of neglect stretching back two centuries

At the turn of the millennium Redbridge held the dubious honour of being the only borough not to feature any places of interest in the official Blue Guide to London. Despite the restoration of Valentines Mansion in Ilford between 2006-09, Redbridge remains missing from the Blue Guide for 2017; though at least it now shares this distinction with outlying boroughs of Bromley, Croydon, Havering, and Sutton.

Whereas other boroughs have majestic buildings of note, Redbridge just has a hole in the ground where Wanstead House once stood

This sense of neglect is no more epitomised than by Wanstead, an area of historical importance that is nonetheless too keenly associated with loss. Since the demolition of Wanstead House, Britain’s first and finest Palladian mansion (1824), it can sometimes feel that the circus has left town and that Wanstead has nothing left to offer but memories of a glorious past. Yet anyone who knows Wanstead and its environs would rightfully assert that today, even without its magnificent mansion, Wanstead Park remains a jewel in the crown not just of Redbridge, but of the whole of east London.

Wanstead Park – Loved yet unknown to most Londoners

Despite a chronic lack of investment, during which time its ornamental waters have drained and dried up, Wanstead Park remains a doggedly popular leisure amenity. It is enthusiastically championed by a dedicated group of Friends, anxious to turn back the tide of decay which is allowing this enclave of London – once favoured by Tudor Kings and Queens, to slip away without ceremony before our very eyes. The Corporation of London, current custodians of Wanstead Park have long asked us to accept that their finances have limits, yet one can’t help feeling that Wanstead is well down their list of priorities, and certainly easier to ignore than more high profile assets such as Hampstead Heath, with its richer and more powerful supporters.

News today however, that the future of St Mary the Virgin Church in Overton Drive is now under threat because its owner the Church of England are finding it too expensive to upkeep, may just be the tipping point at which we must all stand up and demand change. A church has stood on this site for 800 years, and the present version (c.1790) is the only Grade I listed building in the borough of Redbridge. A by-product of Britain’s East India Company and slave trading past, St Mary’s is both architecturally and socially significant; well worth a visit for anyone interested in London’s cultural history.

I had the good fortune to visit St Mary’s recently whilst a choir practice was in progress and it was a truly memorable experience not only for the delightful interiors but the wonderful acoustic provided by its galleried aisles – leaving me chuffed to know that we have this gem of a building in our midst

Of course buildings like St Mary’s Church are costly to maintain, and reports that the congregation has dwindled to a few dozen mass attendees, clearly contribute to the Anglican Church’s decision to review its future. But isn’t this so typically Wanstead, so typically Redbridge? Here we have the Church of England, sitting on landholdings conservatively valued at £8bn, pleading poverty and implying disinterest as a means to disengage. One must ask the obvious question – why hasn’t the Church invited proposals to increase the use of St Mary’s? Is it because they don’t want help to keep the church open – and are simply looking for excuses to bail out?

The M11 Link protest of early 1990s proves that Wanstead does not always have to take decisions lying down

In the long run listed status will conserve St Mary’s for future generations but doesn’t this whole episode smack of yet more neglect, and a rather patronising assumption that the people of Wanstead will accept another loss in their usual stoic manner? One can only hope that this news will be greeted with a call to arms (like to M11 link protest days) rather than a collective sigh passively confirming that Redbridge, and especially Wanstead, really do deserve to be overlooked by the London guidebooks.

For news and other information about Wanstead why not visit

A Guide to Commuting In Regency London

Rules of the Road | Wanstead | UK Destinations | Porters, Goods & Luggage

stagecoach perils

Finding a stagecoach might be the start of your troubles

Should you ever find yourself transported back to Regency London (1819), here is an essential guide to making your way home. Remember that this was an age before trains, or motorised public transport could whisk you home in time for tea. Your destination will undoubtedly be unrecognisable from how it looks today, yet I hope my advice will remove you from the streets of the Metropolis before darkness sets in, and the Regency Underworld takes over.

Having explained the rules and regulations of coach fares, this second post focusses on my own locality, namely Wanstead and its environs. But part three now provides information upon travelling to other destinations throughout Britain. Special priority will be given to requests submitted by anyone overly anxious about the dangers of slipping through a time portal.

book reference

Information drawn from this hand-book

So if one day you do happen to wake up in 1819, please DON’T PANIC because London already has a highly organised and efficient transport system, relying on horse power [and Old Father Thames] to move people from A to B. You will discover a network of coaching inns and wharves, acting as proto ‘station terminals’ taking you to all manner of destinations.  Each can offer a choice of departure times, mode of carriage, and hospitality to suit the weary traveller should they decide to bide a while longer in the City before departure.

Before you book your journey, it is necessary to draw your attention to the terms and conditions prevailing in 1819.  After all you don’t want to end up in darkest Snaresbrook being bludgeoned by an irate coach driver because you have failed to read the small print governing Regency period transportation.

Most coaching inns provide stagecoaches, with some offering luxury Chariots to their richest clients. However, to reach your destination safely you may be compelled to board a Waggon alongside farm animals – or worse still, endure the ignominy of sharing a Cart with anything from perishable goods through to dead bodies (perished goods heading back to their parish for burial). So please study the timetable carefully to ensure you make the right choice!!

 

Wanstead [Essex, 8 miles from London] – Approximate cost 11 shillings

Magpie and Stump3
The Magpie & Stump – With prime views of Newgate Prison executions from the upstairs windows

As late as 1821 Wanstead was a very sparsely populated, with most local employment engaged at Wanstead House. In fact the only means of hired travel to Wanstead was by Cart:-

Kings Arms, Leadenhall Street, and Spotted Dog, Strand 4pm daily; Blue Boar Cellar, Aldgate, Kings Arms & Flower Pot, Bishopsgate; Three Nuns, Whitechapel, and White Hart, Strand, 2pm daily; Cheshire Cheese, Crutched Friars, and Magpie & Stump, Newgate Street, daily (on demand)

Given that the Wanstead Estate produced a great deal of fresh fruit and vegetables as well as timber, it is likely that Carts travelled to London laden with goods early each day and then in the afternoon served as carriages for their return journey.

