Hicks’s Hall – The Original Middlesex Sessions House

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Charterhouse Street runs along the northern edge of Smithfield Market. St. John Street is one of the streets that turns off north from Charterhouse Street, and from the junction, we can look up St. John Street, to the point where the street widens out, and there is a tree in the centre:

We can see the way St. John Street widens out for a short distance in the following map extract (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

The following photo shows this relatively large area of open space, with the widened street passing either side of a central tree and bike racks:

I mentioned in the post on Blackfriars a couple of weeks ago how streets often retain the outline of what was there many years ago, and so it is with this space in St. John Street:

As it was in this space that Hicks’s Hall was built, and in Rocque’s 1746 map of London, we can see the building in the middle of the space, opposite Peter’s Lane and St. John’s Lane, showing that Hicks’s Hall was where the tree and bike rack are located today:

Hicks’s Hall was the first, dedicated Middlesex Sessions House. A place where a court sat, and criminal trials took place.

Hicks’s Hall was built in 1612 by Sir Baptist Hicks, a rich silk merchant, who lived in Soper Lane in the City, as well as having a house in Kensington.

There was a need for a dedicated Sessions House, as prior to the construction of Hicks’s Hall, Middlesex magistrates had used a number of local Inns, places which were not ideal to carry out a trial and to dispense justice.

An account of the opening of Hicks’s Hall reads: “Sir Baptist Hicks, Knight, one of the justices of the county builded a very stately Session House of brick and stone, with all offices thereunto belonging, at his own proper charge, and upon Wednesday, the 13th of January, this year, 1612, by which time this house was fully furnished, there assembled twenty-six justices of the county, being the first day of their meeting in that place, where they were all feasted by Sir Baptist Hicks, and then they all with one consent, gave it a proper name, and called it Hicks’s Hall, after the name of the founder, who then freely gave the house to them and their successors for ever. until this time, the Justices of Middlesex held their usual meeting in a common inn, called the Castle (Smithfield Bars).”

Numerous trials of many different types of criminal cases were held at Hicks’s Hall, and just a brief search of newspaper records reveals hundreds of reports. The following are a small example as crimes also illustrate life in the city. They are all from the 50 years from 1700 to 1750:

24th January, 1723 – This Day, Mr. Ogden was tried at Hicks’s Hall for Cursing the King, which was plainly proved, but some of the evidence disposed that he was very much in Drink, and that he was esteemed a person very much effected to His Majesty, and often drank his Health. The Jury, after a short stay, brought him in Guilty
21st October, 1727 – Two Men who had been convicted at Hicks’s Hall of a Misdemeanour in assaulting the Countess of Winchester in her Coach at Chelsea, with intent to Rob, and were sentenced to be whipt from Westminster Hall Gate to the end of Cabbage Lane in Petty France for the same (the sentence was not carried out as there appears to be a problem with the way the trial was carried out).
15th April, 1730 – On Thursday at the Sessions at Hicks’s Hall, a Soldier having made Oath directly contrary to what he had sworn before, was taken into custody, and a Bill of Indictment for Perjury ordered to be brought against him
24th May, 1733 – On Thursday at Hicks’s Hall, one Dwyer an Irishmen, and a Serjeant in the French Army, was convicted on several Indictments, for seducing Men to list themselves in the Service of the King of France; the Fact was proved very plain upon him, and the Court upon an Indictment sentenced him to pay a Fine of 1s and to suffer one year’s Imprisonment, and upon further Indictment a Fine of £50 and to find Sureties for his good behaviour for five years
21st December, 1734 – Yesterday eight Butchers, who exposed to Sale on the Lord’s Day quantities of Beef and Mutton in a Place called Cow-Cross, near Smithfield, were by the Court of Justices at Hicks’s Hall fined 13s, 4d each, and some of them for a second offence, £1, 6s, 8d and were severely reprimanded by the Justices for such vile practices, and acquainted, that if they ever did so again, the Punishment would be more severe
13th July, 1745 – Last Tuesday three Master Barbers were committed to Clerkenwell Bridewell by the Justices at Hicks’s Hall, for exercising their trades on the Lord’s Day and refusing to pay the fine

Hicks’s Hall from Old and New London. The print is recorded as being of the hall in 1750:

Thousands of cases were tried at Hicks’s Hall, and these were mainly of local crimes, however Hicks’s Hall was also used for trials of national importance and notoriety, for example when Hicks’s Hall played a prominent part in the actions of King Charles II against those who were responsible for the death of his father, King Charles I.

The trial of twenty nine of these Regicides (the Commissioners who had signed the warrant for the King’s execution, or who had a major part in his trial or execution) commenced at Hicks’s Hall on Tuesday the 9th of October 1669, and ended at the Old Bailey on Friday the 19th of October 1660.

Just ten days, including a weekend, which was not long for the trial of 29 people who were charged with crimes that carried some of the most extreme punishments, however I suspect there was little doubt as to the outcome.

The full account of the trial was published in a book which recorded the details of the trial, exchanges between prosecution and those charged, words of the Judge, background to the trial, a brief biography of those charged etc.

The long Preface to the books make an interesting read. It provides a whole range of justifications as to why the crimes committed by the Regicides were against the unity of the country, Christian religious principles, and the preface also tries to explain how those accused could have found themselves in such a position.

The following couple of paragraphs from the Preface are perhaps just as relevant today, as it was then:

“But let us examine a little into this Mystery of Enthusiasm and see by what means People arrive to this high Degree of Infatuation, and what are the several Steps which they take towards it.

The main Foundation of it is, no doubt, a large Stock of Pride, and a singular Fondness, which Men are apt to have for their own Sentiments and Opinions. Nothing is more common than for Men of this Spirit to run into Parties and Factions, and struggle hard for Superiority.”

To set the scene, the book also has a “Summary of the Dark Proceedings of the CABAL at Westminster, preparatory to the Murder of His Late Sacred Majesty, taken out of their own Journal-Book”.

The trial commenced at Hicks’s Hall on Tuesday the 9th of October 1660. The Court was directed by a large number of the great and the good, those who supported the restored Monarchy, including the Lord Mayor of the City of London, the Lord Chancellor of England, the Lord Treasurer of England, Dukes, Earls, Knights, Baronets and Justices.

A jury of 21 was sworn in consisting of Baronets, Knights, Esquires and Gentlemen.

To open the trail at Hicks’s Hall, the Lord Chief Baron, the head of His Majesty’s High Court of Exchequer spoke to the Jury.

Much of his speech was about the position of the King. That the Law Books describe the King as “the Lieutenant of God”, that the “King is immediate from God and hath no superior”, and that “If the King is immediate under God, he derives his authority from no body else; if the King has an Imperial Power, if the King ne Head of the Commonwealth, Head of the Body Politick, of the Body Politick owes him Obedience, truly I think it is an undenied consequence he must needs be Superior over them”.

Basically, although this was a trial, there could only be one outcome, and that those involved in the execution of King Charles I were automatically guilty, as only God was superior to the King.

The book also includes a brief biography of all those on trial. These are fascinating as they show the contempt in which the regicides were held. Below is a sample from the biographies from four of those on trial:

Colonel Thomas Harrison was the Son of a Butcher or Grasier at Newcastle-under-line in Staffordshire. After he had been educated in some Grammar Learning, he was placed with a Hulk, or Hulker, an Attorney in Clifford’s Inn, and when out of his Time became a kind of Petty-fogger. But finding little Profit arise from that, he took Arms for Parliament at the Breaking-out of Rebellious War, and by his Enthusiastical Preaching, and great Pretence to Piety, he so far recommended himself to the deluded Army, that he was advanced from one Post to another till he became a Major. He was Cromwell’s great Friend and Confident in all his Designs
Col. Adrian Scroop was descended of a Good family in Buckinghamshire. He was a great Puritan, and Stickler against Episcopacy, which made him take Arms against the King. Though he was no Parliament Man, yet he was drawn in, as he pretended by Oliver Cromwell, to be One in the Black List for Trying the King.
Mr. John Carew was born in Cornwell, of a very ancient family there, but had the Misfortune to be educated in Factious Principles, and was, like Harrison, a Fifth Monarchy Man, as appears in his trial. This made him an utter Enemy, not only to the King, but to all Government as a single Person, so that Oliver’s Usurpation was as hateful to him as the Royal Sovereignty, which he had destroyed
Gregory Clement is hardly worth mentioning. He was at first a Merchant, but failing in that, he sought to thrive by a New Trade in Bishops Lands, wherein he got a considerable Estate. He was turned out of the Rump-Parliament for lying with his Maid at Greenwich, but was taken in again when they were restored after Oliver’s Interruption. His guilty Conscience, and his Ignorance, would not suffer him to make any Plea at the Bar, or any Speech or Prayer at the Gallows

Poor old Gregory Clement seems to have been singled out for special contempt.

John Carew was considered especially dangerous as he was described as a Fifth Monarchy Man. Fifth Monarchists were a non-conformist religious sect that believed the killing of King Charles I marked the end of the fourth monarchy (the rule by kings), and would herald in the fifth monarchy when rule would be by Saints and by those “saved”, and would lead to the Second Coming.

The above four examples of those on trial were all found guilty and were all executed along with other Regicides during three very bloody days at Charing Cross::

Colonel Thomas Harrison was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 13th of October, 1660
Col. Adrian Scroop was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 17th of October, 1660
Mr. John Carew was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 15th of October, 1660
Gregory Clement was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 17th of October, 1660

Others on trial at Hicks’s Hall and then at the old Bailey had a mix of sentences ranging from execution, life imprisonment down to a limited term of imprisonment.

Hicks’s Hall is also shown in William Morgan’s 1682 Map of London:

But why was there an open space in St. John Street allowing Hicks’s Hall to be built in 1612?

I suspect to answer that question, we need to go much further back in history, to the founding of the Priory of the Order of St John of Jerusalem in 1144 when 10 acres of land was granted to Jordan de Bricet in Clerkenwell. The following map from my post on the Priory and St. John’s Gate shows the boundary of the Priory.

The green oval is around the location of the space where Hicks’s Hall was built, and the blue rectangle is where a southern gatehouse was believed to have been built at the main entrance to the overall Priory complex. Research and excavations by the Museum of London Archaeology Service found mentions of tenements and possible evidence of a timber gatehouse at the site (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

So if there was a gatehouse here, there would probably have been some degree of open space in front of the gatehouse, and this would have been where Hicks’s Hall was built centuries later, and is still a wider open space in the street today, with a tree in the centre.

Looking back at the location of Hicks’s Hall, and the possible location of a Gatehouse to the Priory of the Order of St John of Jerusalem is to the right of the tree:

Hicks’s Hall was used as a Session House until the late 1789s. By which time it was in a very poor state, was a bit on the small side for the work being conducted in the building, and the location of the building in the middle of St. John Street was not ideal, given the increase in traffic along the street since the building had originally been constructed.

Hicks’s Hall had been an important building in London, for as well as being a place where criminal cases were tried, it was also one of the places in the city from where distances were measured, and Hicks’s Hall was the measuring point for many places to the north of the city.

There is an interesting story from 1773 which shows how Hicks’s Hall was an important landmark, and also a staggering example of endurance and long distance travel.

On Monday the 29th of November 1773, Mr Foster Powell set off from Hicks’s Hall to deliver a letter to a Mr. Clarke, a watchmaker in York. Rather than travel on a horse, Foster Powell walked the entire route, including the return.

Staring at Hicks’s Hall, on the first day he covered the 88 miles to Stamford, on the second the 72 miles to Doncaster. On day three, Wednesday he set off from Doncaster and arrived in York in the afternoon where he delivered the letter. He then went to the Golden Anchor for some refreshment and an hour and a half of sleep, then later the same afternoon he set off for the return journey.

He reached Hicks’s Hall on the Saturday at four in the morning, having covered 394 miles in slightly over 5 days.

Foster Powell was known for his long distance walks, and it was reported that on many of these, locals would try and keep up with him on the route, but no one could for anything more than a couple of minutes. Off his other walks, one was a bet that he could not walk from London to Canterbury and back within 24 hours. He manged the return journey in 23 hours, 53 minutes, winning a bet of 100 Guineas.

At some point in the 1780s, Hicks’s Hall was demolished. It was because of the state of repair, size and location, and also because a new Middlesex Sessions House had recently been completed, and to find this building we need to take St. John’s Lane, the street opposite the location of Hicks’s Hall.

Walk down this street, and through St. John’s Gate:

Turn left on reaching Clerkenwell Road, and a short distance along, the following building can be seen on the northern side of the street:

The building is the Grade II* listed Old Sessions House, and a walk up from Clerkenwell Road to Clerkenwell Green provides a view of the front of the building. A far more impressive and substantial building than its predecessor, Hicks’s Hall, appears to have been:

Following my post on Archway last week, where the Arms of the old county of Middlesex can still be seen on the bridge, the Arms can also be seen on the pediment above the columns at the front of the Middlesex Sessions House:

Although the Sessions House at Clerkenwell Green was a completely new building, for some years after the transfer to the new building, it was also known as Hicks’s Hall, as this image from 1805 shows by the title of the print:

Credit: London Museum. Used under Creative Commons Licence CC BY-NC 4.0

The use of the name Hicks’s Hall for the new Middlesex Sessions House seems to have been common until the late 1840s, with the last newspaper report I could find of a trial using the name Hicks’s Hall being in 1848.

Many reports from the time recorded that the new building included a “fine Jacobean chimney piece” from the old Hicks’s Hall. The following inscription was apparently on the chimney piece: “Sir Baptist Hicks of Kensington in the county of Middlesex, knight, one of the justices of the peace of this county of Middlesex of his worthy disposition and at his own proper charge built this session house in the year of our Lord 1612 and gave it to the justices of the peace of this county and their successors for the sessions house for ever, 1618”.

The new building is Grade II* listed, and I can find no reference to the chimney piece in the listing.

I find it strange that, although the space occupied by the original Hicks’s Hall remains, I could not find any plaque recording that the building once stood in St. John Street.

Given that it was the first dedicated Sessions House for the County of Middlesex, that it was a place where lots of trials took place, and where many of those involved in the execution of King Charles I started the trials that would lead to executions and life imprisonment for many, the site of Hicks’s Hall must deserve some form of site record.

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Highgate Archway – Two Bridges and a Tunnel

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Highgate Archway, or just Archway as it is now more commonly known, carries Hornsey Lane over the A1, Archway Road, one of the major routes connecting London with the rest of the country. The A1 starts at the roundabout at the old Museum of London site, alongside London Wall, and ends in Edinburgh, and at 410 miles in length, it is the longest, numbered road in the country.

The Archway bridge looking north:

And looking south. a view which shows how the road descends in height as it heads towards the Archway pub and Archway underground station – the bridge has given its name to a small part of north London:

The land either side of the bridge carrying Hornsey Lane over the A1 is, according to the Ordnance Survey map, around 100m above sea level, so standing on the southern side of the bridge, we can see the A1 heading towards the junction around the Archway Tavern, with a good view of the towers of the City in the distance, with the Shard to the right:

The Highgate Archway has a fascinating history.

