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Bluecoat School, Caxton Street, Westminster

Two tickets have just become available for my walk “Limehouse – A Sink of Iniquity and Degradation”, this coming Sunday, the 6th of October. Click here for details and booking.

The following photo is from 1984 and shows one of the many Blue Coat figures which can be seen on surviving charity school buildings from the late 17th and 18th centuries across London:

Forty years later, the statue is still there, looking good and has obviously been restored since the 1984 photo:

The figure is on the building that was once a Bluecoat School in Caxton Street, Westminster, and as recorded on the plaque in the above photo, the building dates from 1709.

The figure in the above two photos is on the front of the building, however most first views of the old school are probably of the rear and side of the building, seen as you walk along Buckingham Gate. I was walking from Victoria Street along Buckingham Gate, so this was my first view of the building:

Although the surroundings have changed beyond all recognition, the building itself has hardly changed, as can be seen in the following print of the rear of the school, from 1850:

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.

In the above print, the school appears to have had railings and a wall surrounding its boundary, and also had a grassed area to the rear – possibly a small open space for the children of the school. Today, this is paved over:

The plaque on the first two photos of the front of the school dates the building to 1709, however the school was founded 21 years earlier in 1688 at the expense of “Divers well disposed persons Inhabitants of ye Parish of St. Margaret Westminster”.

The aim of the school was to teach the children of the poor the doctrines of the Church of England, and enable them to move on to an apprenticeship, or to gain an occupation.

As well as a limited form of education, children at the school were also given some degree of medical care, as in 1835, in a listing of physicians at the Royal Metropolitan Infirmary for Sick Children in Broad Street, Golden Square, a Mr. George S. Lilburn, M.D. was also listed as a “Physician to the Bluecoat School, Westminster”.

The school must have been successful in its first 21 years as the new school building was constructed in 1709 on land leased from the Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey, and funded by William Greene, a local brewer who paid for the school..

The interior of the building was simple, with a single school room above a basement. the exterior of the building was off brick, and was described as being of in a similar style to William Greene’s brewery.

Attendance at the school was initially for 20 boys who would be educated and clothed for free. The clothing was of the style shown on the figures around the building. As well as being the children of the poor, the parents or grandparents of the children would also have had to have lived in the parish of St. Margaret’s or St. John’s for at least a year.

A girls school appears to have been added not long after the new boys school was completed, as donations were being raised for a girls school of 20 pupils between 1713 and 1714.

Nothing today exists of the girls school, however recent research suggests that the girls school was located on the western side of the paved area at the rear of the boys school.

There were other buildings associated with the school that have been lost, including a headmaster’s house, so the single building we see today was part of a cluster of buildings forming a school for boys and girls.

The school was founded in 1688, and whilst this is just a date on a stone block on the school building, it is interesting to consider the state of the country when the school was founded, as both the charity and building did not exist in isolation. They were partly in response to what was happening in the country at the time.

The school was founded not long after the English Civil War (1642 to 1648), execution of Charles I (1649), the Commonwealth (1649 to 1660), restoration of the Monarchy with Charles II (1660), the Great Fire of London (1666), the reign of William and Mary (William III, 1689 to 1702), to prevent a Catholic succession after the death of James II, so the preceding 46 years had been one of considerable change, and the school was founded in the same year that James II’s wife, Mary of Moderna, gave birth to a son, James Francis Edward Stuart, who was next in line to the throne and would perpetuate a pro-Catholic approach by the English Crown.

The following is from the London Sun on Saturday the 29th of June, 1844, and announces a meeting where the audience will be asked for funds to support the Blue Coat school charity, and the article also provides some background as to the worries in the country when the school was founded, and concerns about the religious education of the young at such as time:

“BLUE-COAT SCHOOL, WESTMINSTER – The Rev. Dr. Colls will advocate the claims of the charity next Sunday morning at St. Peter’s Episcopal Chapel, Queen-square, St. James’s Park, in compliance with the particular request of a large body of Governors of that institution.

It may not, perhaps, be generally known that the Westminster Blue-coat School was the first of the kind in England, having been founded in the year 1688. a few months previous to the landing of King William, while this country was in a ferment at the impending danger to the Church and Constitution.

A few persons, grieved at the state of ignorance and irreligion in which the rising generation were then growing up, determined to make an effort to ground them thoroughly in the doctrines and the duties of the Christian religion, considering that this was the only effectual way to preserve the young from the sophistry of the infidel and the contamination of the profane.

In the choice of their advocate on the present occasion, the Governors of the charity have been fortunate, since the Rev. Dr. Colls is himself a practical example of the benefit and the blessing of early religious principles; and we hope he will be successful in opening the hands and hearts of his audience next Sunday morning in favour of the excellent charity.”