 

Leytonstone [Essex, 6 miles] – Approximate cost 8 shillings

saracens head aldgate 1855

The Saracen’s Head, Aldgate – Regular trips to Leytonstone

Given the surprising difference in mileage from that of nearby Wanstead, I assume that ‘Laytonstone’ (as it was then termed) must have had a drop off point nearer the parish boundary with Stratford. There are far more options available to Leytonstone dwellers:

By Coach daily: – The Bull, Aldgate, 11am and 3pm; Kings Arms, Leadenhall Street, 10am, 3pm, 4pm and 7pm; Saracen’s Head Aldgate, and Three Nuns, Whitechapel, 10am and 7pm; Blue Boar Cellar, Aldgate, 4pm during summer, 3pm in winter.

By Cart daily:- White Hart, Strand, Flower Pot and King’s Arms, Bishopsgate, and The Bull, Whitechapel at 3pm, Cheshire Cheese, Crutched Friars, The Bull and Blackboy & Camel, Leadenhall Street, and Magpie and Stump Newgate, (on demand)

 

Snaresbrook [Essex, 8 miles] – Approximate cost 11 shillings

the bell gracechurch st

The Bell, Bell Yard, Holborn – served Snaresbrook

During my research into Wanstead House I discovered that Snaresbrook was an important stage post for carriages travelling in the direction of Norfolk. This may explain why there are a reasonable amount of options available in London for what was (at this time) mainly open country.

By Coach daily:- Flower Pot and Four Swans, Bishopsgate, 10am, 4pm and 7pm

By Waggon daily:- The Bull, Aldgate, 3pm

By Cart daily:-   The Bell, Bell Yard, Gracechurch Street and Flower Pot, Bishopsgate Street 3pm and Kings Arms, Bishopsgate, at 2pm

 

Woodford [Essex, 9 miles] – Approximate cost 12 shillings

the kings arms holborn

The Kings Arms – good for Woodford

By 1819 Woodford had a number of fine mansions, farms and estates, so this may explain the range of options available for travel to that destination

By Coach daily:- King’s Arms, Leadenhall Street, 10am, 3pm, 4pm and 7pm; Saracen’s Head, Aldgate, and Blackboy & Camel, Leadenhall Street 3pm and outside No 93 Bishopsgate Street 4-30pm. The Bull, Leadenhall Street has a service 3pm daily apart from Sunday which leaves at 10-30am; and Three Nuns, Whitechapel, does 10-30am and 7pm daily, apart from Sunday when it departs at 9am and 7pm

By Cart daily:- Three Nuns, Whitechapel, 4pm; Flower Pot, Bishopsgate, 2pm; The Bull, Aldgate,  3pm and Magpie & Stump, Newgate Street, 2pm daily. Kings Arms, Bishopsgate, offers a service Wednesdays & Saturdays only at 2pm

 

Woodford Bridge [Essex, 10 miles] – Approximate cost 13 shillings

blue boar aldgate

The Blue Boar Cellar, Aldgate – try here for Woodford Bridge

Given that Woodford Bridge is close to Woodford, I am surprised to note the lack of overlap in service between these two destinations. The Bull, Aldgate for example offers a Coach to Woodford Bridge but only a cart to Woodford – and none of the regular coach services to Woodford have the option to stay on until Woodford Bridge. Perhaps folk were happy to walk the mile or two between destinations rather than looking upon coach services as a series of stops – which they clearly weren’t given the limited passenger capacity of each carriage.

By Coach daily:- The Bull, Aldgate, 3pm and Blue Boar Cellar, Aldgate,  4pm winter and 3pm summer, daily, save for Sunday which is at 8am

By Cart daily:-  Blue Boar Cellar, Aldgate,  4pm winter and 3pm summer, daily, save for Sunday which is at 8am, and The Bull, Aldgate, and Talbot, Whitechapel, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays  only at 3pm

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I hope you have found this an interesting guide as to how our ancestors found their way home from London. All information is drawn from a book in my possession, published by Critchett & Woods at the end of 1818. Meticulous work seems to have gone into the production of their guide – and I will be dipping into it again to examine other destinations served by the once great coaching inns of old London town.

These beautiful water colour paintings of London’s lost inns are all by Thomas Hosmer Shepherd (1792-1864). If he was around today I would gladly buy him a pint for his dedicated attention to detail.

If you like to know about old London pubs and coaching inns, I recommend Pubs History – an excellent resource for any local historian

Finding Wanstead in Thomas Hood’s Tylney Hall

Overview of Thomas Hood & Wanstead

Review of Tylney Hall | Finding Wanstead in Tylney Hall  | Black representation in Tylney Hall

Up the slope Wanstead Park

Hood conjured a vision of Wanstead Flats – not Wanstead House

The overview to this blog looks at Thomas Hood’s impact as a poet and wry observer of the joy and hardships of life in the early decades of the nineteenth century. As explained, his only novel Tylney Hall (1834), gave readers false hope of discovering what actually happened at Wanstead House, nearby ancestral home of the Earls of Tylney –  which had been suddenly and brutally demolished less than a decade earlier. Such a glaringly obvious deceit within the novel’s title undoubtedly upset readers. The Literary Gazette echoed this widespread disappointment

