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

Victorian Monopoly – From ‘The Strand’ to ‘Jail’

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

In this third segment we press on with our journey around the Monopoly Board using only images from the Crace Collection of antiquarian prints and maps held by the British Museum. Our 1850s Londoners are tasked with traversing streets and locations immortalised since the London version of this iconic board game first appeared in 1936. We will begin in The Strand but shall inevitably end up in Jail, before our final turn homewards. But will the places we visit be familiar to Victorian eyes?

The Strand | Fleet St | Trafalgar Sq | Fenchurch St Station
Leicester SqCoventry StWater Works | PiccadillyGo To Jail

The Strand

The Strand (1781) by Thomas Malton

From the Middle Ages the Strand served as the principal route between the twin Cities of London and Westminster, deriving its name from its close proximity to the River Thames – which made it a thoroughfare liable to flooding right up until the construction of Victoria Embankment in 1870. For many centuries one of London’s best-known roads, the Strand might have had a still a greater claim upon the map of modern London: – Not once but twice stations that were called ‘The Strand’ have been subsequently renamed (Aldwych and Charing Cross). ‘Strand Bridge’ too was nearing completion, when the Duke of Wellington’s famous victory over Napoleon in 1815 caused it to be re-titled ‘Waterloo’ Bridge. Bordered to the west by Trafalgar Square, and to the east by Fleet Street., the Strand was a thriving commercial thoroughfare, instantly recognisable to Victorian Londoners

Exeter Change, The Strand

We are going to alight at Exeter Change, or Exchange as it was also known, on the north side of the Strand – where the Strand Palace Hotel now stands. The Change was built in 1676 on the site of the London mansion of the Earls of Exeter. Despite being demolished in 1829, this building retained a very special place in the memories of older generation Victorians. It was designed and built by a Dr Barbon as a kind of bazaar – similar to a modern-day shopping mall –  with various outlets, entertainment, and retail spaces. At the front was an arcade extending forwards right into the Strand. Initially Exeter Change housed a number of fine tailors, milliners, hosier and other fashionable shops – with an auction room (that also occasionally served as a Court room) on the upper floors. These were prime units, for it was recorded that one Thomas Clark, a cutler, accumulated a vast fortune via trade from the Change – enabling him to purchase the upper parts in 1773 as an investment – and thereafter to establish the first of a series of menageries, or private zoos – for which Exeter Change became most truly renowned

The Exeter Change menagerie at various times included lions, tigers, monkeys, and other exotic species, all confined in iron cages in small rooms. The roaring of the big cats could be heard outside, often frightening horses passing in the street below. Gilbert Pidcock bought the menagerie in 1793, and it later subsequently passed into the hands of Stephani Polito. Both Pidcock and Polito operated of travelling circuses, using the Exeter Change as winter quarters for their animals, which was a neat way of earning revenue off-season. The menagerie was extremely popular across all sections of society, and was well-advertised as a tourist attraction.

Pidcock’s Royal Menagerie Brochure

A few years before Exeter Change was swept away as part of a grander scheme to improve The Strand, it was the scene of a tragic and sensational event – revealing the cruelty and barbarity of Georgian society towards animal welfare; namely the death of Chunee in 1826. Chunee was an Indian elephant brought to London around 1809 and put to work at Covent Garden Theatre. His acting career got off to a bad start because ‘the tremendous noise of his reception deprived him of sense’ causing Chunee to refuse to allow ‘the Sultan of Cashmire’ to dismount him during an important scene,. Instead of following the script, Chunee scarpered off-stage into the wings knocking all around him asunder. Fortunately no one was injured in the ensuing melee, and the sensation caused by his impromptu ad-libbing added boosted ticket sales. Chunee soon overcame his stage-fright to complete a 40-day pantomime season in front of packed houses, and then had the honour of appearing alongside Edmund Keane at Drury Lane. By 1812 Chunee was in retirement at Exeter Change, where he was placed in an oak and hammered-iron cage, and rapidly became one of London’s most iconic tourist attractions. This must have been a miserable existence for such a huge beast – as he was almost permanently locked up for human entertainment.

Chunee ate his keeper’s clothing in 1819

As Chunee grew older the sheer tedium and loneliness of his existence made him angry and hostile. By the mid-1820s there were entire seasons when he was considered ungovernable. Eventually on March 1st 1826, Chunee became extremely agitated and began violently striking his den.  His exasperated owner and keeper, Mr Cross took the heartless decision to poison him. But this failed, so he sent for his gun, ignoring the pleas of his staff, declaring ‘no pecuniary loss could induce me to endanger the lives of other humans’ by keeping Chunee alive. Thirty bullets were fired from close range but the Chunee continued to struggle and actually succeeded in smashing the front section of his cage open. As the case was now desperate, soldiers bearing muskets were called upon from Somerset House and a further hundred musket balls were fired.  When Chunee eventually sunk to his knees – the firing continued. In fact it took another 90 minutes for this poor elephant to die. A grotesque crowd of onlookers witnessed the appalling spectacle of Cross finishing his off his prize exhibit with a sabre. Afterwards the newspapers commiserated with Cross over the loss of such a valuable asset (said to be in the region of £1000) – but there was barely a mention of the horrific ordeal suffered by Chunee.

The barbaric slaughter of Chunee the elephant (1826)

Yet Chunee’s demise may be seen as a parable for changes underway in British society as the Georgian era reached its end. Most people relished the cruelty of blood sports – indeed hundreds of people paid a shilling to watch Chunee’s dissection at the Royal College of Surgeons (where his bullet-ridden hide was sold off for £50). But there were also some green shoots of Victorian respectability arriving, and the emergence of sense of feeling towards animals. -This can be seen via a letter sent to The Times a few days afterwards

To place an elephant, or any beast, without a mate, and in a box bearing no greater proportion to his bulk than a coffin does to a corpse, is inhuman; and there can be no doubt that confinement and the want of a mate caused the frenzy… If a very small part of the money voted for the Royal Palace were applied to the purchase of a few acres of ground, we might [be able to exhibit] Nature’s wonderful works in the style worthy of a great city…

This correspondent’s wishes would not be realised for another three decades (with the opening of Regent’s Park Zoo). As for the menagerie – when Exeter Change was finally demolished, it was re-opened further down the Strand, in a building near Charing Cross. Exeter Change may have been no more for Victorians, but legend says that Chunee can still be found in the Strand – inspiring this 1829 poem by Thomas Hood

Lines from Chunee’s Ghost (1829)

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Fleet Street

Fleet Street has for centuries been a major street in the City of London, extremely well-known to Victorians, especially because it was the site of Temple Bar, an ancient landmark serving as the principle ceremonial entrance on the royal route between the St Paul’s Cathedral and Tower of London on one side, and the Palace of Westminster on the other. Temple Bar was intended as a barrier regulating trade passing into the City, but it became a symbol of the rule of law because it was situated close to the Inns of Chancery. After 1800 the Royal Courts Of Justice, transferred to Fleet Street from Westminster Hall, adding to Fleet Street’s status as a legal quarter. So, while Fleet Street’s historic connection with newspapers and the press has come and gone, it remains today very much associated with the law.

Temple Bar c.1700

The baroque version of Temple Bar erected c.1680 was designed by Sir Christopher Wren, and as can be seen above was still used as a place for displaying the severed heads of executed prisoners, as a warning to others. Temple Bar spanned Fleet Street right up until 1878, when it was removed because it caused too much of a bottleneck for passing traffic. After many years away from London, Wren’s arch can nowadays be found in Paternoster Square, adjacent to St Paul’s Cathedral.

Fleet Ditch (1841) – a true Dickensian slum

Fleet Street gained its name from the River Fleet which crossed the roadway at Fleet Bridge – nowadays known as Ludgate Circus, and for many years whilst there was an open ditch north of Fleet Street, surrounded by ramshackle housing, prone to flooding and cholera. Not surprisingly crime proliferated – and by the 1826 it was so bad that a drastic reform of policing was necessary.

The nuisance, by the assemblage of groups of dissolute girls and men of notorious character, in the vicinity of Temple Bar, Fleet Street, and the Strand, is now likely to be abolished, as it is in contemplation to establish an effective street police… [ensuring] ‘free passage’ and ‘safe walking’ to the public in these great thoroughfares… to break the almost impassable file of pickpockets and women of the lowest description, who plant themselves in this most crowded… and most convenient thoroughfare for their plunder.

The Metropolitan Police Act 1829 rescued Fleet Street from becoming a no-go area but Victorian Monopoly player’s would have looked for Fleet Street at the cheapest section of section of their game, rather than the upper-middling red area it was allotted by 1936.