The plaque on the school building recording the original founding date of the school, one year before William and Mary landed from the Netherlands, and the “Glorious Revolution”:

The location of the church can be seen in the following map. the front of the school faces onto Caxton Street which has long been the official address of the school, and the western side is next to Buckingham Gate, with Victoria Street running left to right across the centre of the map  (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

Roughly 35 years after the new school building was constructed, Rocque’s map of 1746 shows the school (within the red circle), facing onto Chapel Street (the old name for Caxton Street), and alongside Horse Ferry Road (the old name for Buckingham Gate). Victoria Street will cut across the map in the mid 19th century:

What is interesting about the above map is the number of charity schools in the area, each with their own different coloured coat. I have marked the Green Coat School with the green circle and the Gray Coat School in the orange circle (a grey circle did not stand out well on the map).

The blue colour for the coats of the Blue Coast School seems to have been in use by 1700, when the uniform for the school was decided, and blue was chosen as “the most convenient colour would be Blew, being different from the other schools in the parish”.

When children went to, or left the charity schools in this small area, it must have been a scene of some colour with blue, green and grey coats being worn on the streets.

Also on the map, to the right of the Blue Coat School there is St. Margaret’s Burying Ground, showing an open space with a small chapel. The reference to the original founding of the school quoted earlier in the post states is was through “Divers well disposed persons Inhabitants of ye Parish of St. Margaret Westminster“.

St. Margaret’s was (and still is) the smaller church that is within the grounds of Westminster Abbey, in the north east corner, next to Parliament Square. The burying ground shown on the map was St. Margaret’s extra space for burials.

Part of this burying ground can still be found, the small, open space alongside Victoria Street, now known as Christchurch Gardens, which occupies roughly the middle third of the original burying grounds. The lower third is under Victoria Street and the upper third long built over. The remains of the burying ground today:

There were a number of Blue Coat Schools across London, and there seems to have been some competition, or confusion as to which school was founded first.

The following letter is from the Morning Herald on the 27th of July, 1830, and is in response to a previous comment about the schools of St. Botolph, Aldgate being older than the school facing Caxton Street::

“Sir, – In the Morning Herald of yesterday I observed a notice of a sermon for the charity schools of St. Botolph, Aldgate, it was appended a statement that these schools were the earliest of the kind instigated.

I should be extremely sorry to say one word which might be injurious to so excellent an institution, but justice to another admirable establishment compels me to deny the truth of the statement that the first charity school was established at St. Botolph.

The Blue-Coat School, Westminster, is beyond doubt the earliest of these institutions, having been established in the year 1688. Having been lately called upon to preach for that excellent charity I was led to investigate the matter, and obtained the following results:- The Blue Coat, Westminster, was established in 1688; a school in Norton Folgate in 1691, and that of St. Botolph, Aldgate, in 1697. In 1704 the number of schools had so increased that a general meeting of the children was held in St. Andrew’s Church, the number being about 2,000; the sermon was preached by Dr. Weller, Dean of Lincoln.

In 1716 the number of schools in London and Westminster was 124; the number of children 4,896; the entire number of schools in Great Britain and Ireland was1,239; the number of children 24,941; the greater part established within about 20 years.

To several of the early printed reports is attached the following note, (I copy from the sermon and report for 1716):- ‘All schools above mentioned have been set-up since 1697, except that belonging to the New Church in St. Margaret, Westminster, by the name of the Blue Coat School, which was set up Lady-day, 1688, for 50 boys, and the school of Norton-Folgate, erected in 1691, for 60 boys’.

I conclude with repeating that I have no wish to detract from the merits of St. Botolph’s school, but its friends have no right to claim for it that honour which so clearly belongs to another. I am, sir, your obedient servant, Thos. Stone, M.A. Assit. Curate St. john the Evangelist, Westminster.”

Whilst the Blue Coast School in Westminster may have been the first of this type of charity school, the problem with being a charity school was the constant need to raise funds, and the frequent shortage of sufficient funding to provide all the services that were intended by the trustees.

The following article from the Westminster and Chelsea News on the 28th of January, 1882 shows both one of the benefits of attending the school and the impact of a lack of funding (also note the use of Blew rather than Blue which seems to have been used a number of times):

“THE ‘BLEW COAT SCHOOL, WESTMINSTER. The annual dinner to the children of the ‘Blew’ Coat School, Westminster, the gift of John Lettsom Elliot, a former treasurer of the Charity, took place on the 20th inst. in the large school room, where the children were plentifully supplied with roast beef and plum pudding. This old and very useful Westminster Charity is, we are sorry to hear, sadly in need of support, the Governors being compelled to reduce the benefits in consequence, and singular to state this is the only ‘free’ school in Westminster, all the others having been closed. Mr. James Sarsons, the head master, conducted everything in his usual kind manner.”