It was inferred that the private histories of the Wellesley and Long families had furnished matter for the novel…. Accordingly, not a few copies travelled eastward, through Stratford-le-Bow, but, of course, to the signal discomfiture of the speculators [because] the figures were not drawn from living models

I am fascinated by the fact that the central character – from whose perspective we follow events – is a black man – Not a stereotypically menial representation found in the background of much Georgian art, but a wealthy, educated and well-connected black man, with a profound understanding of the prejudice he encounters. What’s more he is not the only black character in the book. I thought this plot-device would have set alarm bells ringing as to Tylney Hall ‘s credibility. But having examined several contemporary reviews of Hood’s novel – both good and bad – I find no evidence to suggest that the presence of black people of worth was anything out of the ordinary to late Georgian readers.

middling heat in the west indies 1817

Tylney Hall avoids traditional black stereotypes

So how much, if anything, does Tylney Hall represent the geography and social fabric of eighteenth century Wanstead? I will answer this question in two sections, firstly looking for physical evidence of Wanstead’s presence – and secondly questioning whether the presence of black (or Asian) people in that part of the world was as commonplace as Tylney Hall implies

1. Finding Wanstead in Tylney Hall

It is important to remember that Hood was often unwell during his years at the Lake House. Thus the writer had to rely heavily upon his surrounding neighbourhood to create the backdrop for Tylney Hall. From the outset Hood makes no effort to disguise the fact that Wanstead is the setting.

Rabbits1900

The Three Rabbits was within walking distance of Hood’s home

The opening chapter of Tylney Hall  takes us to the Rabbits public house ‘set in a bleak wasteland called the Flats…On the other side stretched an immense park, behind an angle of which lay perdue a small village.’ Straight away the geography of Wanstead is laid before us – from Manor Park’s Three Rabbits pub in the south up to the village beyond Wanstead Park. Hood gives a lovely description of the pub and its characters, including their regular whist drives. We also learn that the local coaching inn, which stands outside the grounds of ‘Tylney Hall’ is called ‘The Green Man’  – not just the same name but the same proximity of Leytonstone’s Green Man pub to the gates of old Wanstead House.

green man

The Green Man Inn (Leytonstone) features in Hood’s Tylney Hall

Tylney Hall is less obviously a replica of the real Wanstead House. Perhaps Hood never visited Wicked William’s Palladian palace before it was demolished, for interior descriptions of Tylney Hall are scanty. However Tylney Hall does possess ‘a great many Gobelin Tapestries’ – copying one of the main treasures advertised for sale by George Robins in 1822, suggesting that Hood may have seen or possessed an auction catalogue. External features of Wanstead House – such as the stables (still standing today) and the octagonal Basin are replicated by Hood for the fictitious Tylney Hall

gobelin tapestry

Gobelin Tapestries prominently featured in Robins’ auction catalogue (1822)

Hood’s lovely descriptions of the park, lake and waterways around ‘Tylney Hall’ can only be picked up and appreciated by readers familiar with the landmarks in question. We can therefore conclude that Hood’s novel is definitely a homage to Wanstead Park.

2. Finding black people in Wanstead

cruickshank from the west indies

West Indian immigrants satirised by Cruickshank (1824)

Recent research has shown that black people were fairly commonly employed as servants in wealthy or titled households during the Georgian era. As such many were educated to a high-level commensurate with their status within the hierarchy of the home. In many cases these families contained mixed race children or servants – either of whom would have enjoyed the protection of their wider family group. Those who returned from service in the East India Company often settled in close knit ‘Anglo-Indian’ communities – The writer William Makepeace Thackeray  (1811-1863), who was born in Calcutta and returned to England in 1815 to complete his education – lived in one such community – sticking together to overcome local resentments. Another example may be found in the story of Dido Elizabeth Belle, which has recently been made into a film. But most importantly, there was a general influx of foreign settlers in Britain’s urban areas from the eighteenth century onwards. By the 1790s significant immigrant communities, arriving from Africa, the West Indies or Asia – either aboard merchant ships, or demobbed military/naval conscripts. In London, for example, the slums around St Giles were considered to be black ghettos.

During my research on ‘Wicked William’ of Wanstead House I discovered that during the 1790s the Wellesley-Pole family regularly opened a soup kitchen from their home in Savile Row – This weekly event was attended by such numbers of homeless black immigrants that they were eventually ordered to close it to keep the peace.

the rabbit salesman

For many,  black people were a regular feature of everyday life

So, let’s take these findings to the Wanstead area. First of all we can see that a great many estates in and around Epping Forest were bought up and subsequently developed by East India Company employees and merchants. Given its relatively close proximity to London and the docks – it is therefore perfectly reasonable to conclude that Hood’s Tylney Hall does reflect the reality of black people – rich and poor, entitled and subservient – who may have lived or worked around Wanstead at this time.

In my final part I will take a closer look at three black characters from Tylney Hall to get a better understanding of their place in society and the interaction they had – both good and bad – with those around them. I want to show that for Hood at least – there was a true respect for black people. Perhaps Hood was reflecting the prevalent public enthusiasm for black culture following the recent Abolition of Slavery Act (which gained Royal Assent just two months prior to publication). But I prefer to think his experience of living amidst the poor and under-privileged around Wanstead was the more fertile ground where his characterisations were formed

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Paul Edwards has written a great article in History Today looking at black personalities in Georgian England

For more information on the subject of black history try this select bibliography:

Reconstructing the Black Past: Blacks in Britain 1780-1830 by Dr Norma Myers

The Fortunes of Francis Barber: The True Story of the Jamaican Slave Who Became Samuel Johnson’s Heir by Michael Bundock