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Trafalgar Square

Trafalgar Square c.1852

By choosing Trafalgar Square to complete their red section, the original creators of the London Monopoly board displayed a sensible and logical understanding of this City’s topography; for Trafalgar Square stands at the western end of the Strand, which in turn leads on to Fleet Street. Trafalgar Square owes its existence to an Act of Parliament (1826) enabling the redevelopment of Charing Cross. This area had been an important meeting place for Londoners since the 13th Century, so it was very suitable for renewal on a grand scale, and perfect to receive a name synonymous with Britain’s new sense of her own power and patriotism. Began by John Nash, Trafalgar Square was finally completed in 1844, though it’s new name, recalling Horatio Nelson’s famous victory over the French (1805), was routinely in use as early as 1833.

When its iconic fountains were added in 1841 at a cost of £11,000, the earth removed was used to level off Green Park. The centrepiece – Nelson’s Column was erected in 1843.

 

Queen Victoria’s Coronation

As we know it today, Trafalgar Square is closely associated with public gatherings, protests, and pageantry. For the Victorian monopoly player this tradition would have reminded them of a very important day – the coronation of their Queen on June 28th 1838. The Standard reported that the mob were ‘never so well behaved’ as they lined the streets to witness the Queen’s ceremonial procession

From the earliest dawn… Charing Cross was presented with a scene of unusual bustle and interest. Many persons, it is understood, passed the night in the open space in Trafalgar Square in order to  be in good time for a good view of the procession. Others took up their positions in the taverns and public-houses in the neighbouring streets, from which they sallied forth as early as 5 o’clock, who joined their counterparts in front of the National Gallery. By 6 o’clock the space between the statue of Charles I, and the front of the National Gallery, was filled as far as it could be and by nine it was crowded to such a degree as to make ingress or egress impossible… The appearance of the whole area was one of the most imposing kind. At the west side of Trafalgar Square the Union Club had erected two galleries, which were filled with an elegant assemblage of beauty and fashion. In the distance on weither side were other galleries as attractively occupied. Every  front storey of every house in the whole line teemed with well-dressed spectators, chiefly ladies. Even the house-tops to the chimney-pots were crowded at every place which could command a view… At seven o’clock there was a sharp shower… but after a short time the weather became fair, and for the remainder of the day was as favourable as could be desired… cloudy, without rain. Precisely at ten o’clock the firing of the guns in the Park announced the procession had commenced its movement from the Palace. At this moment the crowd in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square was immense… we do not exaggerate when we say… there were not less than 200,000 persons assembled. Considering the immense assemblage, the order and decorum observed were on the whole highly creditable to the people, to the solemn occasion… and to the civil and military authorities.

What a spectacle it must have been to stand in Trafalgar Square watching young Princess Victoria pass by on her way to become the monarch that gave her name to a golden age in British history – but it’s time to move on to our next destination…

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Fenchurch Street Station

Fenchurch Street Station (1854)

Fenchurch Street Station was opened in 1841 by the London & Blackwall Railway Company, and then rebuilt as per Thomas Hosmer Shepherd‘s painting above. Let us go back to the 5th of July 1840, where we shall learn that Fenchurch Street began its life as a massive pulley-operated terminus running ‘trains’ down and back from the river Thames at Blackwall. The Times recorded its opening day

At an early hour in the morning carriages began to draw up at the terminus, filled with Members of Parliament, merchants, and private gentlemen, accompanied by their ladies… by 12 noon being the hour at which it was arranged the first train should start, there must have been 1500 elegantly-dressed persons in the waiting room

This was to be an exclusive event, and only those with special invitations were admitted into the new station. This did not stop the gathering of an immense but good-natured crowd outside, hoping for a glimpse of Royalty and yelling ‘Where’s the Queen!’ In this they were to be disappointed as Victoria was not present. The distinguished guests were ushered onto the platform, and entertained by an orchestra as they boarded the train. For the passengers there was plenty of incredible engineering to behold

The trains are propelled to Blackwall by means of two stationary engines of 120 horse power each, which are worked in shafts sunk into the earth on each side of the railway lines. To these engines fly-wheels are attached, each of which weighs 43 tons, and is 22 feet in diameter. A tail rope is fasted to the fly-wheels which is wound and unwound at each end by the stationary engines… as the train proceeds to Blackwall the fly-wheels at Fenchurch unwind the rope… and to prevent the rope becoming entangled… a break is placed on the edge of the platform… at which a man is employed to regulate the unwinding of the rope. The ropes (one for each direction) cost upwards of £1200 and the fly-wheel drums take 30 turns to every mile of rope, each of which are three and a half miles long…

Perhaps the greatest source of wonderment was the electric telegraph, invented by Cook and Wheatstone enabling ‘parties at each end of the railway to hold conversation with each other in the most perfect facility’ – with telegraphs placed at each station on the line – meaning that staff and engineers could communicate with one another instantaneously. Given that the telephone was not patented until 1876 – this is truly a remarkable feat that Fenchurch Street had a near-perfect phone system at its disposal in 1840!

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Leicester Square

The Monster Globe at Leicester Square

Leicester Square was laid out in 1670 and was named after nearby mansion Leicester House. Originally intended to be residential, the Square soon became popular with eighteenth century trendy types – and home to perhaps the two most celebrated painters of the eighteenth century – William Hogarth and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Reynolds was a prolific portrait painter, founder and first president of the Royal Academy of Arts (1768) – and he exploited his fame by using his house in Leicester Square as a kind of gallery – and was rewarded by many sophisticated visitors who subsequently became clients. The artistic connection has never left Leicester Square, for it has remained a popular site for public entertainment. Nowadays Leicester Square is THE place for film premieres, but in the Victorian age its star attraction was theatre. Then (as now) the central garden area served as an arena for singers musicians and performers to entertain the many visitors. No Victorian monopoly player could fail to recognise this place. especially in 1851 because Leicester Square acquired a new kind of attraction, namely the Monster Globe – seen above (1854) in a print by Thomas Hosmer Shepherd.

A cross-section of Wyld’s Monster Globe

The Monster Globe was the brain-child of James Wyld, an MP, and map-maker from Charing Cross. Early in 1851 he took out a ten-year lease on the Leicester Square Gardens to construct a visitor attraction showcasing his cartographic talents. The full story of Wyld’s Monster Globe is succinctly described by the Guildhall Library – suffice to say it didn’t end well, and his huge and costly structure was unceremoniously demolished in 1861. However, let us go back and see what the fuss was about, courtesy of The Standard, May 30th 1851

Yesterday a private view of this most interesting work of art was given to the press previous to the opening to the public. A globe having a surface of 10,000 feet is a novelty in geographical science… only after many failures has Mr Wyld succeeded and the Great Model Globe will probably take its place in the public estimation as one of our greatest national works of art…Within the structure are 4 galleries… modelled on a colossal scale are Europe, North America, and North Asia, with the expanse of the oceans…

Though Wyld tried hard to keep his attraction fresh, by organising exhibitions and inviting distinguished lecturers – he could not sustain the project long-term – and perhaps it was too much of a vanity project to succeed. Victorians shed no tears because they knew that Leicester Square would soon regenerate as a visitor attraction

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Coventry Street

View from Coventry Street

Coventry Street is one of the more obscure addresses to be found on the Monopoly Board, given that it is merely a side-road off Haymarket. Built in 1681 and named after a Henry Coventry secretary of Charles II and one-time ambassador to Sweden, whose house once stood on the north side of Panton Street, adjacent to what is now Leicester Square. Although Coventry Street has always stood in a location filled with bars, restaurants, theatres and entertainment – in the Victorian era it was better known as an industrial area, housing a number of tradesmen and factories. Amongst the various workshops stood some very good coffee houses and dining rooms, making Coventry Street a capable supporting act to its better-known rivals.