Firstly, the location of the bridge, which I have marked with the black arrow in the following map extract,, which shows the location of the bridge within north London (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

The following map is a more detailed view of the location of the bridge. It is carrying the yellow road (Hornsey Lane) over the dark pink (never sure what that colour really is) road running from bottom to top, this is Archway Road, the A1 (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

Follow Hornsey Lane to the left, and it joins Highgate Hill. opposite Waterlow Park, and Highgate Hill is the reason why the Highgate Archway was built.

Early in the 19th century, Highgate Hill was one of the main routes running north from the city. It was a steep hill, in a variable condition, and at the top, Highgate Hill, as its name suggests, ran through the village of Highgate.

Traffic levels were increasing, and a need to bypass Highgate was seen as the best approach of addressing the challenges of the hill, avoiding Highgate village, and supporting increasing traffic volumes.

The following extract from the excellent Topographic Map website shows why the new route was needed, and why the location for the Highgate Archway was chosen:

The orange and red are increasing height, and the greens and blues are descending hights.

The orange, red and pink to the left of centre is the location of Highgate. Highgate Hill runs up this increasing height.

Highgate Archway is marked with the black arrow. Archway Road runs to the east of Highgate, cutting across the lower land height, and where Hornsey Lane runs to Highgate, it is along a short, high spur of land which follows Hornsey Lane. The Highgate Archway bridge was needed to carry Hornsey Lane as Archway Road cut through this short, high spur of land.

At the beginning of the 19th century, much of the land was still fields, so building the new road to the east, avoided Highgate Village, reduced the height and rate of ascent of the road, cut through the short amount of high ground and provided a much wider road to carry increasing levels of traffic.

The following extract from Rocque’s map of 1746, shows the area in the mid 18th century. Highgate village is to the left, with Highgate Hill running up to Highgate from Upper Holloway.

I have marked with the arrow where the bridge is located today, with Hornsey Lane having already been in existence for some centuries. The red dashed line shows the route of the new road, Archway Road, from the current location of the Archway Tavern (at the bottom of the line), up to the point where today it meets Shepherds Hill / Jackson’s Lane:

The Highgate Archway bridge that we see today, is the third of the three plans for carrying Hornsey Lane over Archway Road. The first was a failure, the second worked reasonably well, and the third has lasted well over a century.

A bill was before Parliament in early 1810 for the construction of a new road and a tunnel taking the new road under Hornsey Lane.

The proposal for a tunnel came from the mining engineer Robert Vazie. This consisted of new approach roads and a tunnel with a total length of around 2,000 yards of which 211 yards was in the tunnel. A company was formed to deliver the new road and tunnel, with the ability to raise capital of £40,000 and to borrow up to £20,000.

The capital and borrowing was to be repaid by a toll charged to use the new road. Tolls of 6 pennies for a horse and vehicle, 3 pennies for a horse, 2 for a donkey and 1 penny for someone on foot.

Robert Vazie already had some difficult experience with constructing tunnels, as he was the first to work on a Rotherhithe tunnel, when in 1805 he started construction of a tunnel underneath the river – the Thames Archway Tunnel. Two years later, Vazie had not made that much progress. Sand and quicksand were making it very difficult to build a stable shaft and then tunnel out towards the river. The Directors of the Thames Archway Tunnel brought in the Cornish mining engineer Richard Trevithick, who made far more progress than Vazie, but continued to experience problems with quicksand and the river bursting through into the tunnel, to such an extent that the project had to be abandoned, and the Rotherhithe Tunnel had to wait for the Brunel father and son to build a tunnel between the north and south banks of the Thames.

Vazie’s Highgate Tunnel project also came to grief. The following is from the London Morning Chronicle on the 29th of January, 1812:

“THE TUNNEL – Between four and five o’clock on Monday morning, the Highgate Tunnel fell in with a tremendous crash, and the labour of several months, was in a few minutes, converted into a heap of ruins. Some of the workmen, who were coming to resume their daily labour, describe the noise that preceded it like that of distant thunder. It was the Crown Arch, near Horney Lane, that first gave way, and the lane, in consequence, fell some feet deep, and instantly became unpassable. The houses in the vicinity felt the fall like the shock of an earthquake. The number of persons whom the fineness of the weather attracted on Sunday to inspect the works, were not less than 800. How providential that the fall was reserved for a moment when no person was on the spot, to suffer by an accident, which has reduced this Herculean task to a heap of ruins.”

The collapse of the tunnel seems to have been caused by an economical approach in the materials used to line the tunnel, as on the 22nd of April, 1812, the following article appeared in the London Chronicle:

“The falling in of the Highgate Archway, which had been anticipated by the workmen for nearly a fortnight previous to the catastrophe, is considered to have originated in too economical a regard to the quantity of bricks used in the arch, and the quality of the cement uniting them. This accident, though a partial evil, will be evidently a public advantage, since it is now wisely determined by the proprietors to reduce their tenebrious tunnel to an arch of about 30 feet in length, which will be under and will support Hornsey Lane.”

The tunnel had many detractors, some had concerns with the proposal for a tunnel, other had concerns about the economic impact that the tunnel would have on the trade in Highgate, particularly for the inns that lines the road through Highgate, and attracted business from coaches, and travellers along the route.

Such were these concerns, that a comic opera was put on at the Lyceum Theatre, with the title “Highgate Tunnel or The Secret Arch”, which included a general battle between the Victuallers of Highgate and the Tunneleers. There was a sub-plot of an intrigue between Jerry Grout, described as a “bricklayer, lover and tunneleer”, and Patty Larkins, the daughter of the landlord of the Horns on Highgate Hill.

Following the collapse of the tunnel, plans were quickly revised, additional capital was raised by the company, and the architect John Nash was brought in to design a bridge rather than a tunnel, and to supervise the works.

Nash’s design was modelled on a Roman aqueduct, with two tiers of arches, and constructed of stone. The following photo from “The Queen’s London”, shows Highgate Archway as designed by John Nash:

When open, Archway Road was a toll road, however initially the amount of tolls collected were only just about enough to cover the maintenance of the bridge and road, but with increasing traffic volumes, tolls increased, but the action that allowed all the shareholders and loans to be fully repaid, was the sale of land alongside Archway Road for building. This land had originally been part of the purchase of land for the project, but its sale solved the profitability problem.

The road was freed from tolls on the 30th of April, 1876 when all debts had bee repaired, and the road and bridge were vested with the parishes of Hornsey and Islington.

Whilst Nash’s bridge was a success unlike the earlier tunnel, it had problems as traffic increased ober the 19th century. The central arch was only 18 feet wide, and acted as a choke point on the Archway Road. There were also plans for a tramway along the Archway Road, and a widening of the road and the bridge was essential for trams to run.

In the early 1890s, the London County Council Improvements Committee called for proposals for a replacement bridge along with widening of the Archway Road.

Then as now, there were discussions about cost, and finally the cost for the new bridge was shared between the Ecclesiastical Commissioners (£1,000) as they were freeholders of Highgate Woods, and owned nearby estates of land, Middlesex County Council and Hornsey Local Board (each to cover a quarter of the costs) and the London County Council would cover the rest of the costs, which were estimated at £28,000.

The Middlesex Coat of Arms remain on the bridge today as a reminder of the old county that part funded the structure:

The design of the new bridge was down to Sir Alexander Binnie, the engineer to London County Council.

The bridge had to accommodate five major water mains of the New River Company, who had a reservoir right next to the western side of the bridge, as well as gas mains of the Gas Light and Coke Company.

The plan of the new bridge from the London County Council book “History of London Street Improvements” (1898):

The design was selected in 1896, the contract for construction was signed with Charles Wall of Lots Road, Chelsea on the 13th of July, 1897.

Nash’s earlier bridge was demolished by the end of 1897, and work began on the new bridge in the following year., with the bridge being officially opened in July 1900.

Although the bridge did not open until 1900, and work commenced in 1897, the bridge displays the date 1897, to recognise Queen Victoria ‘s Diamond Jubilee of that year:

There was no formal opening of the new bridge. On the 28th of July 1900, Princess Louise (the sixth child of Queen Victoria) was unveiling a statue in Waterlow Park, and “on her return from the park, the Princess Louise was driven over the new Highgate Archway, and was enthusiastically received by the large crowds which had assembled along the line of the route. Without any formality beyond that of the royal drive across it, Highgate Archway was thrown open to the public on Saturday.”

The view looking across the bridge from the east, towards Highgate:

The cutting providing the route nortth for Archway Road, and the bridge carrying Hornsea Lane across Archway Road has been a success, in bypassing Highgate, and providing additiona road capacity.

Sadly though, for almost the whole time that the new bridge has been in place, it has been a place where people have tragically committed suicide by jumping to the road below.

There are frequent news paper reports over the decades of the bridge’s existence of suicides, and the Office for National Statistics has a record of deaths from the bridge over the last few years, with two between 2008 and 2012, and three between 2013 and 2017.

In 2018, plans were finalised for fencing around the sides of the bridge to try and prevent suicides. The above photo shows this fencing lining the two sides of the bridge, and the following photo shows the fencing looking south, with the towers of the City in the distance:

Other plans were put forward for fencing that blended in with the overall structure, but the solution we see today was installed.

Looking from the northern side of the bridge:

And to the east along Hornsey Lane:

I mentioned earlier that the new bridge had to accommodate a number of large water mains as the bridge was adjacent to a reservoir of the New River Company.

This was a logical place to locate a reservoir as height for the storage of treated water provides back pressure to distribute water to consumers. The water starved grass of the reservoir can be seen in the following photo looking west from the bridge towards Highgate. The road is wet, as the day of my visit to Archway coincided with the only bit of rain in several weeks:

The lamps to the side of the bridge were modelled on those on the Embankment:

It is not just the bridge which is high, the approach of Archway Road to the bridge is also high, and walking back towards Archway underground station, St. Paul’s Cathedral came into view (it is hidden by trees from the bridge), and I looked to be almost at the same level as the dome:

The higher ground behind the cathedral looks to be around Beckenham and Bromley, and illustrates how central London is at a low point, along the river, with high ground to north and south.

At the southern end of Archway Road is the 1888 Archway Tavern:

An earlier version of the Archway Tavern, with John Nash’s Highgate Archway to the right is shown in the following print, from Old and New London and is dated 1825. A rural scene that is hard to imagine today.

fIn the above print, the little hut to the right of the print is where tolls were taken for those using the new route.

It is interesting to compare prints with photos to see how realistic prints were.

If you compare the above print with the photo of John Nash’s bridge from the Queen’s London, earlier in the post. you will see that the road leading up to the bridge has a slope upwards in the photo, whereas in the above print, it looks like a flat stroll up to the bridge.

The Highgate Archway was an early bypass, taking traffic away from Highgate Hill and the village of Highgate.

The original plan for a tunnel was a failure. The double layered bridge by John Nash worked well for much of the 19th century, but as traffic volumes grew and the tram network was extended, the central arch was far too narrow, resulting in a replacement bridge designed by Sir Alexander Binnie. and which opened in 1900. This is the bridge we see today, the last of three plans to cross this busy road.

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In Search of Blackfriars and Resources, Part 2

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At the end of today’s post, there is another of my monthly features on research resources, as well as a London book, but before that, a search for the location of a lost London priory.

If you hear the word Blackfriars, you probably think of either the station, the bridge, or perhaps of the pub at the southern end of Queen Victoria Street:

You may also think of the religious institution after which the station, bridge and pub are named, a house of Dominican Friars, who became known as Black Friars after the black cape they would wrap around their body, an image which the figure on the pub seeks to illustrate.

Within the area known as Blackfriars, and at the end of Carter Lane, where the street meets Ludgate Broadway and Black Friars Lane, there is a plaque on the wall, seen to the right of the red truck in the following photo:

The plaque records that it is the site of the Priory of the Blackfriars, founded 1278:

However, the Priory was a large complex, so how does this plaque relate to the Priory, and what area did it cover in the streets between Carter Lane and Queen Victoria Street? That is the purpose of today’s post, but first a bit of background to the Black Friars.

The Dominican Order was founded by Saint Dominic, who was a Castilian Priest by the name of Dominic de Guzmán, in the early 13th century.

The order was founded to build a community of priests who would go out into the world to preach, and the Dominican’s are also known as the Order of Preachers. The early 13th century was a time when there were challenges to the established church across Europe, with the Albigensian heresy of the Cathars in the Languedoc area of southern France and a growing scepticism of the compatibility of faith and reason.

The Dominican approach to combating these challenges was to go out and preach, and to bring a learned, intellectual and rigorous approach to both theology and preaching.

The new order quickly expanded across Europe, and arrived in London in 1221, with Gilbert de Fresnay being the first friar.

Gilbert de Fresnay was charged with finding a site in London to establish their second English Priory (the first had already be established in Oxford). He had the support of Hubert de Burgh, the Earl of Kent, who purchased a plot of land in Holborn, on the western banks of the River Fleet, and by the Fleet Bridge (today the area of land between the church of St. Andrew and Shoe Lane, down to Farringdon Street).

Hubert de Burgh gave this land to the Dominican’s for their new Priory.

Although it was outside of the City walls, it was an important location as it was adjacent to the street that led from the west, over the Fleet, and into the City of London, and as I mentioned in this post on Churches at City Boundaries, it was a good place to cater to the spiritual needs of those travelling to and from the City, and to seek donations for the Order.

The Holborn Priory would serve the Dominican’s for around 50 years, but by the 1270s, the order wanted to move into the City of London and had been gradually acquiring land in the area we today call Blackfriars.

The area they were targeting for their new Priory was mainly comprised of several large properties, so they did not have the challenge of trying to buy up a dense area of streets and housing. The land to the south west of the City had large buildings such as Baynard’s Castle and Mountfitchet’s Tower.

The main problem was that the old City wall crossed through the area that the Dominican’s were after, and in a remarkable decision which involved the Mayor of London, the King and representatives from the Dominicans, agreement was reached on demolishing 225 yards of the existing City wall, and rebuilding it to the western boundary of the new priory, along the eastern bank of the River Fleet.

Construction of the new priory got underway, the friars moved from Holborn into the City, however it would be some decades into the early 14th century before their Priory was complete (and like all such buildings, it would be under almost continuous modification).

The Dominican priory would continue to be based in this area of the southwestern City until the middle 16th century, when the buildings and lands was surrendered to Henry VIII during the Dissolution, and in 1549 / 50 the priory site was sold to Thomas Cawardine.

The friars in their black capes over their white robes must have been a common sight in the area, and almost 500 years after the friary was closed, the area still goes by the name of Blackfriars.

So where exactly was the Priory, and how much land did it cover?