Untold Histories: Black People in England and Wales During the Period of the British Slave Trade, C. 1660-1807by Kathleen Chater

Black England: Life Before Emancipation, and  Black Victorians/Black Victoriana – both by Gretchen Gerzina

London In The Eighteenth Century: A Great and Monstrous Thing  by Jerry White

Finally you may like to read more about the Wellesley-Pole’s charitable work, as they attempt to rescue a tramp. If only their son Wicked William of Wanstead House had the same attitude when he went amongst the needy

Thomas Hood, Tylney Hall & Multicultural Wanstead

Overview of Thomas Hood & Wanstead

Review of Tylney Hall | Finding Wanstead in Tylney Hall  | Black representation in Tylney Hall

 thomas-hood-5

Thomas Hood (1799-1845) is a shamefully overlooked 19th century literary great – for whom a renaissance must surely beckon. His obscurity is all the more surprising when we consider how immensely popular he was throughout the Victorian era. Try Googling him and you will find scant reward. During his own short lifetime Hood overcame debilitating illness and grinding poverty to become a national treasure. He contributed humorous articles to popular magazines such as Athenaeum and Punch & also single-handedly ran his own magazine The Comic Annual (1830-42). He wrote just one novel – Tylney Hall (1834) – which I will be discussing in this blog, but poetry was his real forte.

sonnet to vauxhall

Hood’s Sonnet to Vauxhall – illustrated by Rowlandson

Hood’s output was created at great cost to his health. In his early days he was a talented engraver working alongside artists such as Thomas Rowlandson (a man with whom he later often collaborated), but was compelled to abandon this profession and seek an outdoor life to recover his strength. It was a tough existence for by 1841 when Hood became an invalid he was only saved from financial ruin thanks to the intervention of Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel, who was a great fan of his works. When Hood eventually died his family were granted a state pension – and the public continued to adore him. A memorial was later built by public subscription in Kensal Green cemetery. As the century progressed Hood’s poetry and witticisms remained familiar enough to be often quoted in ordinary conversation. As late as 1903 William Rossetti (of Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood fame) described Hood as ‘the finest English poet between the generations of Shelley and Tennyson’. However, since these heady heights of appreciation Hood has quietly slipped into obscurity, and has long-since vanished from the modern-day English literature curriculum.

 lakehouse

Hood wrote Tylney Hall whilst living in Wanstead Park

Yet one bastion of recognition for Thomas Hood still remains intact, and it can be located in the environs of Epping Forest, and most particularly Wanstead. After his marriage in 1824 Hood lived in Islington but made frequent visits to the countryside beyond London,  especially to Epping Forest, and he formed a deep affinity with the area. I have already described how Hood encapsulated the rough and tumble tradition of the Epping Hunt (1829), recording for posterity the rituals of that annual cockney jamboree. He was also fully cognisant of the scandalous loss of Wanstead House, ironically benefitting from its destruction by renting the Lake House in Wanstead Park from ‘Wicked’ William Long-Wellesley.

wickedwilliam

 

Wicked William – Hood’s shady landlord (1832-35)

Hood’s arrival in Wanstead in 1832 coincided with Wicked William’s enforced exile – so it is unlikely that landlord and tenant spent much time together. Though he was always a feckless waster, William was notoriously generous and probably offered Hood terms well below the market rate. Perhaps Long-Wellesley’s vanity was sated by Hood’s eulogy to the Epping Hunt – because the men were already acquainted. This unlikely friendship endured, for it is recorded that William regularly visited Hood’s sickbed in 1837, when both men were living in Belgium.

eppinghunt-1

This scene from The Epping Hunt  shows Hood preferred whimsy to satire

Hood was active during a time of great social and technological change – as the long 18th century drew to a close and young Queen Victoria assumed the throne. From the outset of his career Hood purposefully rejected the brutality of late Georgian satire which sought to undermine its subject, preferring to adopt a kinder and more affectionate style. His whimsical humour presaged the rising sense of decency and respectability throughout society, foreshadowing the sentimentality and mawkishness which defined popular Victorian literature. Hood’s style is very like Thackeray’s early writing, light-hearted and amusing – never over-analytical.

Despite his comic reputation, Hood was capable of portraying the biting hardship of contemporary poverty. For example, Song of the Shirt (1843) highlighted appalling working conditions of the era – where Hood showed remarkable foresight in writing from a female perspective – describing a needleworker’s daily struggle for existence and the cruelty of her employer

song of the shirt

Despite being penned by a man, Song of the Shirt ought to be considered one of the most important proto-feminist works of literature ever written. It was based on a contemporary court case involving a woman who was forced to sell her employer’s equipment simply to put food upon the table – a decision that led to prosecution. The case is long forgotten but this poem became a standard-bearer for highlighting the effect of inequality upon humanity, inspiring a generation of mid-Victorian artists

bridge of sighs

Opening stanzas of Bridge of Sighs 

Another poem Bridge of Sighs (1844) again draws on real life by recounting the tale of a homeless young woman who committed suicide by throwing herself from Waterloo Bridge in London – At a time when suicide was frowned upon Hood declares that whatever sins she may have committed are cleansed by the sadness of her death

 found drowned

Hood’s poem inspired Found Drowned by Frederick Watts (1852)

Were it not for Hood’s own untimely demise he may have further developed his talent for social commentary. But in death as in life Hood has been unlucky, for the gentle observational humour of his earlier years has become his posthumous trademark.

grave

I will be turning to Hood’s only novel Tylney Hall in the second part of this blog. Written in 1834, whilst he was living in Wanstead, the title is a very thinly veiled reference to Long-Wellesley’s once great mansion, Wanstead House. But attempting to cash in on Wicked William’s story was an unwise move because it raised expectations that Tylney Hall would reveal the truth about Wanstead House, and satisfy public curiosity as to why it was demolished. – This led to criticism and affected sales, forcing Hood to add a note in the preface explaining that ‘Tylney Hall’ alluded to the topography of Wanstead Park, but not its disreputable owner.

wansteadcolour

Tylney Hall – not about Wanstead House

It is easy to see why a desperately poor artist with young mouths to feed would use any means possible to promote his work. But by choosing ‘Tylney Hall’ for a title Hood inadvertently and fatally undermined his novel – by unnecessarily calling into question the accuracy of its content.