However, one type of entertainment did thrive in Coventry Street, and that was prostitution. On March 24th 1841 The Times reported

We some months ago called the attention of the police to the shameful scenes exhibited every night in the Haymarket and Coventry Street by the prostitutes who infest that neighbourhood… and are herded during the day time in the infamous brothels in Coventry-court…

This campaign had for a time been successful, until a local police magistrate, inundated by cases of fallen women brought before him for sentence, declared ‘prostitutes must walk somewhere’. To celebrate their victory the local prostitutes then took to ringing doorbells of local houses at all hours of the night and shouting obscenities at their owners. This new development caused The Times to request

It is the duty of the police to see that [prostitutes] walk in such a manner so as not to annoy and insult peacable persons and modest women, and that their ‘walking’ does not extend to the knockers and bell-handles of the householders

If you had the time, Coventry Street was the place

The catalyst for change in Coventry Street came in 1850, as it so usually does in London, when an act of God swept away many of the factories and workshops allowing the area to be rebuilt. On January 3rd at 11pm a very serious fire broke out in the premises of Creese & Co, boot and shoe-makers. Within a very few minutes the whole factory was ablaze and the fire spread to adjacent properties. Despite the efforts of St Ann’s parish fire brigade, who were able to use brand new mains water provided by the New River Company, the fire raged for 13 hours. The following businesses were affected

  • 3 Coventry Street – Mrs Mary Taylor, stationer, burned down
  • 4 Coventry Street – Creese & Company, bootmakers, burned down
  • 5 Coventry Street – Samuel Walters, a tailor, back of building destroyed
  • 6 Coventry Street – Mr Reid, hosier, back of building destroyed

Properties in Rupert Street and Princes Street were also both fire and water damaged – including three bootmakers, a gunsmith, poulterer and a carpet-maker. Coventry Street was redeveloped to become an asset rather than a liability to London’s amenities. Attractive new buildings replaced the old shops and tenements, and London’s oldest trade was forced to find refuge elsewhere in Soho, but still remained close enough to maintain this area’s modern-day seedy backdrop. In 1907 the first Lyons Corner House was built in Coventry Street, hence its reputation would have improved enough to justify inclusion in the 1936 monopoly board line-up

After 1850 Coventry Street became gentrified

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Water Works

York Buildings Water Works

The spectre of death and disease was never far from the streets of Georgian London, and though it was not then known to be the cause of cholera outbreaks, Londoners were fully aware of the importance of clean drinking water.  As early as 1671 the Thames Water Company was established at York Buildings, at the end of Villiers Street, near Charing Cross. It utilised early steam technology to distill water and provide it at a cost to local residents. But the process was slow, and its machinery soon rendered obsolete by rivals such as Chelsea Water Company to the extent that by the 1730s it was no longer a viable concern. Despite this lack of business success, York Waterworks became a significant London landmark – principally on account of its 70 feet tall wooden tower, which was erected around 1698. A heavy weight was pushed to the top of the tower by steam power in order to create sufficient pressure to pump clean water into nearby houses. With its distinctive shape and curious windows, York Water Tower went on to become a very familiar sight, not least for the many artists who have included it in their Thames landscapes.

Canaletto’s view of York Water Tower c.1750

Thomas Malton’s York Water Tower c.1792

The Shard Building, London Bridge (2009)

It is not known exactly when York Tower was removed, but it must have been gone by the time the Victoria Embankment was constructed the early 1860s. York Water Gate (seen in Thomas Malton’s image above) still stands in the park. York Water Tower may be lost but its one-time dominance of the Thames panorama is thought to have influenced architect Renzo Piano’s design for the Shard building at London Bridge. Piano has credited Canaletto’s painting seen above for formulating his idea. Not only can we see that the Water Works was a familiar landmark during the Victorian era, but we still have a super-sized reminder of its existence.

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Piccadilly

Devonshire House, Piccadilly (1844)

Piccadilly spent the early years of its life deciding whether or not it ought to be called Portugal Street, an issue that was finally resolved in its favour around 1750. It came to prominence after the old road between Charing Cross and Hyde Park Corner was closed to enable the creation of Green Park in 1668. Continual development meant that by 1800 there were many elegant mansion houses, such as Devonshire House , coaching inns, clubs, hotels, and shops all the way to Hyde Park Corner, and within a few decades the fabulous Nash facades were added to its junction with Regent Street. By Victorian times Piccadilly certainly was a very exclusive neighbourhood.

St James’ Church came into existence primarily because of the rapid expansion of Piccadilly. In the 1660s local residents put forward a Bill to create a new parish separate from St Martin in the Fields, and eventually obtained permission to construct. Built by Sir Christopher Wren for a cost of £5000, it was first consecrated in 1684 – and lent its name to the area which became known as St James’ Parish (or St James’ as it is today).

St James Piccadilly

St James Piccadilly played a very important role in the life of ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley, for it was the scene of his marriage to Wanstead House heiress Catherine Tylney-Long in March 1812. But it has other more noble claims to fame such as the poet William Blake‘s (baptised there 1757) or the burial place of legendary Georgian caricaturist James Gillray.

White Bear Yard, Piccadilly c.1850

The White Bear situated in Piccadilly was one of London’s foremost coaching inns. Despite the decline in coach travel by the 1840s it was still a thriving inn – though this report from The Times shows that you had to chose the right time to enter its yard, without incurring the wrath of Ann Bond

A foreign person, Mr Paul Decone, was passing through White Bear Yard a few evenings ago, about half past seven o’clock, when he was suddenly deluged by the contents of a pail thrown from the first floor window… a very short time afterwards he discovered that his clothes were turning red, and parets of his hat were burnt off. The defendant Ann Bond admitted throwing the water out of her window into the drain below, but denied that it was contaminated… [but] the defendant had for a length of time been in the habit of throwing water over people passing through the yard at dusk… and the police had been called several times before. It being a public thoroughfare tests were carried out on the water, which was found to contain vitriol. [The Judge] was willing to give the defendant the benefit of the doubt, but in order to put a stop to a most unjustifiable proceeding, that of throwing water out of a window, by accident or design, so as to cause an assault, he should inflict a fine of 50 shillings and costs. The money was duly paid…

Its appropriate to leave Piccadilly on a criminal note as we are now off to prison

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Go To Jail!!

Fleet Prison 1840 – relying on charity to survive

Prisons were very familiar buildings in Victorian London, the spectre of which hung wide sections of the population. Alongside the traditional prisons such as Newgate, were a plethora of debtors prisons and asylums which were to all intents and purposes also places of permanent incarceration, plus some decaying hulk ships housing alien prisoners and those awaiting transportation. My own research subject ‘Wicked William’ spent time in Fleet Prison for contempt of court, and in the Tower of London for abduction. His ordeal would have been nothing compared to the vast number of desperate and destitute souls finding themselves behind bars in Victorian London, and hoping for the kindness of strangers

Millbank Prison  c1829

Millbank was a new type of prison built on marshland west of Westminster between 1813 and 1823. The works were beset with problems not least because Millbank was traditionally a bit of a swamp liable to flooding from the Thames, hence its construction became a very challenging task. The idea was to create a prison purely for those whom it was considered capable of reform – and sentences between 5 and 10 years were given as an alternative to transportation.

Almost as soon as Millbank Penitentiary was opened the Morning Chronicle commented 

It is seated in a marsh, beneath the bed of a river, through which the vapours of stagnant water are constantly exhaling. The effluvia from the mass of human beings confined within its walls cannot dissipate from deficient ventilation… lingering confinement cannot fail to produce all the diseases which take place…  One would be almost tempted to think that the mind of the person who contrived this prison had been influenced by the diabolical idea of saving the expense of conveying convicts to distant settlements, by a commutation that would end all their earthly troubles… There is but one remedy – to place as much gun-powder under the foundation as may suffice to blow the whole fabric into the air.

This savage indictment did not prevent Millbank from continuing to operate until a new prison was opened at Pentonville in 1842; and thereafter it became a holding prison for transportees.

The Governors Report for 1842 makes grim reading:

For the year 1842 there were 707 prisoners, of which 408 were males, 157 females, and 142 soldiers… twenty prisoners died [including] 11 from dysentery, 5 from consumption… 18 were released on medical grounds including 5 to a lunatic asylum… the Committee stated that the distressing increase in the number of insane prisoners had been arrested by a new regime imposed in July 1841… limiting inrercourse between prisoners for the first three months after their admission, and then to be placed on a modified system of intercourse, consisting of permission to converse, during the hours of exercise, with tow or more fellow-prisoners. This privilege is liable to be suspended for misconduct… this new system has cut cases of insanity by a third…

What a horrific place Millbank must have been. To think that only those most likely to reform and be rehabilitated into society were sent to this hell-hole. There was absolutely nothing to encourage improvement, just daily exposure to disease, and Governors imposing a minimum of three months isolation as the means to control mental health. Thankfully the sheer cost of this brutal regime prevented it carrying on any longer, and the prison was downgraded shortly afterwards. Millbank Prison closed in the 1880s, and was fully demolished by the end of the Victorian era.

Pentonville Prison c.1850

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In conclusion we can see that your average Victorian would have felt well at home making his way across the top part of a modern Monopoly board. Though he would have wondered how places like Fleet Street and the Strand could ever be considered so appealing given their proximity to slum housing, disease and crime. Given this fact our trip to prison at the end of this journey would hardly have been unexpected. Please join me for the final segment as we get released from our cell to examine London’s elite areas from Regent Street to Mayfair.  What were these exclusive areas like for Victorian-age Londoners? Find out next time!