A Dictionary of London (Harben, 1918), included a map of the Priory, overlaid on the early 20th century street plan. There are some small differences between this plan and some modern interpretations, based on 20th century archaeology, and I will point these out, however the Priory evolved over the almost 300 years that it occupied the site, so the purpose of many of the buildings would have changed, but the layout and key buildings in a Priory would have stayed the same, just improved and repaired over the years that the site was in use:

The blue plaque marking the site of the Priory of the Blackfriars, shown earlier in the post, is at the north western edge of the priory buildings. If you find Carter Lane along the top of the plan, with the Lady Chapel, where Carter Lane meets Water Lane (the street that today is Black Friars Lane), the plaque is on what would have been the northern wall of the Lady Chapel, above the L of Lady.

I am starting a walk around the site of the Priory at the southern end of Black Friars Lane, where it meets Queen Victoria Street. In the above plan, this is the space to lower left which leads up to what was Water Lane.

On the left of the following photo would have been gardens, workshops and a smithy, leading down to the relocated City wall and the River Fleet. On the right would have been the Kitchen Yard and the Parliament Hall or Chamber:

Note that in the early 20th century street plan shown in red in the above plan, Printing House Square is shown to the right, and behind the Parliament Hall.

The buildings around Printing House Square were where the offices and printing machinery of the Times newspaper were based after John Walter brought the King’s Printing House in Blackfriars in 1784.

Further up, we reach the junction with Playhouse Yard. Black Friars Lane continues up to Carter Lane. The buildings on the left appear rather strange as their depth has been reduced to provide space for the railway, which now allows the Thameslink trains to run into Blackfriars Station, the tracks are behind the wall on the left:

In the above photo, the turning on the right is into Play House Yard. The name comes from the Blackfriars Theatre that was on part of the site between 1596 and 1655. The theatre seems to have been mainly used during the winter months. The Globe and Rose theatres on the low lying south bank of the river would often be surrounded by muddy water following heavy rains and when the Thames breached the limited river bank defences then in place, so Blackfriars, on a rising slope above the Thames was a good alternative.

This is the view looking into Play House Yard, and here we are coming from the Kitchen Yard, crossing the Kitchen, and part of the Refectory (or Frater as shown in the above plan), with the southern part of the main cloister in the distance:

Offices are in the building on the left, and just a bit further to the left, behind the offices is Apothecaries’ Hall.

The Apothecaries’ moved into the old Guest House of the Priory, which became their Hall in 1632. The building was lost during the Great Fire of 1666, and the Apothecaries’ rebuilt their hall on the same site in 1670, with some rebuilding in 1786, from when the brick parts of the overall complex, facing the street in the above and below photos date from.

The Hall is Grade I listed, and according to the listing the Hall includes “slight medieval remains of Blackfriars’ Priory”. The Apothecaries’ Hall from Black Friars Lane:

The Porter’s Lodge of the Priory was located where the Apothecaries’ Hall meets Black Friars Lane, and from here a gallery provided a walking route down to the new location of the City Wall alongside the Fleet, where there was a small crossing over the Fleet.

In Play House Yard, looking back towards the entrance from Black Friars Lane, and the buildings around the Apothecaries’ Hall are directly in front. This is where the Guest Hall and Guest House were located. To the right was the southern side of the main Cloister:

To the right of the above photo is an alley by the name of Church Entry and which leads up to Carter Lane. It is here that we find the core of the Priory. In the following photo looking north along Church Entry, the eastern side of the main Cloister would have been on the left. To the right was a School House, then a Chapter House, and further along the alley, just past where the white wall juts in from the left, would have been the magnificent tower of the Priory’s church:

To the left of Church Entry was the Nave and the Choir was to the right, with the tower between. The name Church Entry for the alley is down to the alley being the entry point into the church, running north-south underneath the tower.

Along Church Entry is the entrance to a raised garden:

This open space was once part of the Preaching Nave of the Priory Church. After the Nave was demolished, the space was used as a churchyard for the parish of St. Ann, Blackfriars. Closed for burials in 1849, it is now a garden maintained by the City.

In the years when the Priory was in use, the Nave would have extended to the left of the following photo, and through the buildings that now occupy the space on the left. This would have been one of the most important parts of the Priory. In the plan of the Priory, it is labelled as the Preaching Nave, as this is where the friars would have fulfilled one of the Order’s main roles of preaching.

One of the major events early in the life of the Priory was the Priory’s role in the funeral of Eleanor of Castile. After the funeral of Eleanor at Westminster Abbey, there was one last act for her husband Edward I to attend to, and that was the burial of Eleanor’s heart at the Dominican Priory at Blackfriars on Tuesday the 19th of December, 1290.

The priory at Blackfriars was well known to Edward and Eleanor as the heart of their son Alfonso who had died in 1284 at the age of 10 had already been buried at Blackfriars, so Eleanor probably had been planning for her heart to be buried with that of her son. (for more on Eleanor of Castile, see my series of posts on the line of Eleanor Crosses and the journey from the place of her death, back to London, starting in this post),

It was also Edward I who had specified that the redirected City wall, along the River Fleet was to be built at the expense of the City. A decision which must have pleased the Friars.

There are very few records of life within the priory, and most recorded events come from the time of Henry VIII. In 1522, the visiting Emperor Charles V was put up by Henry VIII at the priory, and Henry VIII had a covered gallery constructed from the western edge of the priory across from the Porter’s Lodge down to Bridewell Bridge, which crossed the Fleet and gave access to Henry’s new palace at Bridewell, enabling Charles V to reach the palace from his lodging in the priory without getting wet if it rained.

The Gallery can just be seen on the left edge of the plan of the priory earlier in the post.

During Henry VIII’s divorce from Catherine of Aragon, Catherine was put on trial before the papal legate at the priory.

Where Church Entry meets Carter Lane:

Walking back to Play House Yard, I then turned east into Ireland Yard, as here we can see a small bit of stone wall that was possibly part of the medieval Priory.

Ireland Yard takes its name from the Ireland family. Early in the 17th century a William Ireland owned property here, and for some reason, the family gave their name to the street, which runs between Play House Yard and St. Andrew’s Hill.

A short distance along Ireland Yard, on the northern side are these brick walls with a gate and steps leading up to a raised open space:

Walk up the steps, look to the right and you will see the remains of a wall:

This fragment of a rubble wall is Grade II listed, and in the listing record it is stated that it is “Probably part of former Dominican Convent (Blackfriars)”.

The use of “probably” illustrates the problem of being really sure when describing the origins of small bits of a structure. If it is from the Priory, then it would possibly have formed the southern wall of the Provincial’s Hall.

The Provincial’s Hall had an upper floor so a strong wall would have been needed. The plan of the Priory states that over the hall was a Dorter (the sleeping area for the friars).

The open space at the top of the steps, looking back towards Ireland Yard is shown in the following photo. The Provincial’s Hall with the friars sleeping quarters ran across the southern part of this space, by the steps. To the right was the Chapter House, and it seems that the parish church of St. Ann may have used the Chapter House, with the churchyard occupying part of this space, as well as the space in Church Entry where the Nave of the Priory Church was located:

Continuing along Ireland Yard, and the next street running up to Carter Lane is Friar Street:

Friar Street marks the easterly limit of the buildings that made up the Priory. The Priory estate continued to the east with the Prior’s Garden which ran all the way to what is now St. Andrew’s Hill.

In the above photo, the eastern end of the Choir was to the left of the far end of the street, and where Friar Street meets Ireland Yard was the eastern end of the Provincial’s Hall. The Prior’s Gardens were to the right of the above photo.

Continuing along Ireland Yard, and we come to St. Andrew’s Hill, a street that runs up from Queen Victoria Street to Carter Lane.

St. Andrew’s Hill was originally Puddle Dock Hill as the street ran down to Puddle Dock on the Thames, which was used by the Friars as their access to the river.

St. Andrew’s Hill / Puddle Dock Hill formed the eastern boundary of the Friary, and it was at the junction with Ireland Yard that the east gatehouse was located.

On the left of the entrance to Ireland Yard is the Cockpit pub. The current pub building is mainly from 1842, however a pub is alleged to have been here from the 16th century and the name is a reference to cock-fighting and the associated gambling that once took place here. It would have been a logical place for a pub, right next to the gatehouse to the old Friary estate.

There is a reference to the gatehouse on the plaque on the building to the right in the above photo. The plaque records that William Shakespeare purchased lodgings in the Blackfriars Gatehouse on the 19th of March, 1613:

Walking up to Carter Lane, and looking west from the north east corner of the Friary estate:

It is interesting how street patterns retain a memory from what was there in previous centuries.

In the above photo, the boundary wall of the Priory estate cut across the wider part of the road, then turned a short distance up the road to the right, before heading north west, where it met the City wall at the point where it had been redirected to the west to free up space for the Friary.

So in the above photo, where Carter Lane narrows is the point where the street ran within the Priory, with Priory buildings to the left, and the principal graveyard of the Priory to the right. The narrowing of Carter Lane my reflect that the narrow part ran within the Priory grounds..

At the western end of Carter Lane, I meet the junction with Ludgate Broadway and Black Friars Lane, and the following photo is looking back along Carter Lane. The impressive nave of the church was on the right, the principal graveyard was on the left. Behind me, gardens ran down to the rerouted City wall which then ran along the banks of the River Fleet, now New Bridge Street:

Whilst a single part of what may have been a rubble stone wall of the Priory remains above ground, there are still arcaeological remains below ground, however the majority of the Priory remains have been lost.

During the mid-19th century, John Wykeham Archer recorded a number of the surviving parts of the Priory in a series of prints. The following print dates from 1853 and shows the remains of a wall and base of a pillar underneath the Times printing office (all the following three prints are: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.):

The following from 1855 shows the remains of an arch:

And the following print, also from 1855, shows the base of a tower. In the print above and that below, there are men looking as if they are breaking up the structure and carrying stones away in baskets. This must have been the fate of much of the old Priory with the stone being reused in other construction projects:

In a few decades time, it will be 500 years since the Dominican Order surrendered their Priory to Henry VIII, the site sold off and the area began the transformation to the place we see today.

The Priory occupied a large area, it required a significant rerouting of the City wall, and appears to have been an impressive place, with the central nave, choir and tower dominating the Priory.

It lasted for just under 300 years, but the name that came from the sight of the Friars in their black capes still resonates through the area today.

Resources – Mapping at the National Library of Scotland

And now for the second of my monthly additions to a post detailing some of the resources I use for research, and for this month there is a website that can easily lead to an evening of distraction as you explore the street layout of places from over 100 years ago.

The National Library of Scotland has an extensive range of maps which have been digitised and aligned with maps of today. These maps cover not only London, but much of the country, so for example, if you want to see the countryside and villages lost under Harlow new town, as they were at the end of the 19th century, or how much Lincoln has expanded from a country town to the city it is today, it is all there.

The website is at: https://maps.nls.uk/ where you will find the following page:

Click on Geo-referenced maps in the top row of options, and you will be taken to a map with an Ordnance Survey map overlaying a modern map.

From here you can zoom in and out and move the map with a mouse, and at bottom left there is a “Change transparency of overlay” slider where you can reveal the modern base map to help with locating a place before going back to the older map.

Above the slider, you can select a map. The OS Six Inch 1888-1915 is a good place to start, but clicking the down arrow to the right of the select a map box will bring up a list of other available maps. There are plenty to explore.

From the main page shown above you can also view a “Side by side viewer” which places an old and a modern map next to each other, and zooming in and out, or moving one of the maps synchronises with the other map.

There is much to explore at the site, and it is worthwhile spending some time exploring all the different features and options to get to know how the site work, or just zoom in on your current street or home town to see what was there at the end of the 19th century.

The National Library of Scotland have done a remarkable job with putting these maps on line, aligning with maps of today, and making the site so easy to use – a wonderful resource, not just for London, but the whole country.

What I Am Reading – Maritime Metropolis by Sarah Palmer

I also thought I would include in these resources additions to posts, a monthly book, and for this month it is a book that I have just purchased and am currently reading, Maritime Metropolis London and its Port, 1780-1914 by Sarah Palmer:

I have been hesitating to buy this book for some time as the published price of the book is £90, but finally purchased a copy as the subject to so close to my interest in the relationship between London and river and docks that made up the Port.

It is published by Cambridge University Press so could come under the category of an academic title, hence the price.

Many histories of London look at either the city or the port, almost in isolation, however the approach taken by Sarah Palmer in Maritime Metropolis is that the history of both are intertwined. London is a Port City and almost every aspect of the city’s development has been influenced by the port, and the port was able to develop because of London.

This is a view that I have long taken, and today, with the loss of the docks, London has in many ways lost its connection with the river, and the route to the world that the river provided.

It is also why London has in some ways lost its identity. It is no longer a port city, it is no longer home to the largest dock complex in the world, and the enormous volumes of trade that once passed through the city. Indeed up until the later part of the 20th century, ships taking goods to and from London has been a key part of the city’s function, and in the lives of the city’s residents, for almost its entire history.

If you want to understand the deep connection between London and its Port, then Maritime Metropolis is a comprehensive and very readable account.

alondoninheritance.com

Narrow Street – The Story of a Riverside Community

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Back in January I published the following photo, taken by my father in August 1948, which shows the rear of the buildings along Narrow Street in Limehouse. It was in a post about William Adams – The Adventures of a Limehouse Apprentice, and was used to illustrate how so much of Limehouse had a working relationship with the Thames, and I wrote that I would return to the photo to tell the story of some of the buildings.

The photo shows the rear of the buildings along Narrow Street. There are barges and lighters on the foreshore, and the majority of the buildings have structures on, or alongside the foreshore, showing that each building had some form of relationship with the river.

It is a place where for many of the occupants of the buildings, the river was either a place of work, or their onshore work was dependent on the river, the trade that the river brought to London and the wealth created by the river (although for the majority of the residents of Limehouse, very little of that wealth trickled down to them).

The same terrace of houses along Narrow Street today (my photo is looking straight at the terrace from the opposite embankment, where my father’s photo shows the terrace from an angle, and lower down as he was on a ship on the river):

The following extract from father’s photo shows the buildings to the left of the photo. I will be going into some detail as to the occupants of the buildings later in the post, but compare the following photo with the one above, as it shows the change that has happened across the Thames, from a working river, where many of the buildings along the river’s edge were involved in someway with the river, an industrial scene, barges and lighters on the foreshore, where the photo of the terrace today shows a clean foreshore, with the houses looking out on to a quiet river, mainly populated with Thames Clipper passenger boats, Ribs taking people on high speed trips along the river, containers of London’s rubbish being taken further down the Thames for incineration, and the occasional cruise ship heading for a berth along side HMS Belfast:

The following 19th century print shows the same terrace of houses. The tower of St. Anne’s Limehouse is in the background to the above print and the 1948 photo:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

Buildings have occupied the river’s edge in Limehouse for centuries, with Narrow Street providing a road alongside the inland façade of these buildings.