Easter Monday 1817 by Henry Thomas Aitken

Tylney Hall does show Wanstead as it was to Thomas Hood

Because Hood’s works were always inspired by his own life experiences I believe that the world created in the pages of Tylney Hall should not be rejected, as we are offered a tantalising and surprising viewpoint of life in multicultural Wanstead 200 years ago. Additionally we find perhaps the first English novel to centrally feature strong and noble black characters, to whom we can sympathise and relate. The second part of this study will examine this more closely, proving that that Hood really was ahead of his time thus worthy of a new and more fitting appraisal.

Dr Sara Lodge has written a comprehensive critique of Thomas Hood in her book Thomas Hood and nineteenth-century poetry: Work, Play, and Politics (Manchester University Press, 2007)

To read more of Thomas Hood’s poems click here – or try a tasty selection of his best quotes

Gerald Massey has an excellent website devoted to Thomas Hood

You may also like to read about more Epping Hunt related buffoonery courtesy of Wicked William or to know about his short-lived military career.

Rushout’s Wanstead 1824-1832

Anne Rushout | Rushout’s Wanstead | Rushout on Tour

Anne Rushout was a friend of Catherine Tylney-Long, the heiress of Wanstead House.

Here are some images of Wanstead, painted by Lady Anne Rushout

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Wanstead Grove c.1829 from the long ornamental lake

 

wanstead grove temple view

Looking down towards the Temple – which now stands in a garden in Grove Road

 

Wanstead Grove Panorama

Panorama of rear of Wanstead Grove and the Temple

 

Wanstead Grove Gazebo

Gazebo in grounds of Wanstead Grove c.1829

 

Wanstead Grove 1825

Front elevation of Wanstead Grove

 

Wanstead Grove West - rear1825

Delightful rural setting to rear of Wanstead Grove

 

rear of Grove Cottage

Rear of Grove Cottage – once stood at of junction Nutter Lane/Leicester Road

 

Grove cottage 1825

Grove Cottage…. beautiful

 

From portico of Wanstead Grove 1825

View from the portico of Wanstead Grove – towards George Lane

 

from flower garden wanstead grove

c.1829 Flower Garden on Grove Estate

 

Mr Monk Cottage Wanstead May 1829

Mr Monk’s Cottage, Wanstead – I wonder where this was?

 

Nightingale Place 1829

Nightingale Place (1829) – Curve of Nightingale Lane towards the pub already evident

 

Lodge at Wanstead Grove 1828

The Lodge at Wanstead Grove – front part of which may still survive in resident’s back garden

 

From dining room at Wanstead Grove

Not a bad view from Lady Anne’s dining room at Wanstead Grove

 

flower garden wanstead grove

Another view of the flower garden Wanstead Grove

 

Cottage near Snaresbrook

‘Cottage near Snaresbrook’ c 1829

 

All images courtesy of Yale University – Accessed on line November 8th 2014

If you are interested in tales of Wanstead you might like to read about Wicked William’s Hunt – part 4 of a brief history of the Epping Hunt

 

 

Lady Anne Rushout – Wanstead’s Forgotten Artist

Anne Rushout | Rushout’s Wanstead | Rushout on Tour

Rushoutpic1

Lady Anne Rushout (1768-1849)

Modern day Wanstead likes to give a nod and a wink to former local citizens who have played a role in shaping its history. We know all about statesmen Winston Churchill and Sir William Penn, of Sheridan the playwright and of course ‘Wicked’ William Wellesley. But curiously, Wanstead seems distinctly reluctant to celebrate its feminine connections – For example Wikipedia’s ‘notable residents’ of Wanstead list rather embarrassingly contains just one woman, soap-star Jesse Wallace, listed on the basis that she once lived the area!

The most undeservingly neglected lady in Wanstead’s history must be Lady Anne Rushout, who lived at Wanstead Grove from 1817-49.

Plimer 3 graces - Anne on Right 1809

Anne (left), with Harriet (centre) & Elizabeth (right)

Anne was the eldest daughter of John Rushout, Baron Northwick of Northwick Park (1738-1800) and spent a happy childhood with sisters Harriet (c.1770) and Elizabeth (1774). She was well educated: a keen artist, botanist, diarist and poet, celebrated for her grace and beauty. Yet she was not a conventional young woman, & refused to comply with the male-dominated society in which she lived.

ladies of llangollen

The Ladies of Llangollen – a bluestocking shrine

From a very early age Anne was interested in bluestocking literature, making several trips to Wales to visit the famous Ladies of Llangollen, and keeping a commonplace book filled with feminist prose. It is not known if Anne was lesbian, as her family attributed her strong aversion to marriage to the unfortunate death of her fiancé days before their wedding. I have searched the archives without success to corroborate this claim. But it seems likely that Anne came from a very liberal-minded and supportive family, who propagated this story to protect her reputation.

Wanstead Grove 1825

Wanstead Grove – designed and built by Anne Rushout

In 1817 Anne’s uncle George Bowles died, and she inherited Wanstead Grove. Originally purchased in 1759 by Humphry Bowles, it came with approximately 60 acres named the Grove Estate. It was rare for assets to pass to a female relative at this time, and more unusual still that Anne decided to demolished the house, sell off its ‘out-dated’ works of art, and construct a new magnificent mansion in its place.