For a blog post of this scope, I have struggled for brevity. Despite its ridiculous length, I hope you will have enjoyed the stopping points we have made on our Victorian Monopoly odyssey, learning a little about each place on the way. There are a myriad of internet resources available for those interested in the history of London’s streets and enclaves. You may like the following further reading resources:

The Strand – British History On Line, Rachel Knowles visits Exeter Change, Know Your London: Exeter Change, Mike Rendell’s Sad Story of Chunee the elephant, or Jane Austen’s London

Fleet Street – A history of Temple Bar, British History of Fleet River and Ditch, The Londonist looks at Fleet Ditch today, or Charles Dickens and Fleet Street

Trafalgar Square – Trafalgar Square Website, The Londonist asks: How much do you really know about Trafalgar Square?, Londontopia has some great random facts, or click here for a fuller description of Queen Victoria’s coronation day

Fenchurch Street Station – Black Cab London looks at its history, and Isle of Dogs Life looks at the London & Blackwall Railway

Leicester Square –  Hidden London’s brief history, The Guildhall Library looks at Wyld’s Monster Globe, and David Morrell has used the Monster Globe as a setting for his novel Ruler of the Night

Coventry Street – British History Online, or the strange tale of the Coventry Street Vampire & the role of Lyon’s Corner House in Gay History

Waterworks – For an excellent history of the York Watergate click here, Leslie Tomory has written a book about London’s water companies 1580-1820, and IanVisits has unearthed some great info on York Water Tower

Piccadilly – St James Piccadilly Website has an excellent history section, or read about the early history of Piccadilly

Victorian Prisons – London for Free has a great guide to Historic Prisons, Old Police Cells Museum looks at life in a Victorian Prison, and London Lives looks at the rebuilding of Georgian prisons

If you are interested in London’s history you might also like to read about Walthamstow Murderess Elizabeth Jefferies, or know the sad story of Regency Prizefighter Tom Shelton. If buildings interest you then read the multi-layered history of 3 Savile Row, or follow Regency artist Anne Rushout on Tour

Thanks for reading my blogs, and for all your feedback. I have written around 80 original posts in the past three years, and hope to continue adding to this on a more regular basis, as time permits.

All comments and feedback are welcome!

 

‘Wicked’ William & Catherine: Society Wedding of the Regency Era

Wicked William takes the hand (and purse) of his bride

On 14th March 1812, ‘Wicked’ William Wellesley-Pole married his fabulously rich bride Catherine Tylney-Long at St James’ Church, Piccadilly. The tragic outcome of their marriage has been thoroughly described in Geraldine Roberts‘ best-selling book The Angel and The Cad (Macmillan, 2015) – including the fascinating account of how such a penniless wastrel could have succeed in winning the heart of Britain’s richest woman.

This blog takes us back to March 1812,  shedding a bit more light on the wedding itself, and how it was reported in the press.

William’s courtship of Catherine Tylney-Long began in the summer of 1810, and it took almost 18 months for him to fend off a plethora of rivals including the Duke of Clarence (future King William IV), before the chase was won. The above satire from January 1812 likens William and Catherine’s courtship to that of Romeo and Juliet – a kind of ‘against the odds’ love affair – which it certainly was. Though at this stage they were already betrothed, the battle was still raging – Not only was Catherine under attack from stalkers, such as John Scott (pictured being chased away above) but there were also hundreds of legal documents to wade through as Catherine’s alarmed and concerned family sought to devise a marriage agreement that would keep as much control as possible away from the Wellesley bridegroom.

William could now be called ‘Long Pole’ and not without reason

Over the next two months a sometimes tense and occasionally hostile negotiation continued – meaning that the wedding arrangements were continually postponed. William did not waste time, however, to cement his destiny. On January 14th 1812 – even before he was married – William changed his name by Royal Licence and added his wife’s ancestral surnames – to become fabulously quadruple-barreled William Pole-Tylney-Long-Wellesley. If you were looking for an omen here – then William certainly gave one by placing ‘Wellesley’ at the end of his newly acquired monicker. It was always traditional for men marrying into money to adopt their wife’s title or surname upon marriage. William instead chose to foreground his politically well-connected Wellesley family name – one which had up to this point been merely a middle name for him – but now, thanks to the endeavours of his famous uncles (including the Duke of Wellington) – William was suddenly making a claim to be Pretender to their legacy. A marvellous piece of self-marketing that really ought to have been pulled up by Catherine and her family. As for the combination of Long and Pole – this gave endless opportunities for punsters to allude to his renowned masculinity – which certainly would have flattered William still further.

St James, Piccadilly – The ultimate fashionable wedding venue

Another knock-on effect of the delay with legalities meant that Catherine’s original intention to ‘get married without ostentation’ was completely over-ridden as William chose THE most fashionable church in London, St James, Piccadilly – in the heart of his stomping grounds amidst the dandies and beau monde of Piccadilly. This beautiful Wren church is still the same, lying just north of St James Square, and its interiors are exactly as they would have been on the day when William and Catherine walked the aisle

Eventually, in early March, Catherine’s legal advisor sent over his final draft of the marriage agreement, but cautioned her as to the amount of property being placed under William’s control

I can only say that if I saw anything improper or that was inconsistent with your honourable character, I should lake the liberty of pressing it to your notice. Nothing of that kind will, I dare say, occur; and as to the general case of the arrangements, they must be entirely governed by your own feelings & judgement as they concern the dispensation of the property which must be entirely subject to your ideas of what is best to be done relatively to all other claims upon it

Once the news was out that the wedding date was finally fixed for Saturday 14th, the Morning Chronicle recorded

The rolls of parchment employed in preparing the marriage articles, conveyances, and other deeds, in preparation for the expected union of Miss Tilney Long and Mr. Wellesley Pole, are sufficiently numerous and bulky to load a cart. The settlement for the separate use of the lady is said to be £11,000, for pin money, with additions of £6000 in case of a separation

Anticipation for the big event was a fever-point by this stage. It was widely reported that huge numbers of ladies queued for hours on end for the change to view Miss Tylney-Longs nuptial garments, which were on display at her robe-makers – ‘it excites much female curiosity to learn why each snow-white chemise should be decorated with the finest Brussels lace all down the back’. Indeed Catherine’s choice of white for her wedding gown is nowadays attributed with establishing that tradition – one that was copied by Queen Victoria at her own wedding, to great acclaim.

The Newspapers describes events of the wedding day – including William’s appalling failure to provide a wedding ring – another omen perhaps, and that led to a lengthy delay whilst a local jeweller was sent for.

The ceremonial of the Wellesley marriage was as private as possible. Marquis Wellesley acted as Master of the Ceremonies, and conducted the bride through Dr. Andrews house to the altar. Miss Diana and Miss Emma Long followed as bridesmaids. During the service, tears were plentifully shed by Lady Catherine, who was present, and all the daughters; it is to be hoped that they may prove the last on this trying occasion! The ceremony over, a new equipage was at the church door in Jermyn Street to receive the happy pair; it was a singularly elegant chariot, painted a bright yellow, and highly emblazoned drawn by four beautiful Arabian grey horses, attended by two postillons in brown jackets, with superbly embroidered jackets in gold, emblematic of the united arms of the Wellesley and Tylney families. The new married pair drove off at great speed for Blackheath, intending to pass the night at the tasteful chateau, belonging to the bridegroom’s father, and thence proceed to Wanstead, in Essex, on the following day to pass the honeymoon.

The dress of the present bride consisted of a robe of real Brussels point lace; the device a sigle sprig; it was placed over white satin. The head was ornamented with a cottage bonnet, of the same material; viz. Brussels lace, with two ostrich feathers. She likewise wore a deep lace veil, and a white satin pelisse, trimmed with Swansdown. The dress cost 700 guineas, the bonnet 150, and the veil 200. Mr Pole wore a plain blue coat, with yellow buttons, a white waistcoat, and buff breeches, and white silk stockings. The Lady looked very pretty and interesting.

It was to elude the eager curiosity of the crowd that they returned from the church at the door opposite to the one at which they entered.

On Sunday the wedding favours were distributed among their numerous friends; the number exceeded eight hundred, composed wholly of silver, and unique in form – those for Ladies having an acorn in the centre, and the Gentleman’s a star; each cost a guinea and a half. The inferior ones, for their domestics and others, were made of white satin ribbon, with silver stars and silver balls and fringe. The Lady’s jewels consisted principally of a brilliant necklace and ear-rings; the former cost twenty five thousand guineas. Every domestic in the family of Lady Catherine Long  has been liberally provided for; they all have had annuities settled upon them for life; and Mrs Pole Tylney Long Wellesley’s own waiting woman, who was nurse to her in her infancy, has been liberally considered. The fortune remaining to Mrs Pole Tylney Long Wellesley (after allowing for considerable sums given as an additional portion to each of the Misses Long, and an annuity to Lady Catherine Long), may be raised to eighty thousand pounds per annum.

A singular circumstance is said to have attended the wedding on the arrival of the happy pair at the Hymeneal altar, the bridegroom was applied to by Dr. Glasse for the ring; but he had forgotten to procure the necessary testimonial. A messenger was in consequence dispatched to Mr. Brown, a jeweller, in Piccadilly, opposite the Church, who immediately attended with an assortment, and then the ceremony proceeded without further interruption.