In the following extract from Rocque’s 1746 map, I have marked the terrace in my father’s photo with a yellow line. The red arrow is pointing to Duke Shore, which I will come back to later in the post:

The following extract is from “A New and Correct Plan of the Cities of London and Westminster”, published by Haines and Son in 1796, and again I have marked the terrace in the 1948 photo with a yellow line:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

This map shows the clustering of building in Limehouse in the 18th century, with much of the area to the north and east still rural, with fields and marsh. The feature marked as Lea River in the above map is the Limehouse Cut, that had recently been completed from the River Lea to the Thames, west of the Isle of Dogs, thereby allowing boats on the River Lea heading towards the City to take a short cut, rather than having to travel around the bulge of the Isle of Dogs.

The maps above show the area alongside Narrow Street has been occupied since the mid 18th century, however it has been occupied for very much longer as my post on William Adam’s demonstrated, when Adam’s became an apprentice to a boat builder in Limehouse in the 1570s.

The transformation of the area as we see it today, is therefore a very short period in Narrow Street’s long history as for centuries it was intimately connected with industry and trade on the river.

I can only illustrate a very small part of this long history in a single blog post, so I will start with a look at the terrace of buildings in the left side of the 1948 photo, explore who lived in the houses, the businesses that operated alongside the Thames, and compare with the area today, starting with the following then and now comparison, with the coloured arrows referencing the same places in both photos and also used as references in the rest of the post:

Working from left to right, the red arrow points to a gap, with a house on the site today. I will return to this location later in the post.

The yellow arrow points to the Grapes pub, a pub that claims to have stood on the site for nearly 500 years, and I have no reason to doubt that age, as what is now Narrow Street has been a street alongside the river for centuries, and whilst in land was still rural, light industries such as boat building occupied the river front.

There are many newspaper references to the pub, starting in the 1800s, when it was written about as “Mrs. Horsley’s Bunch of Grapes”. For example, in an 1805 advert Mrs. Horseley was advertising for staff for the pub, and in the same year, an auction in the pub of “free hold houses” in Limehouse was being advertised.

The 1911 census records that in the Grapes lived William George Higgins, aged 32 and listed as the Licensed Victualler. He lived in the pub with his wide Charlotte aged 35, and 7 children ranging in age from 5 months to 14.

Charlotte had been married before as one of the 7 children was listed as a stepson to William Higgins. He was also the oldest, at 14. Charlotte was recorded as “helping in the business”. She had had 8 children, one of which had died, with 7 surviving.

The members of the Higgins family had not moved far, as they were all listed as having been born in either Mile End, Stepney or Poplar.

The following photo shows the Grapes from Narrow Street, and it was typical of the times that such a narrow house would be home to a business as well as nine people – two adults and seven children:

Numbering of houses in Narrow Street seems to have stayed the same since the 1911 census, and the following extract from Open Street Map shows the stretch of buildings. The Grapes is shown towards the left, this is number 76. Not all the houses had a return in the 1911 census, but we can trace many of the occupants of the houses from the census (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

At number 82 Narrow Street was William Ritchie aged 66 with his wife Mary 64. He was listed as a store keeper. They were recorded as having 7 children, all surviving but none living at home. Also living in the house was their nephew David aged 30 who was a general labourer.

At 84 Narrow Street was Charles Brammall, a 55 year old Lighterman who lived in the house with his wife Elizabeth aged 56, daughter Jessie aged 24 and son Sydney aged 14.

As an indication of the birth rate and the frequently high death rate for young children, Elizabeth had had a total of 9 children, 4 had died and 5 were still living. Jessie was recorded as “Help at Home”, whilst Sydney was still at school, although at 14 this would not be for much longer.

In my father’s 1948 photo, the rear of number 84 Narrow Street is the house in the following extract from the photo with the word “ETHEREDGE”. In 1948, the building was also occupied by Charles and Arthur Etheredge who were tug owners:

The Etheredge firm had operated from Narrow Street since the 1890s, so I suspect the residents in the 1911 census were either employees of the company, or were living in rented out upper floors.

Etheredge advertised their services as follows: “Vessels Towed to any part of the CHANNEL. Ships transported from Docks to Dry Docks”. As well as offices in the building at Narrow Street, they were also at the London Shipping Exchange, and if you wanted to send them a telegram to get a tug boat for your ship, they had the Telegram address of “TUGBOAT LONDON”.

At 86 Narrow Street was John Barnett aged 77, recorded as being a General Dealer with his 45 year old wife Caroline (quite an age gap) and 3 daughters aged 10, 8 and 6.

At 88 Narrow Street was George Costino aged 60, a Lighterman, and his 60 year old wife Clara. They were the only people in the house, and under children, it was recorded as “none”.

There is no number 90 in the census returns. This is probably down to it being part of the W.N. Sparks business. I will come to this business shortly, but for now, the following is a brief description of number 90 from 1955: “No. 90 is indisputably the oldest. I doubt it was once the home and workshop of an Elizabethan mast and spar maker, as local gossip claims, but one of the firm’s employees did in fact find a spade guinea and a doubloon there”.

Whilst the majority of Narrow Street residents seem to have been born in east London, some had moved to Limehouse, often from a considerable distance.

At number 92 was Robert Gilmore, age 26, who was listed as being single and having a job as a house painter. He was living in the house with Sydney Gilmore, his 2 year old son. Also in the house was Mary Stephenson, a 37 year old House Keeper.

Robert and Sydney had come from Scotland, with Sydney being born in Aberdeen. Robert was listed as being single rather than a widower, so it is interesting to speculate why he had moved from Aberdeen to Limehouse with his very young son.

The housekeeper Mary, had also moved some distance, coming from Cumberland.

Number 92 was also home to Caroline Thorn, 68 and a widow. She lived in the house with her son William, 31 and a General Labourer in the shipping trade, daughters Rosetta (25) a Dining Rooms Waitress and Amy (23) a Restaurant Cook.

All three children were single, and it is interesting when reading census date from over one hundred years ago, that many children were still single and listed as living at home, well into their late 20s and early 30s. Often this seems to be written about as a more recent trend, however it could have been something seen more in major industrial cities in the past.

Number 94 is the building highlighted by the orange arrow in the above then and now photo combination. The following is an enlargement from the original photo, and shows number 94. There are a large number of barges on the foreshore between the building and river, and we can see the name W.N. SPAR, with the rest of the name obscured by the mast and sale:

This was the barge building business of W.N. Sparks, and in 1911, the census records that the building was the home of Reuben James Sparks (30), a Barge Builder and Surveyor, his wife Georgina Sparks (35), daughter Ruby aged 6 and son William, who was 3 months old.

Reuben Sparks had taken over the business from his father, William Nathanial Sparks (hence W.N. Sparks on the building in 1948) who was born in 1848, and in the 1891 census, he was listed as being a Marine Surveyor and was also living at 94 Narrow Street, with his wife Sarah and their 8 children, ranging in age from Mary (19) recorded as being an Organist, down to Lily aged 3. Sarah’s sister Elizabeth was also recorded as living in number 94. She was aged 22 and a machinist, so there were 11 people living in the building, as well as the barge building business..

Reuben was their fifth child, but took over the business as he was the oldest son, the older three children were all daughters.

By the time of the 1911 census, William Nathaniel Sparks had moved from Limehouse to Ilford, where he was living at 38 Mansfield Road. The house is still there, and although now the exterior has been rendered and the house appears to be of multiple occupancy, it was a substantial brick house of the late 19th / early 20 century, so William’s barge building business in Limehouse had obviously been profitable.

In 1911, William was 64, but was still recorded as being a Marine Surveyor Barge Business, but I suspect by then he was mainly retired, leaving the barge business to his son Reuben.

William still had three of his children at home, who were all single. Grace (34), a professional vocalist, Edith (29), Ernest (27), a clerk, and Lily (24) also a professional vocalist.

In the house was also Ann, a servant and Elizabeth, a nurse, so one of the Sparks family probably needed extra medical care.

William and Reuben Sparks were just one in a line of barge building at the same site in Narrow Street.

The following print from 1876 shows the view along the same terrace of buildings as in my father’s photo, and on the right of the print is number 94, and rather than the name W.N. Sparks, the sign reads “Surridge and Hartnoll Barge Builders”:

The only reference I can find to Surridge and Hartnoll is their inclusion in a list or partnerships dissolved in May 1879, when they were listed as being barge builders, shipwrights, mast and sail makers. The record also detailed that as well as 94 Narrow Street, they also operated at Fisher’s Wharf in Millwall.

Number 94 had some history. In an article in the Sphere on the 23rd of April, 1955 about Limehouse, there is the following about the building: “Local gossip maintains that the bricked in ovens on the ground floor are relics of a sugar bakery which formerly occupied the premises. But there is circumstantial evidence that the famous blue and white Limehouse chinaware began to appear in the middle of the eighteenth century. Like the other premises of Messrs. Sparks, this house is full of noble old beams and is a maze of rooms, stairways and trapdoors. Contrasting with the now abandoned kiln where the timbers for wooden barges were once steamed into shape are modern welding plant and electric machinery.”

The front of number 94, facing onto Narrow Street. As with the majority of this terrace of buildings, number 94 is Grade II listed:

It seems a long way back in the post, but if you go to the then and now photo. the green arrow is pointing to an area of open space on the foreshore known as Duke Shore.

This was long an open space, and is shown in Rocque’s 1746 map as an open space as it still is today, although there are two modern, narrow houses that block off Duke Shore from Narrow Street, and the adjacent stairs between street and foreshore have also been blocked off.

Also returning to the 1948 photo, and to the left of the Grapes was an open space. Unlike Duke Shore, this was normally a built space, and in the following photo, the building in the centre with the bay upper floor is the building that stood in the space:

The Grapes can be seen just to the right with the brewery name Taylor Walker & Co on the sign at the top or th3 pub.

The building shown in the above photo was once the Harbour Masters office, but in the 1911 census, it was occupied by James Smith aged 59 who was listed as an Inspector. He lived here with his wife Annie Caroline aged 37, and 9 children including what must have been children from his first marriage as ages ranged from 0 to 24. The eldest two sons were a Mechanical Engineer and a Lighterman. Also living in the house was Katheryn Helvin aged 16 from Poplar and listed as a General Domestic Servant.

The following photo is the right side of the 1948 photo, and continues to show the industrial theme of the buildings along the foreshore, however what I want to focus on with this extract is the chimney and two large buildings in the background:

The building on the right should give a clue as to their function, as we can see the words Taylor Walker. This was the Barley Mow Brewery of Taylor, Walker & Co,

Brewing started on the site in 1730 with the firm of Hare & Salmon. Edward Taylor became one of the partners in the brewing company in 1796 and John Taylor joined in 1816, and the firm eventually became known as Taylor, Walker & Co.

The Barley Mow Brewery buildings that we can just see in my father’s 1948 photo were from the 1889 rebuild and expansion of the brewery.

Ind Coope purchased the brewery in 1959, and with the consolidation and closure of many London breweries, brewing ceased at the Barley Mow in 1960.

After demolition of the brewery, the Barley Mow housing estate was built on the site. A couple of the tower blocks of the housing estate can be seen in my comparison photo earlier in the post.

One of the tower blocks of the estate suffered a strange fate, as when the Limehouse Link Tunnel was built through the area, the tower nearest the construction site was demolished as there was concern that vibration from construction and ground movement would damage the tower.

The article I quoted earlier from the Sphere on the 23rd of April, 1955 was focused on the change then taking place in Limehouse with a focus on Narrow Street, what was being lost, and what may come. The last few paragraphs from the article are below, the text includes a phrase which I suspect, always has, and always will apply to London “the illusion of permanency“:

“Possibly the most disturbing feature of the post-war world is the speed of change. Traditional methods, standards, customs and scenes are swiftly dissolving; and notwithstanding the advantages of streamlined substitutes, those of us who have known the illusion of permanency cannot help feeling that our world has suddenly become unstable.

Nowhere is this feature of to-day more in evidence than along the commercial Thames-side, where long stretches of the tideway banks, in many cases unchanged for a century or more, have been almost completely transformed within the short space of the post-war period. And now the rambling Limehouse waterfront of Messrs. W.N. Sparks and Sons, barge builders and repairers, almost the last of the river scene as Dickens knew it, is for sale.

If you do not know the Limehouse riverside, you are to imagine a line of tall, venerable buildings of varying age, their lower walls washed twice daily by the tides. The centre piece is a dark and cavernous barge-repair loft, usually lit for passing watermen by a dramatic spray of blue welding sparks. The frontages abut on Narrow Street between the Bunch of Grapes and Duke Shore Wharf – a street famous in our island history, for it re-echoes the steps of Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, William Burrough, Phineas Pett, Duncan Dunbar, Captain Cook and Jerome K. Jerome.”

In 1955, there was still an expectation that the area around Limehouse, as well as much of the river all the way to the City, would continue to be a place of physical trade and industry in the coming decades. I doubt they could have imagined just how much of this would be lost over the coming 30 years. The articles final paragraph:

“It is too much to expect that this rambling old water-front will be left intact; the modern tideway cannot afford to permit the picturesque to stand in the way of progress. But whatever streamlined industry supplants the old barge establishment, whatever new trade it attracts to the Port of London, some of us think the Thames will be poorer.”

There is obviously much more to be written about Narrow Street (for example see this post about Daniel Farson, a one time resident of one of the houses in the Narrow Street terrace), however the constraints of a weekly post limit what can be explored.

Tower Hamlets council had a plan to demolish parts of the terrace in the early 1970s to replace with a green space along the river. Fortunately this did not take place. The Grapes pub was saved by new leaseholders which included Evgeny Lebedev, and Sir Ian McKellen. The terrace is listed, which should help preserve this historic and fascinating range of buildings, that for so long was part of the working river.

However, as the 1955 article stated, there is always the “illusion of permanency”.

alondoninheritance.com

London House, Parish Clerks and Glovers – City of London Plaques

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Thanks for all the comments following last week’s post. The website has now been stable for over a week and a half. I have not changed anything or upgraded as suggested by the hosting provider, so I still have no idea of the root cause, but I hope whatever caused the problem will not reoccur.

Back to normal service, with a tour of three City of London plaques, which each have their own unique story to tell of the history of the City, and how these locations have changed over the centuries.

London House – The House with Two Plaques

Walk down Aldersgate Street, and there is an apartment / office building on the western side of the street, which has two plaques, one on each side of the entrance:

The building is called London House, and the two identical plaques both record that this is the site of London House, destroyed by fire in 1766:

The plaques that line the City streets are important to record specific sites in London’s history, but I can imagine that they are frustrating to the casual observer as they offer no context or further information.

The name London House came from a building on the site being occupied by the Bishops of London, however there are conflicting stories as to why they were in Aldersgate Street.

The book “A Dictionary of London” by Henry Harben (1918) states that “so called as being, after the Restoration, for some time the residence of the Bishops of London, in place of their Palace in St. Paul’s Churchyard”.

In “Old and New London”, Walter Thornbury (1878), states that “It was also used as a state prison in the Commonwealth-times, and subsequently became the temporary abode of the Bishops of London, after the Great Fire had treated their mansion in St. Paul’s Churchyard in a Puritanical and remorseless way”.