Wanstead Grove was built between 1818 and 1824. As its completion coincided with the demolition of Wanstead House, it is likely that various fixtures and fittings sold to satisfy Wicked William’s creditors were snapped up by Anne to augment her new home. In fact Anne bought the very first item offered at the Wanstead House auction in 1822, attending most days afterwards – to pick and choose art and furnishings according to her taste.

In effect therefore, when Wanstead lost a behemoth of a mansion, it gained a successor at Wanstead Grove – which became the single most dominant property in the area. More importantly, Wanstead Grove and its beautifully laid out grounds were completely Anne’s creation – thus demonstrating that women were perfectly capable of operating in the hitherto exclusively male sphere of architecture and design.

Anne spent a great deal of her life at Wanstead Grove and was very much part of local society. Far from being reclusive she was always very charitable, leaving significant bequest to the poor of Wanstead after her death in 1849.

Wanstead Grove is long gone now, having been demolished in 1889 to make way for the Counties Estate. Some remnants of the formal gardens remain, such as the Temple (which once stood at the edge of a picturesque lake) and can be seen annually on Open House Day

But the real legacy Anne Rushout has left Wanstead can be seen in three volumes of drawings she made between 1824-1832, which can be found in the British Art collection at Yale University. She records a splendidly rural and naturally beautiful Wanstead at the end of the Regency era. All of these images are freely searchable over the internet, but I have decided to collate them together in two sections covering Wanstead, and further afield.

Disappointingly, Yale University describes Lady Anne as an ‘amateur artist’. This can only be because she was a woman, for it seems to me that her output and quality of work merits far more than label of a ‘hobby’. I hope that Yale and the people of Wanstead will reassess Lady Anne Rushout as an important proto-feminist, writer, and artist – worthy of full recognition and respect.

Further Information

Frustratingly for historians, Anne Rushout’s diaries covering 1791-1827 have been missing since the 1950s. As a frequent visitor to Wanstead House during Wicked William’s era of extravagance, she could have provided some valuable insight into what went on behind closed doors.

However, Anne’s journals 1828-1849 are in the possession of Senate House Library in London & her ‘commonplace book’ for the period 1776-1832, which is an extensive scrapbook of ephemera and jottings about fashionable life, can also be found at Yale University.

An excellent on-line history of Wanstead Grove complete with images of the Temple can be found here.

The Counties Resident Association has produced a great history of the Grove Estate

Kelly McDonald has written about Anne Rushout’s connection with Bersted Lodge

Tally Ho! – A Brief History of The Epping Hunt Part 4 – Wicked William’s Hunt

Tally Ho! A Brief History of the Epping Hunt

Introduction | Origins | The Cockney Hunt | Wicked William’s Hunt | A Fond Farewell

Chav-Man Cometh – Wicked William’s Hunt, 1813

wansteadcolour

Wanstead House – Catherine Tylney-Long’s pièce de résistance

Wanstead House first came under ‘Wicked’ William Long-Wellesley’s control upon his marriage to Catherine Tylney-Long in March 1812. Miss Tylney-Long, of Draycot House in Wiltshire, was universally recognised as richest heiress in the realm. Wanstead House – a magnificent Palladian Mansion on the edge of Epping Forest, just 10 miles from London – was the crown jewel of her vast landed estate. Catherine’s intention to reside at Wanstead was clear from the outset, for she served notice on her French Royal tenants within weeks of coming of age. Thereafter Catherine presided over a programme of refurbishment to revitalise the mansion, and she used it extensively throughout 1811 – hosting a series of showpiece events attended by a myriad of suitors eager to win her hand, (and more importantly her purse).

wickedwilliam

1st prize went to ‘Wicked’ William Wellesley-Pole (1788-1857) Booo!!!

After a chase worthy of the Epping Hunt, William emerged victorious from the pack when Catherine accepted his proposal in the autumn of 1811. Shortly before their marriage William added his wife’s name to his own and some – to form the ludicrously quadruple-barrelled new surname ‘Pole-Tylney-Long-Wellesley’. Not surprisingly this was soon abbreviated to Long-Wellesley by his friends, but rather pointedly to ‘Long’ by his Wanstead neighbours who rightly emphasised the surname he ought to have adopted when marrying into Catherine’s estate. An extract this contemporary ditty shows that William’s accession to Wanstead House was less than enthusiastically received.

LONG a tyrant, his neighbours presumed to annoy,

Their vexation and grief were his comfort and joy,

His greatest delight was to do others wrong

Till the people at length cried, “We won’t stand this LONG!”

 

From the outset the newlyweds craved acceptance from London’s fashionable elite. William believed Wanstead House could ignite his political career, enabling him to join his renowned Wellesley family relatives, whose power and influence was widely recognised. [See footnote below]

A few weeks after his marriage, and quite by chance, William discovered his hereditary entitlement to the role of Lord Warden of Epping Forest. This was an unlucky day for Essex because William’s assertion of the long-dormant Wardenship had a profound long-term affect on Epping Forest, for it shrank in size by over 5000 acres under his watch. But those years of destruction and land-grab came much later in William’s wreckless saga.

Because William believed he could never possibly spend the vast pile of cash he now possessed, his initially used the Wardenship for egotistical purposes. When he closed Wanstead Park to the public in the summer of 1812 there was a huge public outcry. Instead of negotiating with his neighbours, William reminded them that Lord Wardenship gave him powers to ‘appoint or sack forest officials’ thus sending an intimidating message to farmers and tradesmen alike – and anyone else dependent on his patronage. Despite this tangible threat to their livelihoods the people of Wanstead refused to be cowed, winning a landmark case in March 1813 – whereby the ancient rights of way were restored and William forced to reopen Wanstead Park. William lost the case because he did not appreciate the long-standing ties between Wanstead House, Epping Forest and its people, instead resorting to a crude attempt to bulldoze tradition purely for his own gain.