Not all of the press were enamoured with this incredibly splendid occasion. Several papers intimated that William’s decision to leave the church via the back route owed as much to the need to avoid writs from creditors as the desire to avoid the crowds outside. The Liverpool Mercury acknowledged the ‘admiration and envy excited by the costly bridal dress and jewels’ but questioned the extravagance of spending ‘a sum of money equal to a year’s maintenance of at least 500 poor families’.

So the deed was done and the Long-Wellesleys were off to spend their married life at Wanstead House. Perthaps for this day then, I will wish them well – and hope that, despite the signs, William Long-Wellesley will prove to be a dutiful husband, who will take his Wanstead estate to new heights of brilliance. Fat chance though….

Wanstead House and Gardens, the 'English Versailles,' - England's finest Palladian mansion

Catherine’s marriage was to prove beginning of the end for Wanstead House

The story of William and Catherine’s marriage, and their ups and (mainly) downs at Wanstead House can be fully appreciated by reading The Angel and The Cad – but there is so much more besides to ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley – which has been researched but was not needed for that project. I will return to other episodes from William’s life in future posts

If you want to learn about William’s shambolic military career why not follow him to war, or you might like to see an example of his expensive lifestyle by attending Wicked William’s Hunt. A black sheep indeed, but to appreciate the achievements of his father and brothers, you might like to celebrate 200 years of the splendid shilling, or to see why the Duke of Wellington ought to be celebrated more by the French nation.

My blogs tend to be Londoncentric, and if you are of a similar persuasion why not read the sad tale of a Walthamstow Murderess, the death of a prizefighter, or learn about the days when vagrancy meant prison

Finally, I would like to reiterate that my blog is entirely my own work, but that I do rely heavily upon the fantastic image resources of the British Museum  without which I couldn’t hope to properly illuminate my subjects. I am always happy to answer questions and receive feedback on any of these postings, and would like to thank the 25000+ unique visitors that I have welcomed to my blog site since I first started to post.

Victorian Monopoly – From ‘Go’ to ‘Just Visiting’ Prison

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

In this section we set off from ‘Go’ on our quest to navigate the Monopoly Board using only images held in the Crace Collection of antiquarian prints and maps held by the British Museum. How far can we get before modernity prevents our progress?

Old Kent Road

Here is a view for the Deaf and Dumb Society Asylum which was built around 1807 in Old Kent Road, with the original stone being laid by the Duke of Gloucester – whom was their patron. Originally founded by Reverend John Townsend in 1792, just around the corner in Grange Street Southwark, the Society met half-yearly to raise funds for the assistance of those unable to meet the fees required to attend the asylum.

On July 19th 1808 The Times reported on the Society’s General Meeting at which a list containing 69 child candidates had been voted upon by its members. As the new building in Old Kent Road was not yet ready, it fell upon the committee to report on a ballot involving its membership – which was to decide who they could make room for at that time. William Hayler topped the poll with 2128 votes and everyone down to 8th placed John Nicholls (896) were awarded a place. Just one girl, Elizabeth Campion, made the cut. Selecting children in this kind of incapacity competition was a very difficult operation:

This election… made a distressing impression upon the minds of those who witnessed the sorrowful and effecting disappointment felt by the unsuccessful candidates. The melancholy met these 61 unhappy children, for want of room in the present house, necessarily remained excluded from the benefit of the Institution, impressed more strongly than any language could do, the necessity of endeavouring to procure, with all possible speed, the means of completing the new building

A total of almost £350 was raised that night including 20 Guineas from the Duke of Gloucester, and we now know that their building in Old Kent Road did open in October 1809 – hopefully putting an end to the awfully high rejection rate experienced the previous year. The Deaf and Dumb Society are a very important milestone in the history of deaf education – and they were to remain at this site until the late 1960s. The patients would be taught how to speak, read, write and cipher so that they were capable of finding work after they were discharged from the institution.

There are numerous excellent resources for learning more about the history of London’s Deaf and Dumb Society – of which here are just a few

Community Chest

‘Community Chest’ is a phrase inherited from the original American version of Monopoly and refers to fund-raising organisations which sprang up throughout in the United States and Canada after 1914, who sought to raise money from local businesses and workers in order to donate it to community projects. Charitable organisations have been around London since Medieval times, and the Crace Collection has numerous examples of buildings and organisations dedicated to helping those less well-off in the community – such as that we just passed in Old Kent Road.

Above is a picture of Mrs Hillier’s almshouses which stood between 119 and 120 Curtain Road, in what is now Shoreditch – also listed as Holywell Street (which may have been at the rear). These eight small houses were built in 1812 and sat behind a dwarf wall and railings. Each dwelling housed two poor women and the project was endowed by Elizabeth Hillier, who lived in Pancras Lane. I have been unable to find out what became of this building

Whitechapel Road

Here is a view of Whitechapel Road in 1851, a watercolour by Thomas Hosmer Shepherd. We are  looking west towards Aldgate; with a line of carriages visible on the right side of the road; and a coach approaching in the foreground. My favourite detail has to be the man on left carrying what looks like a box of fruit on his head – perhaps he’s been to Spitalfields Market. This mid-century scene of Whitechapel seems a million miles away from the days of Jack the Ripper, which were almost four decades later – and seem to have permanently associated the area with

In a strange way the elegance of Whitechapel then seems much more in tune with how this area is today – a very chic and sought after location just on the cusp of the City.

Income Tax

On your standard Monopoly board death may be avoidable, but sadly taxation is not. However, it was not always so inevitable that your wages were subject to income tax – for it was only introduced in December 1798 by Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger. Intended to fund Britain’s war effort, this first iteration of income tax was abolished in 1816 (after a brief sojourn in 1802) as it was considered unnecessary for peace-time Britain. It was only in 1842 that incoming Prime Minister Robert Peel, alarmed by the country’s budget deficit, decided to drop his opposition to income tax – and legislate for its restoration.The above image from 1854 depicts newly the opened Inland Revenue Office, which adjoined Somerset House, in the Strand – more or less permanently establishing this form of tax.

 

Kings Cross

Here is a view of the south front of the Great Northern Station at King’s Cross, as it was in 1852 by artist unknown.

The Smallpox Hospital, which was demolished to to build King’s Cross Station

The station took its name from the King’s Cross area of London, itself named after a monument to King George IV that was demolished in 1845 Construction was on the site of a fever and smallpox hospital and it replaced a temporary terminus at Maiden Lane that had opened on 7 August 1850, but was already considered inadequate. Built to a design by Lewis Cubitt, a lesser-known brother of two other more renowned Cubitt family members, his design was based on two great arched train sheds, with a brick structure at the south end designed to reflect the main arches behind. The loggia beneanth the arches and clocktower was a nod to classical architecture. One of the great advantages of railway transportation was speed of travel and goods, but it also very quickly led to the now common practice of fare evasion. For example, on July 10th 1852 the Morning Post reported

Mark Johnson, aged 18, dressed as a sailor, came before the bar at Clerkenwell charged on the following circumstances: On thursday last, on the arrival of the train from Doncaster into the King’s Cross Station, Mr Garnett, an officer in the company’s service, went to collect tickets… when he found the prisoner concealed in one of the third-class carriages… without a ticket… He said he had run away from his ship, at Newcastle [and] travelled on foot without food or money until his feet were blistered and bleeding… arriving at Doncaster exhausted and got into one of the carriages to come to London… He was given into custody when the judge asked if non-payment was a regular occurrence and was told that [fare evasion] had been a big problem during the Great Exhibition, but not so frequent of late

Despite a plea from Johnson’s mother, who had made the journey to support her lad, the judge decided that it was necessary to deter others from such a practice, especially as it was still a problem for the railways. Therefore he fined Johnson 20 shillings, or 14 days imprisonment – the latter of which was imposed because the family were unable to make the payment.

Before we leave our first Monopoly board station, I’m taking a small detour to look at why this area of London acquired its name, as the station above was actually built in a hamlet called Battle Bridge, which was the site of an ancient crossing of the Fleet river. In Crace’s collection I found the answer. King’s Cross has its origin in a monument to King George IV which stood in the area from 1830 to 1845. Built at the crossroads of Gray’s Inn Road, Pentonville Road and New Road, which later became Euston Road. It was sixty feet high and topped by an eleven-foot-high statue of the king, and was described by Walter Thornbury as “a ridiculous octagonal structure crowned by an absurd statue”. It may have only lasted 15 years but this failed monument was around long enough to ensure its name was adopted for the new railway terminus, thus the hamlet of Battle Bridge was consigned to history – usurped by King’s Cross. An item in the Crace collection records the removal of King’s Cross and is less than complimentary about its existence.