In “A New History of London Including Westminster and Southwark” John Noorthouck (1773) the story of the house is that “it was purchased after the restoration for the city mansion of the Bishop of London: from that time it was known by the name of London-house”.

So that is two sources for post restoration and one for after the Great Fire, but given that the Restoration (1660 – Charles II becomes Monarch) and the Great Fire (1666) both occurred in the same decade, both interpretations are sort of right.

I cannot find any images of London House, but it does appear in William Morgan’s 1682 Survey of London, where in the following extract, it is on the left of Aldersgate Street, and appears to be of some size, including a central courtyard and surrounding land:

I did find a 1747 plan of the building. It needs to be turned 90 degrees to the left to correspond with the above map, but it does align well with Morgan’s map, and the key shows the different parts of the overall complex:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

The text to the right states that “Charles II gave it to the Bishops of London”, so I suspect this demonstrates that both the earlier reasons for the Bishops use of the house are correct. They needed a new home after their building in St. Paul’s Churchyard was destroyed during the Great Fire, and Charles II was on the throne after the Restoration of the Monarchy, and he gave the Bishops the house in Aldersgate Street.

I like the description for “G”, The Garden as there being a “lofty elm”. hard to imagine that in Aldersgate Street of today. At “L”, there was the Great Gate and Porch to Aldersgate Street, so I suspect that London House had a rather impressive façade to the street.

The text with the above plan also mentions the previous owner, that it was “formerly belonging to Lord Petre”, when it was called Petre House.

Lord Petre is an interesting character. William Petre, originally a lawyer from Devon, became an assistant to Thomas Cromwell during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. (the family name was originally Peter, but William changed the name to Petre as the French sounding name was more in character with society and the Royal Court at the time).

As part of the dissolution process, William Petre visited the manors held by the Barking Abbey, one of these was a manor at Ingatestone, a village in Essex.

After the lands of Barking Abbey were surrendered to the Crown in 1539, William Petre purchased the manor at Ingatestone for £849, 12 shillings, and he set about demolishing the original stewards house, and built himself a new manor house.

This process may have been how he came to own the building that would become London House, but I cannot find any proof of this – it may have simply been a purchase as he needed a base in London of sufficient prominence for a country lawyer, then working for Thomas Cromwell.

He must have been a shrewd operator in both society and in the Court as the Petre family were Catholic, and managed to survive with very little impact on their position and fortunes.

The manor house at Ingatestone – Ingatestone Hall – still survives to this day, and continues to be owned by the Petre family.

Ingatestone Hall is well worth a visit, and to emphasise the risk of being a practising Catholic in the 16th century, there are two priest holes, used to conceal Catholic priests, to be seen during a tour of the house.

Ingatestone Hall:

The plaque records that London House was destroyed by fire in 1766. I can find no specific reports of the fire, and suspect it was just one of the many fires that continued to plague London, even after the building regulations and construction changes that came into being as a result of the 1666 Great Fire.

It is good that the current building on the site retains the name London House, and I think it is the only place I have come across in the City of London where there are two identical plaques marking the same historic feature.

First Hall of the Parish Clerks’ Company

In the following photo, there is a plaque marking the site until the mid sixteenth century of the first hall of the Parish Clerks’ Company. Difficult to see, so I have marked the location with the red arrow:

The plaque is in Clerks Place, not really a street or alley, rather a walkway leading of from Bishopsgate under one of the many office blocks that line the street.

On the right of the above photo is the side wall of the church of St. Ethelburga, a key marker to demonstrate how named places have shifted their location over the centuries, which I will come to after looking at the Parish Clerks’ Company:

The Parish Clerks’ Company are slightly different to the majority of the other Companies of the City of London, in that it is not associated with a trade, rather the Company is for parish clerks of the parishes and churches of the City of London, as well as a number of churches outside the original walls of the City, and from wider London.

The book “The Armorial Bearings of the Guilds of London” by John Bromley (1960) provides some background as to the age of the Company of Parish Clerks: “Unsupported tradition, based apparently upon a statement of John Stow, claims that the parish clerks of London were an incorporated body as early as 1233, but the first established charter to the Company is that of 22nd January 1441/2. Under this charter the chief parish clerks of the collegiate and parish churches of London, hitherto a brotherhood in honour of St. Nicholas, were formed into a perpetual corporation”.

As well as not representing a trade, there is another unique feature in the history of the Parish Clerks Company. During Henry VIII’s Reformation, the Parish Clerks Company were the only City of London Company that suffered the confiscation of all their property.

A new charter was granted to the “Master, Wardens and Brethren of the Parish Clerks of the City of London and liberties thereof” in 1611 / 1612, and their current charter dates from the 27th of February 1638.

In the years when the Company was first formed, the Middle Ages role of a parish clerk was as a clerk in minor orders who assisted the priest and helped with the preparation and running of church services and the choir.

After the Reformation, the Parish Clerk became more of a lay member role, and crucially it was the Parish Clerk who was responsible for recording the births and deaths of parishioners, including the cause of death, and this data was published as Bills of Mortality, which provides us with a detailed view of life and death in London (see my post here for a detailed review of Bills of mortality in early 18th century London, if you want to know about causes of death such as Planet Struck, or St. Anthony’s Fire).

The responsibility of Parish Clerks to record birth and death data for their parish seems to have run from the mid 16th century to the first decades of the 19th century, when a national system of registration was introduced in 1837.

The armorial bearings of the Company of Parish Clerks from the 1960 book by John Bromley:

The arms today are slightly different following a grant on the 16th October 1991, when “supporters” of angels standing on the top of ionic columns where added to both sides of the shield, and the helmet at the top of the shield has been changed to face directly out from the arms. All other features are the same..

The song book at the top of the arms is a “pricke songe book” meaning a piece of written vocal music, music which has been pricked, marked out or notated. No doubt a book that the parish clerk would have been responsible for.

The motto “Unitas societatis stabilitas” translates to ‘Unity is the support of Society’.

The plaque is to mark the site of the first hall of the Parish Clerks Company. The plaque records that it was the site of the hall until the mid sixteenth century, as this was when the hall was taken by the Crown during the Reformation.

The Company established a second hall at Brode Lane, however this was destroyed during the 1666 Great Fire. Their third hall was in Silver Street (just to the south of London Wall, near the old Museum of London site), but this third hall was destroyed by bombing during the night of the 29th / 30th of December 1940.

The Parish Clerks Company did not build a fourth hall, and today make use of space in other halls of City Livery companies, as and when needed.

The company is still active today, and membership “is limited to those who have been appointed by the parochial or guild church council and the incumbent to hold the office of parish clerk in certain ancient parishes in the City of London and its immediate suburbs”, so continuing a tradition lasting several hundreds of years.

What I am not sure about is whether the plaque is in the correct position, certainly Clerks Place is in the wrong position.

The following is an extract from the 1951 revision of the OS map:

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

The Church of St Ethelburga is at the end of the red arrow. This is the church on the right of the location of the plaque, the current position of the plaque is pointed out by the yellow arrow.

Clark’s Place can be seen just to the north (blue arrow), although to add some further mystery, the name is spelt Clark rather than Clerk. There is no Clerk’s Place next to St. Ethelburga, although there is a very small space next to the church.

The following is an extra from Rocque’s map of 1746, and again shows a Clarks Alley (yellow arrow), rather than Place, and no alley or place next to St Ethelburga (red arrow):

In “A Dictionary of London” by Henry Harben (1918), Clark’s Alley is listed, as is Clark’s Hall – “On the east side of Bishopsgate, ‘was a fayer entrie or Court to the common hall of the saide Parish Clarkes”. and Clarke’s Place is also listed as being “east out of Bishopsgate. First mention 1848 – 1851. Former names Clark’s Alley and Clark’s Court”.

As I was writing the above, I was thinking that this is getting too detailed, but I hope it demonstrates the following:

with almost anything historical, it helps to be aware that anything, including plaques, street names that have a historical name etc., may not be in the right place
the spellings Clerk and Clark seem to have been used interchangeably for centuries (newspapers contain hundreds of reference to both a Parish Clark or Clerk over the last 300 years)
Clarks / Clerks Alley / Place was further north than the current route of the walkway named Clerks Place. I suspect this was to free up a large amount of space for the buildings that now occupy the original location, with the route being moved next to St. Ethelburga
the City of London plaque states “On this site”, implying that the Parish Clerks’ Company Hall was where the plaque is located, but if the hall was next to Clarks Alley, then it was further north. I wonder if this is the original plaque from before the new towers were built, and it was simply moved a bit further south, still to recall the hall, but now at the wrong place

A perfect example of the rabbit holes I find myself going down when researching posts.

The Worshipful Company of Parish Clerks are still going today, their website can be found here, where there is a really good list of parish churches in the City, as well as churches outside of the City where the parish clerk may still be admitted to the Company.

To demonstrate just how many churches there were in the City, the listing states that prior to the 1666 Great Fire, there were 97 parish churches within the walls of the City of London. A remarkable number for such a relatively small space. You must have been never more than a couple of minutes walk at most, from a City church.

Glovers Hall

On the Cromwell Highwalk, one of the elevated walkways within the Barbican estate, and next to Cromwell Tower there is a plaque:

Recording that near this site stood Glovers Hall, 17th to 19th century:

Ordinances to create the Glovers Company were agreed in 1349, so that the company could regulate the craft of glove making in London.

By 1489, the craft of glove making was in decline, so the company merged with another company with a declining trade – the Pursers, and in 1502, the combined Glovers and Pursers joined with the Leathersellers Company.

In 1639, the Glovers exited the combined company, and again became a separate company of Glovers.

The hall referred to on the plaque was purchased in the mid 17th century, and the plaque is in almost the right place as my best estimate is that the hall was slightly to the right, in front of the present day Cromwell Tower, and obviously at a lower level to the Cromwell Highwalk where the plaque is located today.

Rocque’s 1746 map of London shows the Glovers Hall (within the red oval), with Glovers Court just below:

Beech Lane just to the right is today Beech Street, and the alignment of the street has been straightened to get rid of the bend to the left shown in the map.

One of the activities of the Company in regulating the trade of Glovers included the prosecution of anyone carrying on the trade of Glover, who had not had the appropriate training or was not conforming to set standards. An example of where people were prosecuted included the following report in the Kentish Weekly Post on the 6th of December 1732:

“On Saturday was tried at Westminster, before the Lord Chief Justice Byre, a Cause depending between the Company of Glovers of London, Plaintiffs, and a Gloveseller in the Strand, Defendant, he being sued for carrying on the Trade of a Glover, not having served 7 Years thereto, and after a Trial of near 2 hours, the Jury, without going out, brought in a Verdict for the Plaintiffs, with Damages and Costs of Suit.”

The City companies were were very protective of their trade, and their members interests.

There are many reports of really strange sensitivities about certain elements of clothing, and between their manufacturers and City Companies. The following from 1739 is a typical example, and shows the strange things going on in London in previous centuries:

“Tyburn was hung with Women’s Thread and Cotton Gloves, to disgrace the wearing of them; the Stocking Weavers encroaching on the Glovers in this Branch of Trade has occasioned much Difference between them; The Glovers are willing to allow the Stocking Weavers the Legs as their property, but hope at the same time the Ladies will assist them with their Hands, by wearing Leather Gloves.”

Another example of the level of specialisation in manufacture, and how each group were fiercely protective of their trade.

Strangely, the arms of the Glovers do not include any gloves, but there are rams, along with the motto of the Glovers: “True hearts warm hands”:

The Glovers do not appear to have been a well funded company, and the 19th century reference in the plaque was when the Glovers sold their hall to raise funds.

An indication of the financial state of the company can be had from the following report on the company in 1834: “Formerly, when the Company used to have dinners, they had stewards, but since they have become too poor to afford entertainments, the stewards’ office was abolished. The members sometimes dine together, but very seldom, then the expense is usually made up by individual subscription, and sometimes the expense is defrayed out of a small general fund they have.”

Since the sale of their hall, the Glovers do not seem to have had their own hall, instead making use of the halls of other City Company’s, although there is a strange reference to the Glovers Hall in a 1953 report in the Bromley and West Kent Mercury when a casket made by a Mr. J.H. Easden of Chislehurst following a commission from the Glovers Company to hold a glove for presentation to the new queen, Elizabeth I, was “taken to the Glovers Hall in the City of London, so that members attending a social function could see it.”

I suspect this was probably an error and the Glovers were making use of another City hall.

The Glovers are one of the smaller City companies that has often struggled over the centuries to survive, both financially and with a purpose. The time when these Companies were responsible for the regulation of a trade within the City has long gone, but those that survive, including the Glovers, now mainly have a charitable function, and also try to support their trade in the form it takes today.

According to their website, the Glovers also maintain a comprehensive collection of gloves at the Fashion Museum, Bath, although a quick search on the museum’s website makes no mention of the collection.

Each plaque only gives a very brief glimpse of the considerable history behind each one. Although there is insufficient room on a plaque for much more detail, adding perhaps a QR code linked to a website, such as the Museum of London, with a listing of all the plaques and some of their stories, would enhance a walk along the City streets.

alondoninheritance.com

An Apology

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For the first time in just over 11 years, I have not been able to complete a post.

We were away for the whole of the last week, with very limited Internet access, and the week before I planned to complete two posts, the Essex Street Water Gate post which I did finish for last Sunday, and a second post for today, the 15th of June.

However, whilst trying to complete these posts, the website kept going down.

I managed to complete the Essex Street post, but also spent loads of time trying the find out why the website kept going down. Not for long periods, just over one hour was the maximum downtime, but there were many shorter periods of around 20 minutes – not helpful when you are trying to complete a post.

I spent lots of time in contact with the hosting provider. The first agent I was in contact with said the site was over using the available resources, and said this may be down to a number of out of date software components, or to a hacking attempt, and recommended that I upgrade some of the software and install some additional; security software, which I did.

The site kept on going down.

Back in contact with the hosting provider, and a different agent, who now said that the up to date software modules could be in conflict, or that the security software could be over using resources.

Running very short of time, I just about completed last Sunday’s post, unloaded anything that was not essential for the website – and we went away.

The website did continue to suffer some downtime, but not as much, and the last brief period of 6 minutes downtime was last Tuesday afternoon, and it has been up 100% of the time since then.

So, I have no idea what caused the problems.

The hosting provider has also recommended that I upgrade the site to their next service tier, which I am happy to do, but would prefer to know the root cause of the problems, to have confidence that an upgrade would be the fix.

I will see what happens this coming week, but hopefully normal service will be resumed next Sunday.

alondoninheritance.com

Essex Street Water Gate and Stairs

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I have written about the area between the Strand and the Embankment in a number of previous posts. It is a fascinating place of alleys, steep streets to the river, and a place where we can still find features that are reminders of long lost landscapes.