Easter Monday 1817 by Henry Thomas Aitken

 The Epping Hunt in ‘Wicked’ William’s day

The Lord Wardenship provided William with a second opportunity to flex his muscles, this time via spectacular gesture– a publicity stunt to convince rich and poor alike that he was worthy of admiration and respect. Yes, he decided to revive the Epping Hunt!  After all, what better way could there be to promote his equestrian prowess, style and up-to-the-minute fashion sense? This was a golden chance to be admired and envied, winning over his doubters in one fell swoop.

The problem was that William once again failed to do his homework, not realising the extent which the Epping Hunt had declined as a spectacle. William may have known the City of London abandoned the Common Hunt in 1807. In fact the Lord Mayor’s appearance at Buckhurst Hill had long-since been superseded by a new Easter Monday ‘tradition’ whereby the Lord Mayor and his retinue proceeded from Mansion House to Christchurch (Newgate) & heard the Spital sermon. But aldermen and stuffy City dignitaries held no interest for William. He wanted members of the beau monde, dandies, playboys and gadabouts – and intended to spend lavishly to ensure their attendance.

dandy club

William’s target audience was the fashionable London elite

Realising that a pack of hounds was an essential requisite of the Epping Hunt, William ordered the construction of new kennels on his land near the Eagle in Snaresbrook (then known as the Spread Eagle, now as the Toby Carvery). Instead of relying on foxhounds, William purchased a pack of stag-hounds especially bred for deer-hunting. At that time only the Prince Regent kept stag-hounds, and he only had a couple because of the enormous expense in acquiring them. William’s investment in a whole pack of hounds necessitated his appointment of Tommy Rounding, a widely respected local man fondly described as ‘father of the Hunt’. As far as adherence to tradition and quality of event, this was a promising start.

snaresbrook house

Modern-day Snaresbrook House stands on the site of William’s kennels

For the day in question William’s men were decked out in coats of Lincoln green with high-top boots. As for William, he was described in Bailey’s Magazine as

faultless alike in dress and symmetry, and style…With his spotless white waistcoat… and the ample tie of dark silk, perfectly adjusted and in true keeping with his dark coat.. [William] was the embodied perfection of a man of fashion, and carried his dress with that easy determination of style which is peculiar to high birth and high breeding.

One newspaper reported the sequence of events:

An uncommonly numerous assemblage of genteel company attended the Epping Easter Hunt this year. Those in carriages were chiefly of the first classes of Nobility and Gentry, and the horsemen in general capitally mounted. Mr. Pole Wellesley, of Wanstead House, having his stag-hunting establishment in this district, he is become patron of the Easter Hunt, and sent a deer to be turned out before the company. He was present on his famous chestnut horse. His Lady, Mrs. Long- Wellesley, was there also –she came in an open carriage, drawn by four greys, and two postillions with out-riders &c.; and with her company, took her station in an apartment for her at the Rein Deer, before the stag was turned out. It ran for about two hours, and was afterwards lost.

 

Elsewhere it was reported that while out with the hounds William scattered money freely among the village folk. He was said to have flung dozens of gold sovereigns into the throngs of spectators waiting outside the kennels upon his return. He then footed the bill for an enormous feast for participating huntsmen at the Eagle, and brought his more select guests back to Wanstead House for further hospitality and entertainment.

sovereigns

Sovereigns were thrown to bystanders at the kennels and the surrounding fields

 

As an event William Long-Wellesley’s Epping Hunt lived long in the memory and did a great deal to restore his reputation locally. But such wild and reckless flinging of sovereigns around the distressed community was more the act of a show-off than of somebody genuinely concerned for his tenants or the attending peasantry. Also his decision to begin the Hunt from the Rein Deer in complement to Mrs Long-Wellesley was reported to have caused ‘great mortification amongst numerous ladies and others in carriages arranged on the brow of the hill near the Roebuck, the customary place of turning out.’ This may have been a faux pas too far for William as it showed that spending prodigiously does not guarantee guest satisfaction.

the eagle

The Eagle at Snaresbrook – where being treated to a meal once really meant something

 

Perhaps the most telling thing about the whole event is that within a few weeks after the Epping Hunt it was announced that William Long-Wellesley intended ‘to give up his hunting establishment entirely’ and place the hunters, stag-hounds &c up for sale. This more than anything proves that Wicked William had no long-term intentions regarding the Epping Hunt. He just wanted to make a gesture, & boy did he waste a colossal sum in doing so.

I’d like to say that lessons were learnt, but I’m afraid we all know that the spending continued and that this crazy hedonistic occasion was merely the first warning that Wanstead House’s days were numbered. It is important to clarify that William continued to hunt regularly in Epping Forest during his tenure of Wanstead House, but this was by invitation only and nothing to do with the ‘Common Hunt’ which he turned his back on..