King’s Cross – the real one, graced London from 1830-1845

                                                                                                                                                                                            What strange mutations does the hand of ‘public improvement’ work in our metropolis. Less than a score of years have rolled away since a very anomalous pile was reared at the point where meet the New-road, Maiden Lane, Pentonville-hill, the Gray’s Inn-Road &c.; the spot receiving the somewhat grandiloquent name of ‘King’s Cross’. The building boasted, however, of correspondent pretension; the lower story was classically embellished, as the portion in our engraving shows; the upper stories were less ornate; but, if the expression be allowable, the structure was crowned with a composition statue of the Fourth George – and a very sorry representative of one who was every inch a king…  people [soon realised the above was a very uncomplimentary effigy of majesty; even the very cabmen grew critical; the watermen jeered; and the omnibus drivers ridiculed royalty in so parious a state, at length the statue was removed in toto, or rather by piecemeal. / We cannot tax our memory with the uses to which the building itself has been appropriated; now a placeof exhibition, then a police-station, and last of all (to come to the dregs of the subject) a beer shop. Happily, our artist seized upton the modern antique just in time for rescue from oblivion; and his sketch is far more picturesque than would be’a proper house and home’. The ‘time to pull down’ at length arrived; the strange pile has been cleared away.

The Angel, Islington

The Angel Inn is thought to have existed since around 1614, built on the site of an old monastery and over time associated with Islington, though it was actually in the parish of Clerkenwell. An important stagecoach Inn, the Angel was for many years seen as an outpost for London – beyond which lay dangerous and bandit-ridden country. This scene by C R Matthews is from 1842 when London’s reach had gone far beyond Islington, and looks down the City Road from the Angel Inn; which is shown on the left  By 1831 a topographical guide to Britain recorded

The Angel Inn at Islington presents a busy scene. A road called the New Road, comes up from the ‘west end’ and just where this inn stands, joins the city road. Here between the ‘west end’ and the bank, ply fifty-four omnibuses. Through Islington too, pass a great number of vehicles to Holloway, Highbury, Hornsey &c

In the early 1920s the Angel Inn became a Lyons Tea Room, and the building still stands today as a bank with offices above.

Chance?

In 1806 London started a brief craze for House Lottery ticket sales- this became possible after an Act of Parliament that year gave permission for such raffles. Purchasing a ticket afforded you the chance to own a splendid new London townhouse and contemporary newspaper reports indicate that participants came from throughout the UK. One winner was from Suffolk and the other from Sussex and their prizewas valued at £300 per annum just to rent out, which was a considerable amount when you consider that most families lived on less than £50.

You could win this house in Pickett Street

What a lovely house this lottery offered – hard to think what it would be worth today. The other prize house in Skinner Street, was very close to the East India Company offices – redeveloped in 1803, Skinner Street was demolished in 1860 to make way for the Holborn viaduct.

 

Euston Road

Here is a view of Euston Road c.1825 by Charles T Heath, with the St Pancras New Church on the right. We can see that it was a wide road lined with elegant houses visible in the distance. Built in 1756 as London’s very first by-pass – Euston Road was originally called New Road. It enabled farmers to take their livestock to Smithfield from the west of London without having to drove them into Oxford Street. In 1837 it was chosen as a site for a new railway station.

St Pancras New Church (so-named to distinguish itself from the old one) was built in 1822 to the designs of William and Henry William Inwood. It has a long and fascinating history and is today one of London’s most popular landmarks. The Independent has written a good article upon the politics of St Pancras Church’ construction, which also reveals that its pulpit was carved from the very famous Fairlop Oak, which blew down in 1820 – the loss of Wicked William Long-Wellesley (then Warden of Epping Forest) was blamed

Pentonville Road

I tried hard to avoid putting a picture of the prison when looking for Pentonville in the Crace collection, since we are about to go visiting there in the next picture. Hence I have opted for a picture drawn by Charle H Matthews in 1840, but which recalls a view of Busby’s Folly, in Pentonville, as it appeared in 1731; complete with a rustic wooden fence, a barn to the right.

From the 1660s this area of Pentonville became renowned as a place of entertainment and received many travellers from the City. Busby’s folly was a house of entertainment with an adjacent bowling green, set in the fields. It was names after Christopher Busby who was the landlord of the White Lion in Islington and built his folly to attract day-trippers. From 1664 it became the meeting place of the Society of Bull Feathers Hall, which seems to have been a drinking and revelling club – as it had manners, rites and customs which included a musical parade from Busbys Folly to Highgate. In 1710 one visitor left Busby’s Folly decidedly poorer for his journey

Busbys Folly for a time appeared as a landmark on 18th century maps, but by the 1750s it was renamed Penny’s Folly, eventually demolished to make way for a pub called the Belvedere Tavern, which was built around 1780 and still stands at 96-98 Pentonville Road.

Jail – Just Visiting

Fleet Prison was founded as early as 1197 and was to blight London’s landscape until its demolition in 1846. Largely destroyed during the Gordon Riots if 1781, the prison spent its final decades housing mainly debtors and bankrupts. Whilst some inmates had the luxury of financial support from friends and family, a great many of the inmates were entirely destitute. These desperate captives had to rely on charity which they could receive at this barred window beneath a stone arch. This image from 1840 show an unkempt prisoner accepting money from a well-dressed lady and child. This prison features in my own research project, for Wicked William Long Wellesley spent time here in the early 1830s. For him the experience was less traumatic because his celebrity status afforded him a range ‘of choice viands and wines’ from a local inn-keeper. It;s alright for some then.

So – we have managed to get to the first corner of our Victorian Monopoly board without too much trouble. But tune in for my next post to see how much further we can go on our journey, which relies entirely on prints in the Crace Collection.

I hope you are enyoying this odyssey and will join me again for the next leg from Pall Mall to Free Parking


If you are a lover of London History you may like to read about Stagecoach Inns or perhaps to see how multlcultural late Georgian society really was via the work of Thomas Hood. Also I have written about the amazing history of one London mansion

Wanstead’s Heiress: The Last Days of Catherine Tylney-Long

If you wish to avoid spoiling your enjoyment of Geraldine Roberts‘ excellent book The Angel and the Cad, look away now! Because this post examines the final tragic days of Catherine Tylney-Long, whose life ended on 12th September 1825. As we shall see her death is not just about Wanstead House – it is in fact an important marker on the long road to women’s equality. Less than 15 years after turning down the chance to marry the Duke of Clarence (later King William IV) Catherine’s final days were spent in a turmoil of pain and anxiety – thrust upon her by the man she did chose to marry: William Long- Wellesley.

wansteadcolour

Wanstead House lamented, but not its tragic owner

Prior to The Angel and The Cad, Catherine Tylney-Long has been a barely remembered footnote in the sad story of the loss of Wanstead House, Britain’s first and finest Palladian Mansion. She had long been blamed for getting mixed up with ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley in the first place:- Catherine’s early death has somehow been viewed as a punishment befitting her negligence in marrying ‘Wicked William’ Long-Wellesley, whose reckless extravagance brought her so much pain and sorrow. Years of research have now overturned this viewpoint, and Catherine has finally been liberated from obloquy. Thus we can now mourn her loss because she did not survive to witness the astonishing victory she delivered for womankind in relation to maternal rights, rather than because Wanstead House is no more.

catherine-tylney-long

Catherine

Here are some details of Catherine’s final days as compiled via eyewitness reports and private letters. To set the scene, Catherine has fled to Richmond with her sisters and children, because she knows that her husband William intends to seize her children and regain control of their remaining funds.

August 28th 1825

Catherine makes William aware that he will no longer receive an allowance from her pin-money. As part of her marriage settlement Catherine had sole control over pin-money of £11000 per annum (roughly £900K in today’s terms) – She had been giving half of this to William since their separation, and he had been living a high life in Paris with his mistress in tow. As from 30th October 1825 William’s funds would be cut, thus his reaction was a desperate one. Catherine was informed that ‘if he could not obtain custody of the children by legal measures, he would resort to stratagem.’ For this reason she now went into hiding.

the-paragon-1The Paragon, at Richmond – Catherine’s final home

September 7th 1825

In the words of Catherine’s sister Emma:

On Wednesday the 7th of September we arrived with Mrs Long Wellesley and her children into a house, in the Paragon, Richmond. She had previously been much indisposed with a stomach complaint. On the evening of that day she was seized with spasms, which occasioned so much alarm that she called my sister Dora into another room & told her that, as spasms in the stomach have proved fatal, she considered it her duty to revoke without delay a will she had signed some years before, which had been made under Mr Long Wellesley’s direction, & probably, she added, to the disadvantage of her children. She then wrote a short revocation of that will & signed it in the presence of two witnesses. She then saw the apothecary who provided a medicine & the spasms subsided.

tylney-long-sisters

Emma and Dora Tylney-Long

September 8th 1825

Thursday the 8th, Mrs Long Wellesley received a letter from her uncle Mr H Windsor, containing one from William The instant she saw Mr Long Wellesley’s handwriting, she closed the letter, and sending for my sister Dora & myself, she informed us that she had received a letter written by Mr Long Wellesley, that concluding it contained some distressing threats of removing her children from her care; and feeling too ill to encounter any distressing intelligence, she was resolved not to open it, & directed us to take charge of it, she said, “if it contains, as I have reason to suspect, any threats regarding the children, I authorise you both to communicate with my solicitor, Mr Hutchinson, & in his absence from Town,… to send for Planch, the Police Officer, to resist to the utmost every attempt to remove the children, which you are well aware I should have done had I been in good health. – Only avoid mentioning this distressing subject to me at present, as I feel persuaded that, if I were to attempt reading that letter, my spasms would return, and I might be dead in a few hours.” My sister Dora and myself then assured her that we would faithfully respect her wishes and we never mentioned the subject to her again.