One such feature can be found at the southern end of Essex Street, where the street appears to come to an end, with a large gap in the building at the end of the street framing the view towards the Embankment:

The archway through the building at the end of Essex Street leads to a set of stairs down to what would have been the level of the Thames. The archway in the 1920s from the book Wonderful London:

I love the details in these photos. There appears to be a child at lower left of the arch, who looks like they are holding a small dog or cat.

At first glance, the arch and surrounding building looks the same as the photo from 100 years ago, however looking closer and there are differences. The brickwork in the semi-circular area below the two round windows and above the entrance appears far more recessed in the 1920s than it does today, and along the wall between first and second floors there appears to be a white decorative band protruding from the brickwork which is not there today, so I suspect there has been some rebuilding / restoration of the building and arch.

A look at the London County Council Bomb Damage Map shows that there has indeed been some considerable post-war rebuilding, as the building surrounding the arch at the end of Essex Street is coloured deep purple, indicating serious damage.

A look through the arch in 2025:

The following photo from the the book “The Romance of London” by Alan Ivimy (1940), where the scene is described as “Water Gate, at Essex Street, Strand. This opening at the bottom of the street, which gives a view of green trees, is the old Water Gate, built into the surrounding houses, of Essex House, and the only survival of that great mansion”:

Essex House was one of the large houses that once lined the Strand, each with gardens leading down to the banks of the Thames. These houses would typically have their own access to the river as the river was frequently the fastest and safest method of travelling through London.

The caption in Alan Ivimey’s book is rather ambiguous as it states that the opening is the old water gate. It does not specifically state that the surrounding structure is the original water gate.

The houses lining the Strand often did have a feature where their private access to the river was located, as the view of these from the river would have acted as a location marker as well as a symbol of status, where a large, decorated structure acting as their gate to the river would have impressed visitors and those travelling along the Thames.

Another example is the Water Gate to York House, which was the subject of this post.

The arch was described as a Water Gate in the many illustrations of the feature that have appeared over the last couple of hundred years, including this print from 1848, where the Water Gate is described as the “stately portal with large columns to either side”:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

So is the arch a survivor from the time of Essex House? Any thoughts that this may be a historic survival are quickly dashed when looking through the Historic England listing.

The arch is Grade II listed, however the listing text states that it is a “Triumphal” gateway built in 1676 by Nicholas Barbon to terminate his Essex Street development, and to screen his development of a commercial wharf below. The listing also confirms that there was bomb damage, and the surrounding buildings date from 1953.

Looking through the arch, we can see the steps leading down to Milford Lane:

Through the arch and down the stairs, we can look back at the rear of the 1953 building, the stairs and the arch. The view shows how the height difference between the streets leading down from the Strand, and what was the foreshore of the Thames have been managed, where the ground floor from this angle is the basement from Essex Street:

Although the building was bombed in the 1940s, and rebuilt in the 1950s, this view still looked very similar to the 1920s:

So, although the arch has frequently been called the Essex Street, or Essex House Water Gate, it appears that the feature dates from Nicholas Barbon’s development of what had been the Essex House gardens, into Essex Street. It was bombed in the last war, restored and rebuilt, and the building surrounding the arch dates from the 1950s.

I mentioned at the start of the post how features such as the arch can act as reminders of a long lost landscape, and to see how this works, we need to follow a series of maps.

Starting with the area today, and I have marked the location of the arch / water gate with the red arrow in the map below (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

In the above map, we can see Essex Street running slightly north west from the water gate (red arrow), up to the Strand. In the area between the arch / water gate, we can see part of the Victoria Embankment gardens to lower left, and on the right are Temple Gardens.

Going back to William Morgan’s 1682 map of London, and we can see the area soon after Nicholas Barbon’s development, with the red arrow marking the water gate:

There are 343 years between Morgan’s map, and the area today, and the street layout is almost identical, with Essex Street running to the north west, up to the Strand. The same two streets running east and west about two thirds up the street, and Milford Lane (blue arrow) running from the west to the south of the stairs in almost exactly the same alignment as today.

Morgan’s map shows a gap between the buildings at the end of Essex Street, where the arch is today. The map appears to show an open gap, with no arch, or floors above the arch. Whether this was an error in the map, whether the arch had not yet been built, or whether Barbon initially only put pillars on the building to the side of the gap as decoration, without an arch, would require much more research, but the key point is that the gap leading from Essex Street was there in 1682.

The 1682 map shows the stairs to the river, Essex Stairs (yellow arrow). These were not the stairs that lead down through the arch, but stairs at the end of what must have been a flat space between the water gate and the river, probably Barbon’s wharf development that the building and arch at the end of Essex Street was intended to screen.

To see how rapidly this area had changed, we can go back just five years from the above map, and the 1677 Ogilby and Morgan’s map of London.

In the extract below, we can see that Essex House, along with ornate gardens between the house and the Thames were still to be found. The red arrow marks the location of the water gate / arch we see today:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

Essex House can be seen close to the Strand, opposite the church of St. Clements.

Essex House was originally Exeter House as it was the London residence of the Bishop of Exeter who had been granted the site in the reign of Edward III.

The house and grounds were taken during the Reformation, after which it was purchased by Thomas Howard, the fourth Duke of Norfolk, who was arrested in the house and in 1572 he was beheaded for his part in the conspiracy of Mary Queen of Scots. The house was then owned by the Earl of Leicester, and became Leicester House. After his death, the property passed to his son-in-law, the Earl of Essex during the reign of Elizabeth I, and the house became Essex House.

Originally facing directly onto the Strand, by the time of the above map, we can see that houses and shops had been built between the house and the Strand, reflecting the slow decline in the importance of the large houses built along the Strand.

The house was pulled down around 1682, the same year as the map of William Morgan, however it is always difficult to be sure of exact publication dates, when the streets were surveyed for the map etc.

This may also answer why the gap of the water gate is shown without an arch as the William Morgan map may have used the plans for the area, rather than as finally built.

The 1677 map shows some interesting comparisons and features:

comparing the shoreline between the Thames and the land in the 1677 and 1682 maps, and after Bourbon’s development, an area of the foreshore appears to have been recovered – Barbon’s wharf development as mentioned in the Historic England listing
this would then put the current arch / water gate at the location of the original stairs at the end of the gardens, to the river
the slight north west angle of the gardens is roughly the same as the alignment of Essex Street today, so as we walk along Essex Street, we are walking along what must have been the central pathway through the gardens of Essex House
although not named in the map, Milford Lane is running to the east of Essex House, in the same alignment as the lane today (although in 1677 it did not have the bend round the base of the stairs. Milford Lane once formed the boundary between Essex House and Arundel House to the west

An extract from the 1677 map is shown below, covering the boundary with the Thames:

There are two boats moored at the end of the stairs down to the river at the end of the gardens of Essex House, where the water gate stairs are today.

There are two other sets of stairs shown on the map. On the left, there is a cluster of boats around Milford Stairs – named after the lane on the east of Essex House, and a lane we can still find today.

On the right there is a large cluster of boats around Temple Stairs.

Three stairs in a short distance shows just how many stairs there once were between the land and the river. Many still survive, but stairs such as Milford, Essex and Temple have disappeared beneath the land reclamation for the Embankment.

Temple Stairs appear to have been of a rather ornate stone design. The following print shows the Great Frost of the winter of 1683 / 4:

Image: © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

Temple Stairs are on the left edge of the print, and they appear to be a stone, bridge like structure, probably over the most muddy part of the foreshore, with a set of steps then leading down to the river, where a passenger would take a boat to be rowed across or along the river.

The print has a pencil note “Taken from the Temple Stairs”, but other British Museum notes to the print state that the print is from near the Temple Stairs.

The following photo was taken from the southern end of Milford Lane, where it joins Temple Place:

The above photo is looking across what was Nicholas Barbon’s wharf development, which the houses at the end of Essex Street were meant to screen, and before Barbon’s work, this would have been the Thames foreshore, with the stairs leading down from the gardens of Essex House to the river, where the gap of the water gate can be seen.

In the following photo, the entrance to Milford Lane is on the right, behind the red phone box. The building on the left is Two Temple Place:

Two Temple Place gives the impression of being of some considerable age, however it is built on what was the Thames foreshore, and dates from the early 1890s, when William Waldorf Astor commissioned the gothic revivalist architect John Loughborough Pearson to create the building.

One of the stand out features is the gilded weather vane, made by J. Starkie Gardner, a representation of Christopher Columbus’ ship, the Santa Maria:

The water gate is today an interesting architectural feature at the end of Essex Street. Perhaps more importantly, it is reminder of a long lost landscape, which dates from Essex House and the gardens which led down to stairs to the Thames. After the demolition of Essex House, Essex Street was built on the same alignment as the gardens, and the stairs then led down to Barbon’s commercial wharf on what had been the Thames foreshore.

Today, the 19th century Embankment has further separated Essex Street and the stairs from the river, and Two Thames Place is a symbol of late 19th century building on the recently reclaimed land of the Embankment.

The stairs are also a reminder of a time when there were very many stairs along this part of the river, important places in the daily lives of many Londoners.

Very much, a lost landscape.

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A Stoke Newington Church Street Ghost Sign

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I often get asked about resources to research and discover London’s history, so I plan to add a resources page to the blog / website, and to build up to that I am starting a monthly addition to a blog post covering one specific resource. This month it is the London Topographical Society, and is at the end of the post, but first, a visit to Stoke Newington Church Street, to find the site of a photo taken by my father, 40 years ago in 1985:

This is the building in 2025, with the same ghost sign on the front, along with a second on the side of the building, which seems to be advertising the Westminster Gazette and Criterion Matches, there may be something else there as well, but the signs shows how new advertisements resulted in the overpainting of earlier adverts:

The signage on the front of the building also shows evidence of earlier changes and additions, but looks much as it did 40 years ago:

The ladder at the ground floor shop was a nice bit of symmetry with the sign above, as it was being used by a sign writer to add the name of the business. Good that these are still done manually.

Walker Brothers (their name is top right on the front of the building) presumably had a shop in the building, selling and repairing fountain pens, including those made by Watermans (bottom right panel), who are still in business today.

Interesting that the word Fountain is abbreviated to Fount, presumably to get all the text on the sign at the right size to be seen.

There was very little to be found about the company, and they do not appear to have advertised, or been mentioned in the newspapers in the British Newspaper Archive.

The building is Grade II listed, and dates to early 18th century, indeed there are a number of listed buildings in Stoke Newington Church Street, which tells a story of the age of this street.

In the following map, Stoke Newington Church Street is the yellow road running left to right across the centre. Stoke Newington High Street, also known as the A10, is the road on the right running from bottom to top of the map. Abney Park Cemetery is the green space to the right, and Clissold Park is the green space to the left, so there is plenty of interest along this one street (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

Much of this area is of 19th century and later development, so why is there an early 18th century house in Stoke Newington Church Street?

To answer that, we can look at Rocque’s 1746 map of London, and we can see the street running left to right across the centre, from what is now Stoke Newington High Street on the right, to Newington Common on the left, which is now part of Clissold Park. The small river running to the left, and around Newington Common was the New River, bringing water in from Hertfordshire to the New River Company reservoirs at north Clerkenwell:

The wavy line of another stream can be seen in the upper half of the map, crossing the road at Stamford Bridge (hence the name), and then flowing south, heading towards the River Lea.

This was the Hackney Brook, one of London’s many lost streams and rivers, and a stream that was covered up during the mid 19th century, effectively becoming part of the sewer network.

We can see that in 1746, there were houses lining the street, including the house with the Fountain Pen sign we see today, and these houses had gardens extending behind them, with the rest of the map being fields.

Newington Church Street is therefore a street with some history, an interesting walk, with a number of other ghost signs, but in this post I want to look at some of the buildings, and what could be classed as modern day ghost signs.

I am starting on the corner of Stoke Newington High Street and Stoke Newington Church Street, where we find the Three Crowns:

The pub’s website claims that a pub has been here since the 1600s, with an original name of Cock and Harp, changed to the Three Crowns to represent England, Scotland and Ireland for James 1.

How far back in the 1600s is unclear, however there was a building on the site in Rocque’s 1746 map, and it would be the logical location for a pub, on the junction with a major road leading out of London, and the only significant set of buildings between Hoxton to the south and Tottenham to the north.

Surprisingly, the pub, and its rather decorative Saloon Lounge are not listed:

Another ghost sign:

This sign is not old, rather it is part of the Stoke Newington Heritage Mural project, and the poem that makes up the words across the wall is by children of the William Pattern Primary School.

I mentioned that there were what might be classed as modern ghost signs along the street. The first of these is above the middle (light blue) shop in the following photo:

A clock, presumably paid for, supplied by BASF when Church Street Electronics (television and audio) occupied the shop. BASF still exist as a chemicals company, and back in the 1970s / 80s made and sold cassette tapes. I remember them as being one of the more expensive, but better quality cassette tapes, and which did not jam in my Sharp cassette player in the car:

A short distance along is Stoke Newington Fire Station, and on the lower right of the building is a sign:

Proudly proclaiming that this is the G.L.C. London Fire Brigade:

The G.L.C. or Greater London Council was dissolved in 1986, so this sign is at least 39 years old, and interesting to see its survival on an official and still working building. I wonder if the phone to the left still works? In the days before the mobile phone, if you saw a fire, you could run to your nearest fire station, and use the phone on the wall outside to contact the fire brigade.

I do not know whether it is correct to call the clock and the GLC sign, ghost signs, but there are interesting reminders of the continuous change across London’s streets. I hope they both survive for many years to come. There are many similar examples to find across the streets of London.

Another traditional painted ghost sign, above a Gail’s bakery – a shop that is often used as an indicator of gentrification:

One of the entrances to Abney Park Cemetery is on Stoke Newington Church Street – a cemetery that deserves at least a couple of posts to do it justice:

The Clarence on the corner of Stoke Newington Church Street and Bouverie Road:

Not as old as the Three Crowns, the pub has the date 1860 on the side, and the date would seem right as I cannot find any earlier records of the pub, and it was probably built as the streets north of Stoke Newington Church Street were being developed, providing an increasing population and customers for the pub.

One of the newspaper reports mentioning the Clarence in the years after it opened, dates from the 26th of August, 1876. It reports that Charles Howard, a teetotal Police Detective, amused himself for a few nights by watching the pub, and seeing four Police Constable drinking outside of the pub, one of them from a pewter pot.

Howard took out summonses against them for drinking an intoxicating drink whilst on duty, however the case was thrown out by the magistrate as it was impossible to prove whether the Constables were drinking alcohol, or water or ginger beer.

Charles Howard had to pay a guinea costs, and I bet he was not popular with his work colleagues.

Further along is this lovely red brick pub – the Red Lion:

There appears to have been a pub on the site since the end of the 17th century, however the pub we see today dates from the 1920, when Lordship Road alongside was widened.

I generally do not trust AI, but results can be interesting to follow up. When I Googled the Red Lion, Google’s AI summary included the following: “some accounts suggest its original name was “The Greene Dragon”.