Wicked William was powerless to stop a few feeble re-runs of the Epping Hunt in the years to 1820, though perhaps his only permanent contribution to Hunt tradition was to make the Eagle pub at Snaresbrook the primary meeting place for a strange new breed of cockney visitors on Easter Monday for many years to come

hobbies in an uproar

 

It is hard to believe that the famous cycle meet at the Eagle, which was still going strong in the 1940s, could be traced back to ‘Wicked’ William’s days at Wanstead House, and that it evolved to replace the Epping Hunt as a regular feature of the annual calendar. As London became more urbanised, the ‘cockney’ desire to master horsemanship declined, and the age of machines accelerated their separation from country-dwellers

So by the 1820s with Wicked William in exile, Wanstead house torn down and the onset of the steam age – the Epping Hunt was not only dead, but there were no mourners in attendance. Or were there? Enter one Thomas Hood…

 

Footnotes:

[1]

At the time of his marriage, Marquess Wellesley (an uncle) had just resigned as Foreign Secretary in order to challenge Spencer Perceval’s for Prime Minister, Wellesley-Pole (his father) was Secretary of State for Ireland, and Lord Wellington (an uncle) was in the Peninsular leading the British forces against Napoleon.

Tally Ho! A Brief History of the Epping Hunt – Part 1 Introduction

Introduction | Origins | The ‘Cockney Hunt’ | Wicked William’s Hunt | A Fond Farewell

Introduction to the Epping Hunt

Believe it or not, there was a time when country-folk from Buckhurst Hill, Loughton and Woodford found themselves inundated with Cockneys, but it was only for one day annually. That day was Easter Monday and the occasion was the Epping Hunt. It is more than a little ironic that an area nowadays considered the epicentre of ‘cockneyism’ (thanks to TV shows like TOWIE) should have once gaped and sniggered at the ‘Oh Gaw Blimey’ accents and godawful clothing worn by these town-dwelling visitors, who were exercising an ancient right granted to the City of London – allowing ordinary citizens one day’s hunting in Epping Forest.

eppinghunt wolstenhome

The Essex Hunt, near Epping by Dean Wolstenhome (1757-1837)

Throughout the 1700s Easter Monday provided ordinary Londoners with three options for holiday entertainment. Firstly there was a fair at Greenwich Hill where there were organised picnics where excellent ginger bread and other delightful treats on offer, and you could enter the prestigious ‘rolling down the hill’ competition and win a prize. This tame sounding pastime was undoubtedly a rough and tumble affair taken seriously by the competitors. For those hedging their bets against inclement weather, a second option was Sadlers Wells, which offered performances of new musicals and pantomimes throughout the day[i].

But for sportsmen and spectators alike, there was nothing to beat the Epping Hunt, whose rituals embraced the entire community from the heart of London’s metropolis into the Essex countryside. First established during the reign of Henry III in 1226, the Epping Hunt was more than just a chase. It began with an early morning breakfast near the Tower of London, followed by a 10-mile procession from London, through Mile End, Stratford and Wanstead. Along the way new participants swelled its ranks until they all arrived at either the Roebuck or Bald Faced Stag Inns in Buckets Hill (nowadays Buckhurst Hill), where the stag was traditionally turned out. The finest carriages from London and the surrounding area occupied prime positions on the hill, attended upon by a myriad of food and drink vendors. Whilst the men saddled up and joined the hunt, the ladies had ample opportunity to display their fashionable attire –  enjoying music, promenading and engaging in gossip.

At a typical Epping Hunt thousands of ordinary folk lined the streets to catch a glimpse of the noble elite, or manned stalls selling a variety of produce to the visiting hordes. This undoubtedly proved a massive boost to the local economy proving that it really was an occasion to remember.

Over these next four blogs I will examine the history and traditions of the Epping Hunt and add links between each blogs as and when they are posted:

  1. Origins and Establishment of Tradition (1226-1750) – Here I will look at how Epping Hunt was established as an aristocratic event under the patronage of the Lord Mayor of London, alongside the Lord Warden of Epping Forest.

 

  1. Gor‘ Blimey Mate!! (1750-1810) – By 1787 Epping Hunt was generally regarded as the ‘Cockney Hunt’ because its participants were increasingly drawn from London’s merchant classes. In this period there was the tremendous comedy value of watching a collection of badly-dressed city-folk chase about the forest in the fruitless pursuit of their goal. Not surprisingly the Epping Hunt became an object of public ridicule and by 1810 the consensus was that it would soon die a natural death – a relic of a bygone age.

 

  1. Wicked William’s Hunt (1813) – In 1813 William Long-Wellesley of Wanstead House hosted an extremely extravagant event, reckoned to be the most lavish ever –  in an incredible attempt to restore tradition and quality to the Epping Hunt. I will look at the day in question plus the ramifications it had for the future of Wanstead House.

 

  1. A Fond Farewell (1820-1850s) – More than any one person Thomas Hood is responsible for restoring the Epping Hunt in a positive way for future generations to recall. His eponymous poem (1828) served as a gentle reminder of the mirth and pleasure to be had on such an occasion, whilst at the same time acknowledging its inevitable demise.

 

eppinghunt-4

One of Rowlandson’s plates from Thomas Hood’s The Epping Hunt poem (1828)

 

The Epping Hunt might be best remembered by this quote taken from Hunting in the Olden Days by William Scarth Dixon, which was published in 1912:

It was one of the ironies of Fate that the Epping Hunt should be chiefly remembered [in caricature]…For the Epping Hunt was the common hunt of the City of London, and as such its rights were jealously guarded. It was the most important of those city hunts of which we have had so many in England…. So though the Epping Hunt outlived its usefulness… let us look kindly on those good city sportsmen of a bygone age. Let us remember that they helped to foster the general love and admiration of sport without which, I make bold to say, hunting would have been seriously curtailed in our day, if not abolished altogether.

 

 

[i] Perhaps the most enduringly popular Easter Monday performance at Sadlers Wells was in fact entitled The Epping Hunt – which was put on by popular demand for a great many years. So, whether you went in person or witnessed a hilarious reproduction at Sadlers Wells, the Epping Hunt was a pivotal component in the Easter calendar for Londoners.