September 9th 1825

Having been treated by Dr Julius, Catherine was well enough to walk out. However, word had been sent to relatives regarding her precarious state, and the Duke of Wellington dispatched Sir Henry Halford a top physician to attend her.

September 10th 1825

Cousin and long-time guardian Bartholemew Bouverie wrote to Dora Tylney Long from London on hearing of Catherine’s illness

I am very much concerned indeed to learn that your sister Mrs Long Wellesley is so alarmingly ill… I fear your sister’s illness must be increased by reflecting into what wretched hands her poor children must fall, should it please providence to remove her from hence; but I will not even for a moment anticipate an event so calamitous to them & to yourself & Miss Emma, but trust that ere long I shall have the satisfaction of hearing that she can be pronounced convalescent.

September 11th 1825

Catherine suffered a relapse and despite the attention of three doctors experienced ‘agonies of the heart’ and screamed hysterically. She was, however, able to have final words with her children – and to relate instructions to her sisters as to their future care.

September 12th 1825

Catherine passed away quite suddenly at 11am in the presence of her sisters and doctors. She was just 36 years old. Halford wrote directly to the Duke of Wellington, ascribing her death to a fever. The day was spent trying to work out into whose charge the children should be placed. William was in Paris and legally entitled to take them, but those present at Catherine’s deathbed knew that she wanted anything but that to occur. So Dr Gladstone placed the children with their aunts as next-of-kin present to take charge of their welfare. This act was to enrage William, who saw it as an act of treachery denying him his legal rights as a father – leading to the famous custody case fought on Catherine’s behalf to protect her children.

September 13th 1825

News breaks about Catherine’s death, and her sufferings are blamed upon William. Batholemew Bouverie angrily writes

I had a fearful foreboding of the melancholy event, which your letter I received this morning has announced to me. The symptoms you had mentioned were of too alarming a character to afford us any sanguine hopes of your poor sister’s recovery. Oh! What remorse must that wretch feel, or rather ought to feel when he learns about what his perfidy & cruelty have effected! Alas! I fear, his heart is so hardened, & his mind so completely depraved as to be alive only to a very different impression… I hope the proceedings in Chancery were so far advanced that [the oldest boy] is now actually a Ward in Chancery, & therefore all that property will be kept completely out of that monster’s hands. If the boy is not already a Ward in Chancery, you and Miss Emma, as the next heirs, can make all the three children so.

Amidst the outrage though, there is genuine sorrow as expressed by Catherine’s close friend Sir George Dallas

Is it possible, that one so loved, so honoured, so deservedly mourned, is snatched thus suddenly from her weeping children… in the flower of her days, to that Heaven she had early earned by her virtues? O, God, it is impossible that a Soul so pure, so acceptable in thy sight, could be summoned to thy presence but to receive that Crown of righteousness which her spotless life, and admirable qualities, had fitted her to wear, and to experience an appropriate shelter from that earthly storm which had already wrecked her happiness, and threatened her future days, (had she been spared to see them), with increasing misery… A finer heart never bowed to earthly sufferings, and great we know her sufferings to have been, how she bore them we equally know; and these, while they embalm her memory in the hearts of her friends, will also enshrine it in the memory of a husband who now, that she is lost to him for ever, cannot forget how tenderly she loved him, and whose heart, touched by her sad, and unmerited fate, may, when brooding over the recollection of her virtues, and the remembrance of her misfortunes, awaken, perhaps, to penitence, and seek to atone for the misery he heaped upon her by a life of future devotion, and kindness to her children. So may he soothe her Shade, by a renewed, and tender, discharge of that parental duty to them it was the pride of her life, and the dearest object of her own heart to perform… What a blank she will create in our affections, and how she deserves to be mourned! Her sensible mind, her sprightly disposition, her graceful elegant manners, her generous heart, her happy temper, her devotion to her family, a breast wherein all the virtues dwelled, these were the adoring qualities of her character; and it is over these you must both muse when seeking for consolation under your affliction, for it is in the consciousness of these that you must reach the consolatory assurance that she is finally and imperishably happy.

Over the coming days there were a great many eulogies to Catherine in the newspapers. Out of a sense of decorum her loss was mourned without any blame being attached to William. However, the Evening Herald, was unable to resist using her story as a metaphor for contemporary life

It is seldom that we allude to domestic circumstances, under a strong conviction of the privacy of domestic life is what the Press can, generally speaking, have nothing to do with. But premature death of an amiable and accomplished lady, born to large possessions, and against who the voice of calumny never so much breathed a whisper, calls, we think, for one passing comment, in illustrating, and furnishing, we trust, a lasting and a useful lesson to the heartlessness of too many of the men of the present age. With a fortune that made her an object and a prize to Princes, this amiable woman gave her hand and heart to a man of her choice, and with them all that unbounded faith could bestow. What her fate has been, all the world knows: what it ought to have been the world is equally aware. To her, riches have been worse than poverty; and her life seems to have been sacrificed, and her heart ultimately broken, through the very means that should have cherished and maintained her in the happiness and splendour which her name and disposition were alike qualified to produce. Let her fate be a warning to all of her sex, who, blessed with affluence, think the buzzing throng which surround them have hearts, when, in fact, they have none: and if there be such a feeling as remorse, accessible in the quarter where it is most called for, let the world witness, by a future life of contrition, something like atonement for the past.

I hope that the above has given a flavour of Catherine’s final days, and shone some light into how much her loss was felt by family, friends and the wider general public. Just a week later thousands of mourners lined the roads to Draycot Church to witness Catherine’s burial and to pay their respects to a woman of virtue, who had been the victim of a morally corrupt husband. Thankfully, during the remainder of William Long-Wellesley’s lifetime, he was vilified for this act of cruelty above all others.

children

Thanks to Catherine – Children were hereafter protected from bad fathers

Whilst there can be no doubt that Catherine Tylney-Long lost her life due to William’s shameful behaviour – she was equally a high-profile victim of an antiquated legal system, which denied women even the most basic rights in terms of property, and no say in the control of their own children. Such were Catherine’s sufferings that Lord Chancellor Eldon was unwilling to uphold the status quo, and instead ruled that William Long-Wellesely should be the first man ever to be denied custody of his children on the grounds of moral conduct. This Cruickshank satire depicts Catherine’s children safely in the control of legal guardians, whilst their errant father takes yet another fall from grace.

I am glad to say that ‘Wicked’ William’s attempts to silence his wife and place her in permanent ignominy have failed – Despite the destruction of her private papers, and Long-Wellesley’s assertion that she was an uneducated dullard, Catherine left enough scraps of information to allow a fresh examination of her life, and to overturn the conventional viewpoint. Geraldine Roberts’ book The Angel and the Cad reveals Catherine’s real nature – and liberates her from almost two centuries of misrepresentation. Her ‘guilt’, if you can even call it that, only extends to following her heart and falling in love with the wrong person – and then standing by him through thin and thinner. Ultimately, she was a brave woman risking all in the defence of her children, by instigating legal action that is nowadays acknowledged as a landmark in British legal history. Therefore, all that remains to be said is

catherines-tomb

R. I. P. Catherine Tylney Long (1789-1825)

If you want to learn more about the Long-Wellesley family please bookmark this site. Wicked William’s long and notorious life contains many interesting chapters as yet unwritten. You can learn more about Wanstead House on Geraldine Roberts Website and the best resource for Wanstead Park is here.

You may also enjoy Wicked William and The Epping Hunt or see what a completely useless soldier he was when Wicked William went to War. Finally, to prove that bonkers behaviour can and does run in families, read the interesting tale of Wellesley-Pole’s Anger Management

 

 

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.