I always try to get references from the time, or from books and journals rather than Google, but I searched the British Newspaper Archive for the Greene Dragon, and found the following from the 22nd of October, 1773:

On Wednesday Night as Mr. Smith, a Barbados Merchant in Winchester Street, was going in his chariot to his house in Tottenham, he was stopped by a single Highwayman, who demanded his Money, putting a pistol into the Carriage and threatening to shoot him on not complying with his demand. Mr. Smith, not delivering the Cash immediately, the Fellow snapped his Pistol, which missed fired; the Gentleman’s Footman then prepared to fire at the Highwayman, which the later perceiving, discharged another Pistol at him, but missed; the Servant then discharged a Blunderbuss, when one of the Balls went through the Highwayman’s Arm, and entered his Heart, upon which he dropped from his Horse, and expired immediately. Mr. Smith called at the Green Dragon, Newington, and desired that the Body might be fetched thither, till the Coroner can sit upon it.

Yesterday Afternoon the Coroner’s Inquest sat on the Body of the Highwayman who was shot, at the Green Dragon at Stoke Newington, and brought in their Verdict, killed by Mr. Smith’s Servant in defending himself.

The above Highwayman was lately Coachman to Heaton Wilkes, Esq; had a Letter of Recommendation to that Gentleman, and Advertisement for a Service, and but Sixpence in his Pockets.”

The attempted robbery must have taken place on Stoke Newington High Street as Mr. Smith was going in his “chariot” to his house in Tottenham.

If the Green Dragon was the original name for the Red Lion, then it is interesting to wonder why the body was not taken to the Three Crowns rather than the pub that was a distance along Stoke Newington Church Street.

I have no firm evidence that the Red Lion was the Green Dragon (one of the problems of the time available for a weekly post), but it is an interesting story of life in the area in the 18th century, and the story of a rather inept Highwayman.

One of the pleasures of walking London’s streets is finding unique shops such as Bridgewood & Neitzert, Violin Dealers, Makers & Repairers:

These two houses are interesting for a number of reasons:

They are set back from the street, there are no shops projecting from the ground floor towards the pavement, and there is a plaque about an earlier building on the site:

They are Grade II listed, and according to the listing information, were built in 1717 (so were on Rocque’s 1746 map earlier in the post – they must have looked out on a very different view of Stoke Newington when built), and if you look at the photo of the two houses, the listing states that they were each served by a “ two-storey wing housing coach house, kitchens and servants’ quarters”. These two kitchens and servants wings are the two storey buildings on each side of the main house, now with shops on the ground floor running up to the pavement.

These two houses did have shops on the ground floor, part of 19th century additions to houses that lined the busy street, and these two shops were removed in 1993, revealing the houses we see today, and as they would have been (along with many others on the street), when first built.

The story of these houses is one of the transformation of London’s streets as the city expanded. When they were built, Stoke Newington Church Street was a single street, houses along the street, with gardens to the rear, then fields.

As the area was built up during the 19th century, these once grand country houses changed to houses of multiple occupancy, and had shops built in the space between the ground floor and the street. This has always been a busy street, so the added footfall of having a shop in a rapidly expanding part of London, made the benefit of building a shop considerable.

Many of these shops survive across London, and indeed are interesting 19th century survivors, but it is good to see these two houses, with their shops removed to see what the street would have looked like for much of the 18th and early 19th century.

The two storey house next to the two large houses, again Grade II listed and 18th century, but with the addition of a 19th century shop:

John’s Garden Centre closed in 2017, and the site has remained empty since. If you look at the first floor, the windows have metal shutters, and there is a heavy metal support for the upper floor wall, so it looks as if there are some structural problems, which probably explains why it has been empty for so long.

Hopefully its listing should help ensure the building is preserved, although sometimes listed building are left to decay until the point of no, financially viable, repair.

Another closed store is the Haikksun Chinese Resturant:

You would not realise to look at the building today, but it is Grade II listed, along with the building on the left and the terrace to the right.

The building is mid 18th century, and again the ground floor shop was added in the 19th century. At least the old house looks in better condition to that behind John’s Garden Centre.

We then come to Stoke Newington Town Hall & Assembly Hall:

There is far more to be written about the evolution of the street, residents, Abney Park Cemetery, Hackney Brook and the surrounding area, but now I want to introduce a new feature to the blog, a first Sunday of the month feature on resources.

As I mentioned at the start of the post, I frequently get asked for recommendations to research many different aspects of London’s history, so this feature will cover societies, websites, books, mapping etc. etc. and I will eventually bring them together in a single Resources page.

For the first of this series, can I introduce you to the London Topographical Society:

Resources: The London Topographical Society

I will point out that for anything I feature, there is no commercial aspect or benefit for me. It is my choice of what is featured, and I get no benefit of any kind (this is important to me so readers know that whatever I feature and write about is my choice, and there is no external influence or financial benefit for anything across the blog). The only commercial element are my walks, and the money from these is used to fund the costs of the blog.

I have been a member of the London Topographical Society for several years, and they are a wonderful source of publications and information regarding the history and development of London.

Their 1900 prospectus included the following statement:

And that is what they basically still do today. There is an annual society publication for members – an incredibly well researched and comprehensive hardback book on an aspect of London’s history, as well as two newsletters a year, and this is why I am somewhat biased in featuring the society first, as I have just started writing for them, and I have an article in the May newsletter (again, no commercial benefit for me in any form):

The London Topographical Society have a comprehensive set of publications available to purchase (members get a 25% discount), as well as information on their website to help with researching London’s history.

The annual subscription is currently £20 a year, and I have no idea how they publish an annual book of such a depth of research and quality of publication, free to members, at this subscription level.

If you are interested in London’s history, joining the London Topographical Society is probably one of the best £20 you can spend.

Their website with details of the society and how to join is here:

https://londontopsoc.org/

The next resources addition to a post will be in the first post in July.

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Bell Watergate Stairs – Woolwich

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It has been some months since I last wrote about a set of Thames Stairs, so for today’s post, I am visiting another of these historic places that for many years connected the river with the land, and were once an essential part of life in London for very many people.

This is Bell Watergate Stairs, Woolwich:

Bell Watergate Stairs are listed in the Port of London Authority’s guide to Steps, Stairs and Landing Places on the Tidal Thames, although there is not much information provided, just the name, that they consist of stairs and a causeway, and that the concrete stairs and handrail are in poor condition. They are also confirmed as being in use.

Bell Watergate Stairs look in pretty good condition today, still with concrete stairs leading down to a causeway, with a handrail to the side. The causeway runs across a wider open space, and on the right is a sloping approach to the foreshore lined with stones, and along the upper part, there are wooden bars bolted to the stone surface to provide grip.

It was a very low tide on the day of my visit, leaving the causeway fully exposed, with green algae on the stairs, and along the side walls showing how far the water reaches:

The stairs are shown within the red oval in the following map, just north of Woolwich High Street, with a small street – Bell Water Gate – linking Woolwich High Street and the stairs. The jetty for the Woolwich Ferry is the feature on the left of the map (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

The stairs are shown on the 1897 revision of the OS map, where the feature looked then, much as it does today, with the stairs and causeway within a wider entry into the river. The South Pontoon of the Woolwich Ferry is on the left and on the right is a Steam Boat Pier, originally used by the two steam ferries of the Eastern Counties Railway, the “Kent” and the “Essex”, to link Woolwich with the new railway station across the river at North Woolwich:

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

If we then look at the same area, almost 60 years later, the following 1956 revision of the OS map shows Bell Watergate Stairs in the centre of the map. The old steam boat pier has been removed (there was a charge to use this cross river ferry, and it could not compete with the Woolwich Free Ferry).

If you look to the right of the above map, I have used a blue arrow to point out a similar feature to Bell Watergate Stairs, where there is an inlet to the Thames, with stairs leading up to land. Sixty years later, this feature had disappeared, with the expansion of the industrial premises along the river.

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

The street leading up to the stairs was not named on the 1897 map, but in the 1956 revision, it is named as Bell Water Gate (I have used the single word Watergate in the title of the post, as this aligns with the Port of London listing – not that this means that it is correct and most references use Bell Water Gate).

As I have mentioned when writing about other Thames stairs in previous posts, whilst the physical feature of a set of stairs is fascinating, they are also important as they provide small snapshots of history and individual events which can be tied to a specific place.

They can illuminate different aspects of life in London over the centuries.

In the past, the river was a far more a part of many Londoner’s lives than it is today. Whether for work, travel, or just for play and entertainment. On the day of my visit, the stairs were quiet, however this has not always been the case, as “E.T.” was complaining about to the Woolwich Gazette on the 9th of August, 1901, when the hot summer weather was causing problems at the stairs:

“RIVERSIDE BATHING. Sir, – Surely measures can be taken to prevent this disgusting practice which takes place daily during the summer months at Bell Water Gate, Woolwich. The place in question is situated in close proximity to factories where young girls are employed. The language used by the lads is of the vilest description, and should not for one moment be tolerated. I sincerely hope that the authorities this should apply to will see these few lines, and in the name of decency stop once and for all the nuisance complained of.”

All along the river, Thames Stairs were places where children would play. The following is an extract from one of my father’s photos of Wapping Old Stairs, taken in 1948, and shows some children at the bottom of the stairs, alongside the water:

For children, the river could be a very dangerous place, and there were numerous reports of drownings, as well as many rescues. The following is from the Daily Mirror on the 9th of August, 1933:

“BOY OF 12 RESCUES A CHILD – A heroic rescue was made by a boy of twelve, Terence McNulty of Woolwich High-street, at Bell Water Gate, Woolwich, last night.

While playing on the steps leading down to the Thames, Peggy Ramsey, aged six, of Borgard-road, Woolwich Dockyard, fell into the river. Seeing the girl in difficulties, Terence plunged in and brought her to the bank. The girl was taken to hospital.”

Another example was in September, 1916, when: “A gallant rescue from drowning was effected yesterday morning at Woolwich by the Rev. C.W. Hutchinson, priest in charge of St. Saviour’s Mission, Woolwich. It appears that Arthur South, 12, Paradise Place, Woolwich, was playing on the steps leading to the river at Bell Water Gate when, on reaching for a box which was floating by, he overbalanced and fell into the river, being carried away by the tide.

Attracted by the screams of his companions, Mr. Hutchinson, whose mission house is close to the spot, ran out, and seeing the boy about 50 yards away, dived into the water, fully dressed, and succeeded in rescuing him. The boy was little the worse for his immersion, and after being treated at the Mission House, was able to go home.”

The Mission House was one of the establishments that was in Bell Water Gate, the street running up to Woolwich High Street.

The source of the name of Bell Water Gate Stairs is difficult to confirm, but the street leading from the stairs was also called Bell Water Gate, and in the street there was a Bell Public House, which dated from at least 1655, so the name of the stairs may come from the pub, along with the existence of a parish gate at the stairs. Bell being a common name for a pub, I think it is safe to assume that the stars were named after the pub, rather than the pub being named after the stairs.

The following 1907 report is typical of some of the mentions of the Bell public house: “At the Woolwich Police Court on Friday, William John Leonard, of the Bell public house, Bell Water Gate, Woolwich, appeared on an adjourned summons which charged him with permitting his premises to be the habitual resort of prostitutes for a longer time than necessary to obtain reasonable refreshment.

For the defence it was urged that the licensee was totally unaware of the character of the women who used the house, and maintained that it would have only been fair had the police notified him and given him warning first.

In giving evidence, John William Leonard, brother of the defendant, swore that he did not know that women pointed out by the police were prostitutes.”

I suspect that William Leonard, the landlord of the Bell, did know who was in his pub.

Bell Watergate Stairs could well have also existed when in the 17th century, and the stairs were once the main landing point for traffic between the river and the town of Woolwich, and they are the last of this type of stairs to survive in Woolwich.

A very early form of the Uber Thames Clippers operated from Bell Watergate Stairs, as in 1845, adverts in the Kentish Independent were informing the people of Woolwich that “Fast and Splendid Boats of the Waterman’s Company leave at the Waterman’s Pier, Bell Water Gate, Woolwich, every hour and half hour”, running to and from Westminster.

The boats offered an extensive number of stops, to, and as they returned from Westminster, calling at the Adelphi, Temple, Blackfriars’s and City Pier, and at the Thames Tunnel and Limehouse.

The following print dates from 1922 and is by Edward Arthur Evacustes Phipson. The view is looking down the street Bell Water Gate, towards the stairs at the end of the street, with the river and North Woolwich in the distance:

Attribution and source: Edward Arthur Evacustes Phipson, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The above view has been replaced today by a very short street from the stairs up to Woolwich High Street with the Waterfront Leisure Centre on the western side, and new blocks of flats on the eastern side.

The stairs from the river showing the new flats on the left and leisure centre to the right. The buildings behind the stairs are in Woolwich High Street:

One of the reasons for the reduction in use of the stairs, as well as the redundant steam boat pier, is the Woolwich Free Ferry, which can be seen from the end of the causeway leading from Bell Water Gate Stairs into the river:

Although the area is rapidly developing with new apartment buildings, and the leisure centre has been here for a number of years, the location of the stairs was for many years surrounded by industry.

As an example, in 1893, the wharf next to the stairs was to be sold at auction, and was described as “This old-established concern, comprising a most valuable Wharf on the Thames at Bell Water Gate, Woolwich, with frontage of 180 feet, steam crane, large hopper, overhead tramway, large stores holding 2,000 tons, offices stabling for 20 horses, workshops, spacious yard with two entrances, capital residence etc. horses, vans, carts, machines and all the suitable trade fittings as a going concern.” Everything you would have needed to continue the coal merchants business.

On the western side of the stairs, Woolwich Power Station was one of the major developments, and is the feature labelled as “Works” in the 1956 extract from the OS map earlier in the post.

The electricity infrastructure alongside the stairs was the subject of one of the strangest newspaper stories about Thames stairs, when in April 1949:

“EXPLOSION AND FIRE CAUSED BY CAT – A cat caused an explosion and slight fire when it short-circuited a 33,000 volt transformer in the London Electricity Board’s transformer station in Bell Water Gate, Woolwich, early today.

The cat, which was chasing a rat, was killed. The explosion set light to the transformer housing, but no one was injured and the fire was out within half-an-hour.”

Events at places such as Thames Stairs can reveal society’s approach to domestic abuse and how someone who had attempted suicide was treated as a criminal rather than someone in need of help. There are a number of examples of this at Bell Water Gate Stairs, with the following being typical:

“MARRIED MISERY AY PLUMSTEAD – WIFE’S ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. Alice White, 31, married, 14 Barnfield Road, Plumstead,, was again before Mr. Disney at Woolwich, on Monday, charged with attempted suicide in the Thames at Bell Water Gate, Woolwich. Police Constable Falla found her with her hat and coat off, about to jump into the water, and she said she would do it again when she got the chance, alleging that her husband was the cause of the trouble.