Photographs from my Year: 2014

I have never been particularly astute in the art of photography, so it is very pleasing that the advent of smart phones has provided me with ample opportunities to record various events and scenes I have enjoyed in 2014. I hope you wont think me too indulgent for sharing a few with you here

January - Draycot HouseJanuary 2014 – St James, Draycot burial place of Catherine Tylney-Long of Wanstead House renown
February - Laid UpFebruary 2014 – Laid up at home convalescing
March -TuscanyMarch – On the trail of Wicked William in Tuscany, Italy

April-Kent

April – sneaky pic of Wanstead House chairs at William Kent Exhibition
May-bluebellsMay – Bluebell Wood at Wanstead Park

 

June-Kilcooley HouseJune- The very wonderful Kilcooley House in Tipperary, Ireland
July-TourdefranceJuly – The Tour de France comes to South Woodford… for 28 seconds
August - SwansAugust – Swans in Wanstead Park
September - WindsorSeptember – A trip to Windsor Castle
 October - Crossness Engine TrustOctober – Victorian wrought iron design – Crossness Pumping Station

 November - Poppies

 November – Well-intentioned but futile attempt to see the Tower of London poppies

December - Angel

December – MacMillan cover for Geraldine’s book on Wanstead House

Its been a great year and I hope you enjoy these pictures. Thanks for all the feedback and responses regarding my blog, it really has been a great source of encouragement and inspiration.

If you’ve got a year in pictures, why not share it too?

 

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

Anger Management? Wellesley-Pole’s Ascot Disaster (1829-1830)

Creating Tradition – Wellesley-Pole and Ascot (Part 4)

The Decline & Fall of Wellesley-Pole

Intro | Master of the Buckhounds | The Age of Reform | Anger Management | Legacy

By the end of the 1820s Royal Ascot was the most important occasion in the sporting calendar, attended by huge crowds from all levels of society. On racing week London was quite simply drained of its inhabitants, & a great many rival events and pastimes forced to reschedule or close their doors as they could not hope to compete. Other sports, such as boxing cleverly capitalised on Ascot’s success – as for a number of years it became customary for a big bout to be arranged to attract the returning hordes on the evening of the final day’s racing.

London’s loss was not only commercial and social, for there was a marked rise in both burglaries and fires in the many unattended homes. Criminals must have loved the absense of Bow Street Runners, many of whom were sequestered to Ascot by Wellesley-Pole.

 ascot 1836
Wellesley-Pole’s grandiosely remodelled Royal Stand

However, by 1828 Wellesley-Pole began to become a victim of his own success, and his control over Ascot unravelled

Second Meeting Syndrome

George IV was so delighted with ‘Royal’ Ascot that he commanded Wellesley-Pole to arrange a second meeting to be held from 1828 onwards- proposing that it be held a mere fortnight after the first one finished. It is easy to see why the King craved more of Ascot, given the rapturous reception he was now accustomed to receiving each day he attended.

george iv

George IV loved Ascot and was greedy for more

Wellesley-Pole was as anxious to make the King happy, as the King was willing to give Wellesley-Pole absolute authority over the new arrangements. But as the King’s health declined, Wellesley-Pole’s workload doubled, meaning that his temperament and judgement was to be sorely tested by these new arrangements.

A second meeting was duly held at Ascot from 1828 onwards, but it was soon apparent that the King’s enthusiasm was insufficient to overcome the many problems created by trying to replicate another ‘Royal Ascot’ a mere fortnight after its conclusion. In the first place the new meeting did not suit many of the leading horse owners, who were used to taking their horses on to Goodwood after ‘Royal Ascot’. Secondly there was an inevitable loss in quality of the main meeting as several high-prize races were transferred to the second meeting. Thirdly and most importantly, no allowance was made for the ordinary folk whose attendance at Ascot was crucial to its carnival atmosphere. In 1829 the Morning Post summed up the problem

After the first Ascot meeting the better horses generally leave… leaving a small quantity of bad horses for the second meeting… We do have other thoughts upon the subject which we also consider of consequence to the support of the race course- the middling classes of society are the principal frequenters, who cannot afford to give up so much time in so short a space.

It was obvious that a second meeting was a bad idea, but Wellesley-Pole still went ahead in 1830 – though he did push the date back to August. Wellesley-Pole went against his better judgement to avoid disappointing the King, instead of calling the whole thing off. In fact George IV died on 26 June 1830 so was not around to witness the demise of this failed experiment, and Wellesley-Pole was held responsible for the whole idea. Not surprisingly, as soon as Wellesley-Pole stepped down as Master of the Buckhounds, ‘Royal Ascot’ reverted back to its old single meeting format.

Don’t Question MY Authority

The most inevitable consequence of Wellesley-Pole’s increased power was the knock on effect it had upon his emotions.  As his temper began to overheat, decisions became rash and ill-considered & his well-ordered management system began to crumble and subside.

endofrace

Arguments often flared up before the race had even set off

Wellesley-Pole’s megalomania boiled over during the Ascot Gold Cup in 1829. Prior to the race and to avoid any delay in his strict timetable, Wellesley-Pole made a rule that the horses gather together- setting off at the same time. The Morning Post wrote

When Mr Gully heard of [the new rule], after all the horses were brought to the post, knowing that his horse was of a frightful temper, he became apprehensive he might lose his chance of the prize, and hastily rode up to [Wellesley-Pole] to induce him to rescind the order. In doing so he passed the Royal Stand & neglected to take off his hat.

Wellesley-Pole seized on this breach of protocol to deny Gully a hearing and the race was run. Afterwards Gully sent a letter of apology to the King, which was graciously accepted, but this merely served to stir Wellesley-Pole’s resentment further. On the grounds that Gully’s explanation was not unsatisfactory to him as Lord Steward of Ascot – Wellesley-Pole decreed that Gully was henceforth forbidden to run a horse for the Gold Cup!!

Considering that the King had taken no offence for Mr Gully’s faux pas, Wellesley-Pole’s punishment was very mean-minded and personal. But it did not end there because Wellesley-Pole subsequently issued an edict declaring that from 1830 Ascot would only accept horses

The bona fide property of a member of the Jockey Club, a member of the Upper or Lower Rooms at Newmarket, or one of those clubs in London whose members may be admitted into the above clubs without a ballot

This was an extraordinary dictat, unilaterally imposed by Wellesley-Pole – and had immediate and far-reaching consequences. Most country-based owners suddenly found themselves excluded from entry meaning that by 1831 the Gold Cup was reduced to a ‘commonplace affair’. Royal Ascot was seriously damaged because of this. By this time both Wellesley-Pole and George IV were off the scene,  so it presented new King William IV with a perfect opportunity to boost his own popularity with Ascot patrons by rescinding this elitist rule.

donkey-pole

Wellesley-Pole was starting to act like a donkey.

You Damned Scoundrel!!

Perhaps the final straw for Wellesley-Pole came as a result of a moment of madness, as his fierce temper exploded and he resorted to violence. It must have been pure comedy to witness what occurred. During the second Ascot meeting of 1829 Wellesley-Pole observed a man dragging an old lady off the race track, and heard her shout ‘Murder’ as she tried to resist. In an instant he rushed from the Royal Stand and ‘struck the man two desperate blows with the butt end of a whip, hitting him on the forehead and damaging his cap.’ Not waiting for an explanation Wellesley-Pole then grabbed the man by his lapels, throwing him to the ground with the words ‘You damned scoundrel!’

horse whipped

Wellesley-Pole loses the plot, June 1829

All of this was quite a feat for a 66 year old man dressed in ceremonial garb, but Wellesley-Pole had totally mis-read the situation. For the lady in question was a blind beggar unaware of the danger she faced wandering onto the race track. Her ‘assailant’ was in fact a special constable from Windsor whose sole concern had been for for her safety. Not knowing why she had been grabbed the beggar had indeed cried ‘Murder,’ and this was what triggered Wellesley-Pole’s protective instincts.

Just a few days after King George IV’s death, Wellesley-Pole found himself before a judge at Abingdon where he was convicted of common assault, receiving a fine of £50. Several witnesses testified that Wellesley-Pole’s reaction was disproportionately violent and that his rage had got the better of him.

After this embarrassment Wellesley-Pole changed his mind about staying on to serve William IV and announced his departure by the end of 1830.

Such sequence of unfortunate events is one that sadly repeated itself throughout Wellesley-Pole’s life. Once again his achievement were subsumed by the ignominy of his departure, and the impression he left was of being volcanic in nature, liable to erupt at any time. When viewed like this, it is not so hard to see why his son ‘Wicked’ William turned out so bad.

horseraces

His race may have been run, but ‘Royal Ascot’ ultimately was the winner

Yet none of the above errors should detract from the permanent changes instigated by Wellesley-Pole, and the skilful way in which he welded ‘Royal’ into Ascot. Hence, in the final part of this blog I will sum up the Wellesley-Pole’s legacy as Steward, suggesting that Ascot really ought to find a place, any place, to honour his achievements.

For more about Wellesley-Pole’s defence of the poor you might like ‘She’s MY vagrant’ or to see Wicked William’s equine escapades read Wicked William’s Hunt

A great way to find out more about King George IV is via The Royal Pavilion Website

Or you could visit Rachel Knowles’ excellent Regency History Blogspot  & Sarah Murden’s Georgian Era

Last but not least look out for The Angel & The Cad Geraldine Roberts’ forthcoming true story of love & loss in Regency England, which will be published by Macmillan June 2015 & features more on Wellesley-Pole