Frederick White, the husband, said that the prisoner did not drink much, but she was upset about her son, who was away in a sanatorium for tuberculosis. he had had no words with her on the day in question.

Prisoner: He threatened to pull everything off me if I went out. When I was out with my boy, his brother threatened to break every bone in my body. They have both beaten me.

Husband: When I have words with her it is over the beer.

Wife: It’s you who has the beer.

Magistrate: You must both keep away from the beer, and try to agree. I will bind you (the woman) over for twelve months, and your husband must be surety.”

The following photo is looking back towards the land from the end of the causeway. To the left can be seen a small part of the new apartment buildings. These are built on the site of a large council car park, which in turn occupied the site of Woolwich Power Station, which closed in 1978:

One of the more unusual feature of Bell Watergate Stairs, compared to other Thames stairs can be seen in the above photo, where to the left of the stairs, there is a slopping, paved area running between foreshore and land, and this sloping area has some horizontal wooden treads bolted into the ground.

These can be seen in detail in the following photo:

These were used as foot holds when pulling a boat out of, or lowering into the river.

They may also have been used to reduce the friction between the bottom of a boat and the surface, with the keel of the boat running across the wood, rather than the stone surface. The bolts holding the wood to the ground are recessed, so would not have damaged any craft being pulled across them.

The impact on wood of regular covering with water as the tide rises, followed by drying out as the tide recedes can be seen in the following photo, where the wooden treads end at roughly the tide mark, with the wooden treads below this level having rotted away, with only the metal bolts showing that they had continued down to the foreshore:

As with so many other Thames Stairs, they are rarely visited these days, and I doubt are used to get between the river and the land.

These are still dangerous places, the damp algae on the steps was extremely slippery on my visit, and the Thames tides would still easily pull someone out into the river.

They are though important places to act as a reminder of how much Londoners were once dependent on the river, and of the countless thousands who have come into contact with Bell Water Gate Stairs. I will leave the last words to Mary Ann Carney, who in 1898 was up before the Magistrate for being drunk and disorderly at Bell Water Gate, with this little exchange:

Prisoner: Whenever I begin talking Irish the police think I am drunk and lock me up

Magistrate: I think your accent rather pretty but you are fined 5s or five days

Prisoner: God bless your Worship and long life to you.

alondoninheritance.com

Tower Subway and the Mystery of the Southern Entrance

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On the north bank of Thames, and alongside the Tower of London, is a frequently photographed and written about structure, over what was the entrance to the Tower Subway, here with the ice cream van that seems to be there most days, selling to those visiting the Tower:

The story of the Tower Subway starts with an Act of Parliament which was passed in 1868 for the new tunnel at Tower Hill, urgently needed as the only route across the river to the east of London Bridge was the recently completed Thames Tunnel at Wapping (see this post), and during the latter half of the 19th century, the population of London, as well as the volume of trade passing through the city, the number of docks, and the amount of industry, was growing very rapidly.

People needed to cross the river. To get to work, to transport goods, for meetings and commerce, and with the expansion of London to the south of the river. There was a mile and a half gap between London Bridge and the new Thames Tunnel at Wapping, which, along with very busy streets, created a very considerable barrier.

It was estimated at the time that a million people lived on both sides of the river below London Bridge, and this population was continuing to grow.

The proposed tunnel would consist of shafts, between 50 and 70 feet deep on either side of the river. The north access point at Tower Hill and the southern alongside Vine Street.

A hydraulic lift would raise and lower up to ten passengers at a time, and at the bottom of the shaft there would be a small waiting area, with a cable pulled carriage transporting passengers between the north and south of the river.

It was estimated that the cost would be £16,000, it would take eight months to complete, and the engineer for the project was Peter William Barlow, who was also the engineer responsible for the first Lambeth Bridge..

Construction of the Tower Subway started in 1869.

Where today, there are plenty of photographs and video of major construction projects, in the 1860s, the only way to illustrate such a project was to lower an artist down to the tunnel, and in September 1869, an artist working for the Illustrated Times found himself in the tunnel, and reported that:

“After getting into the pail I was lowered some fifty feet, turning round and round like a joint of meat at the fire. A trolley was waiting at the bottom; I seated myself, and was propelled by a stalwart navvy. During my progress through the tube I heard the sounds on the water above; by candle light I could see the great strength and perfectness of the work, ribbed like the skeleton of some huge snake. Presently we stopped to allow a trolley laden with clay to pass; then we arrived at the telegraph station – a very complete arrangement, to enable men below to communicate with those above. While at the top of the shaft I had an opportunity of seeing it at work. Tinkle, tinkle goes a small bell. ‘More nuts’. Answer ‘All right’. Tinkle twice, tinkle three times. ‘Send down castings’. Answer, ‘All right’. Tinkle four times, ‘More air’, Answer. ‘Can’t have it yet; taking in lime’. And so on, saving a great amount of time.

The men having thrown out the clay in front of the shield, I saw them advance it. It was easily done with three or four men working the screws to the width of the casting; one of which is placed in the curve of the shield at the bottom, bolted it, and placed the side pieces, and finished with the top, screwing them all to the last ring of the tube. The clay through which they are passing is about the consistency of caked chocolate, the pick leaving a shining surface upon it. The men have plenty of air, but by candle light look weird and strange.”

The use of a shield was key to the success of the project, as was the use of iron for the rings forming the tunnel.

On completion of the tunnel in 1870, the speed and ease of construction supported the view that iron would allow considerably larger tunnels to be constructed, and some newspaper reports on the opening of the Tower Subway stated that: “Considering that a project has been recently discussed for carrying a subway from England to France, it would be ridiculous to go into raptures over the completion of a Tunnel from Tower Hill to Tooley Street”.

By the end of March 1870, the tunnel was being tested with invited guests. The mechanism for taking passengers between the two entrance shafts was described as a carriage, able to carry 14 persons, with a door at each end. A wire rope was attached to the carriage, and to cylinders at each end of the tunnel, with the cylinders being worked by steam power.

The tests though, demonstrated the limitations of the method, and the recurring problems that would result in the removal of the carriage, a short time after opening.

On one of the trials, the wire rope was unable to bear the strain, and snapped, with the carriage and passengers being left, midway through the tunnel. It took a while to repair the wire rope, the trial started again, but after a short distance, the wire again broke.

The trials ended soon after, with a stronger rope ordered for the opening of the tunnel.

The interior of a carriage in the Tower Subway:

Attribution and source: UnknownUnknown, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The northern entrance to the Tower Subway as seen today:

The first commercial use of the Tower Subway, was late in the afternoon of Tuesday, April the 12th 1870, when paying freight was hauled through the tunnel, and the next day is was opened, with very little ceremony, for passengers.

By the end of 1870 though, London’s papers were starting to report on the Tower Subway as being a failure, with numerous problems with the lifts taking people up and down the shafts, and passengers often being stuck mid-way through the tunnel.

Such were the problems with the complexity and reliability of the lifts and the carriage, that the Tower Subway was soon converted to foot passenger use, and just over a year after first opening the following account is of a trip through the tunnel after conversion to a walk-way, by a correspondent of the London Daily Chronicle on the 30th of June, 1871. The account provides a view of what a walk through the tunnel would have been like (with the caveat that this was written by a journalist, so probably a bit of over emphasis on the poor conditions):

“I have just availed myself of my first opportunity of inspecting the work over which, not a great while ago, such a deal of enthusiasm was expended – the Tower Subway.

I found the City terminus under a conical little shed, planted in the midst of an expanse of rough flag stones, in very good keeping with the adjacent old Tower, and with the antiquated old gentlemen who strut around in medieval toggery within the Tower railings. I had made up my mind to descend luxuriously – in a sort of lift, comfortably fitted up – and after a railway rush under the river, to make a triumphant exit on the Surrey side. It appears, however, that the lift and the railway carriage didn’t pay, and so were of necessity abandoned. Instead of the lift I found a narrow, dimly-lighted spiral staircase, up which, as I descended, came an unsavoury odour.

The gas lights were most ingeniously placed exactly between the landings. At the bottom I found a turnstile, presided over by an unhappy little boy, condemned to spend in damp and gloom and foul air no less than fourteen hours and a half out of his twenty four, and that seven days a week. I commenced groping my way through what looks like a gigantic rats’ hole. lighted up at intervals with gas jets. The narrow rails on which the carriage ran at one time are still down, and serve admirably to trip up passengers and knock their heads against the girders whenever two have occasion to pass each other. Here and there the footpath is wet and sloppy. This is, perhaps, unavoidable, but it is certainly an unpleasant feature.

The safety of the structure is, no doubt, beyond question; but the leakage very forcibly suggests the idea of thousands upon thousands of tons of water overhead, and one is by no means sorry to reach the other turnstile, where another young unfortunate sits at the receipt of custom. Passengers are supposed to spend six minutes in performing the journey. This, I presume, doesn’t include the time which, on emerging into the open air, I, at least was compelled to spend in holding on to the nearest lamp-post.”

The following illustration shows the tunnel being used as a walk-way:

Attribution and source: Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=298484

The tunnel continued in use as a walk-way, however in 1886, the project that would bring about the demise of the Tower Subway as a method for people to cross the river, was starting to appear just to the east, with the start of the construction of Tower Bridge.

When Tower Bridge opened on the 30th of June, 1894, use of the Tower Subway collapsed. With Tower Bridge, there were no shafts to descend and ascend, no damp, gas lit tunnel to walk through, and the new bridge was free.

The owners of the Tower Subway tried to sue the Corporation of the City of London for loss of tolls, and in September 1897, a shareholder meeting of the Tower Subway Company was held at 21 Great George Street, Westminster, when it was discussed and agreed that:

The arbitrator between the Tower Subway Company and the Corporation of London had awarded the company compensation of £11,000;
That the Tower Subway was to be sold to the London Hydraulic Power Company for £3,000;
And that the Tower Subway Company was to be wound up.

The name of the London Hydraulic Power Company still circles the Tower Hill entrance today, which is not the original entrance building to the subway, but a 1926 construction over the shaft. At the time of the purchase of the subway, hydraulic power was used to power much of London’s infrastructure – cranes across the docks, lifts, even the curtains in theatres were power by hydraulic power.

The tunnel was also used for the water supply of the city, and in September 1898, workers were laying 20 inch diameter iron water main pipes through the tunnel, connecting a growing network on the southern and northern sides of the river.

Much of this work was aimed at fixing what was called the “East London Water Famine”, as there were insufficient supplies of water to service the rapidly growing population of east London.

Pipes through the tunnel connected to the network of the Southern and Vauxhall Water Company to the south of the river, and from the northern exit of the subway, the 20 inch pipes ran to Leman Street, where they connected with the mains network of the East London Waterworks Company.

The following image is from the 1961 book “London Beneath the Pavement” by Michael Harrison, and shows water pipes running through the old Tower Subway:

As a diversion, I have mentioned a number of times over the years, how I find the journey of books fascinating. This is my copy of London Beneath The Pavement, and in 1961 is was owned by Richard J. Waller, who wrote his name inside the cover:

I do not know whether it was the same owner, but 30 years later, in 1991, either Richard J. Waller, or a later owner had cut a notice of the death of the author from the Daily Telegraph, and pasted it inside the book:

A very small thing, but part of an individual book’s journey through multiple owners.

Part of the title to the post is “Mystery of the Southern Entrance”, and now I need to explain why.

From the round brick entrance at Tower Hill, the Tower Subway heads south, crossing the river towards the new developments on the south bank of the river:

And leaving Tooley Street, there is a small, square building where the map has the subway access. A photo of this structure is also shown on Wikipedia as the entrance to the subway:

The original entrance on the south bank was demolished in 1990, and this building does indeed look like an entrance to a place that would hold utility services:

However, I am not sure whether this is the site of the original entrance.

Firstly, it is a reasonable distance back from the banks of the Thames, further than the distance between river and northern entrance. Why would this extra distance have been necessary?

Secondly, newspaper reports often mentioned the southern entrance was next to the Vine public house in Vine Street, which the 1895 Post Office directory confirms:

In the following extract from the mid 1890s OS map, I have highlighted key features as follows:

Green arrow, track of the Tower Subway
Red arrow, small building next to the Vine which could have been the original entrance
Yellow arrow, the Vine public house
Blue arrow, location of the new building that today is often mentioned as the entrance to the Tower Subway

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

As can be seen in the above map, the building at the blue arrow is a good distance from the banks of the river, and there is a small building next to the Vine, as mentioned in newspaper reports, and in the Post Office Directory.

Jump to the 1950 revision of the OS map, and we can see the track of the Tower Subway (green arrow) and although the Vine has gone, there is still a small building where the possible entrance next to the pub was located (red arrow), and at the point of the possible entrance building today (red circle), there is nothing marked:

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

Looking at the location of the red arrow in the above map in more detail below, we can see the parallel dashed lines of the track of the Tower Subway terminate at the small building which was once next to the Vine public house – not at the location of the possible entrance today:

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

To add to the confusion, there is a sign on the building that is the possible entrance today which states that the building is maintained by Jascom.

A couple of years ago, Vodafone published a video about the tunnel, and a Project Manager from Jascom is featured in the video, so based on this, the small building we see today must be the entrance to the Thames Subway.

This fascinating video is below, and shows the condition and use of the tunnel today:

But I still cannot get away from the references to the entrance being next to the Vine public house, and the track of the tunnel terminating at the small building closer to the Thames, which would also make sense as the work needed for the additional length of the tunnel to the building we see today, would have added to the overall cost of the project.

There is another option. The possible original location of the tunnel entrance today, would be at the south western end of the paved open space, to the south west of the old City Hall building, between Fire Station Square and More London Place. Is it possible that an additional length of tunnel was dug when this area was redeveloped to move the entrance away from the open space?

As the video states, the tunnel was purchased in the 1980s as part of the overall London Hydraulic Company pipe and duct network by Mercury, one of the 1980s challengers to British Telecom.

Mercury was taken over by Cable & Wireless, and then Vodafone took over part of the business which included the old Thames Subway, and as well as water pipes, the tunnel today now carries communications cables.

As is often the case, you start digging into a part of London’s history, and you are left with more questions.

I have messaged Jascom to see if they can clarify, however whether the small building is at the correct place, or whether it was further to the north, the Thames Subway is a fascinating story of one of the many methods of bringing the north and south banks of the river closer together, as London expanded, and the population, trade and commerce of the city grew.

The Tower Subway is also a story of how infrastructure evolves, from the original plan to carry passengers, then hydraulic power pipes and water supply pipes, and today communication cables have been added to the mix.

If you are interested in more history of Tower Hill, I have written a post on the Tiger Tavern at Tower Hill, click here for the post, how Tower Hill has changed over the years, click here, and for Johnny Eagle, the Tower Hill Escapologist and Strong Man, click here.

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Resources – Mapping at the National Library of Scotland

What I Am Reading – Maritime Metropolis by Sarah Palmer

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London House – The House with Two Plaques

First Hall of the Parish Clerks’ Company

Glovers Hall

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Resources: The London Topographical Society

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