The article highlights the precariousness of providing a service through a charity, in that the charity will always be after new funding, and that being dependent on charity funding, the services provided can only match the money available.

The article also states that the Blue Coast School was the only free school available in Westminster, so the other schools shown in Rocque’s map must have closed.

I have got this far in the post, and I have not yet shown the front of the school, so here is the building as it faces onto Caxton Street, with the blue coated figure shown in the photos at the start of the post:

The location of parked cars and a delivery lorry in the road opposite the school made it a bit difficult to photograph, but it is a lovely building and very different to the school’s surroundings.

The article above from 1882 was getting towards the end of the school’s history as a charity school as the provision of education was changing in the late 19th century, with the provision of free education for all children and the creation of the London School Board, which was responsible for many of the wonderful large brick late 19th century schools we can still see across London.

The location of the school was also suffering with the constant development of the area, for example with the construction of the District Line which resulted in the loss of part of the school’s land and buildings.

In 1898 the Governors of the school requested and received authorisation to close the school and transfer the land and building to the Vestry of St. Margaret and St. John, Westminster, who then transferred the school to the Christchurch National Schools, as part of the national church school system. The school then became the Infants department of Christchurch School, and attached to the church which has since been demolished, and which stood on the corner of Caxton Street and Broadway.

During the Second World War, the school was used by the Forces, after the war for community use such as the Girl Guides and as a Youth Club, as well as continuing use as an infant school until 1954.

The building was purchased by the National Trust in 1954, and was then restored and opened to the public.

Further restoration work was needed in 1974, when the Trust also installed offices in the basement.

The National Trust closed their shop along with public access to the old Blue Coat School building in 2013, when it then became a showroom for bridal wear designer Ian Stewart.

The building is Grade I listed. I am not sure if the building is still owned by the National Trust. The Historic England official list entry for the building does have National Trust in brackets after the name of the building, however the date of the most recent amendment is 1987, when the building was an open, National Trust property.

In the National Trust Heritage Records Online record for the building, the Most Recent Monitoring section has “None Recorded”, which implies that it is not a National Trust property as I assume they would be monitoring the building.

The building is now occupied by Studio Ashby, who appear to be residential and commercial interior designers, and on their website they state that they have “become the next custodians of this magical and historic site”, which implies the building is now privately owned.

From photos on Studio Ashby’s website, the interior still includes the following features from the Historic England listing “Fine interior forming single tall space with pilasters and niches to walls, entablature and coved ceiling; four fluted Corinthian columns mark entrance; fireplace to opposite end” – although the fireplace is not visible, and the whole of the interior is painted white.

The building’s Grade I listing should help preserve the building into the future, and it is good to see the statue and plaque on the front looking better today than they were in 1984.

The Blue Coat School in Caxton Street is an important reminder of the development of education in London, and how the aim of these charities was to give the children of the poor a religious education, along with gaining the skills needed to get an apprenticeship, or to work.

A wonderful survivor given how much this area has changed, and continues to change.

alondoninheritance.com

Soho Pubs – Part 2

Tickets for my final Southbank walk until next summer: The South Bank – Marsh, Industry, Culture and the Festival of Britain, on the 20th of October, are now available by clicking here.

I am back in Soho for this week’s post, continuing my exploration of Soho pubs, including one that claims to be “the West End’s best known pub”, and that “it’s a deeply loved London institution with a rich history”.

The pub with these claims will be later in the post, and is one of many fascinating and individual pubs to be found across part of London which, along with the City, has the highest density of pubs, and where drinking has been embedded in the culture of the place.

Today’s tour starts with:

The Crown and Two Chairmen – Dean Street

The Crown and Two Chairmen is one of the more unusual London pub names. The building we see today dates from 1929, however there has been a pub on the site since 1736 when it was called just the Crown.

The story about the change of name to the Crown and Two Chairmen is that two sedan chair men who were taking Queen Anne to have her portrait painted by Sir James Thornhill, who apparently had his studio in the area, would call at the pub for a drink.

One of the places where this story was put forward was an article in the Sporting Life on the 3rd of November 1926 on historic pubs, where the following was written about the Crown and Two Chairmen, as one of the oldest-established hostelries in the West End:

“It is the only inn of the name in London, and is said to derive its title from the fact that the bearers of Queen Anne’s chair were wont to beguile their time there while Her Majesty was sitting for her portrait to Sir James Thornhill, who lived in the house opposite. This house, No. 74, is still standing next door to the Royalty Theatre.

The Crown and Two Chairmen is probably the tavern mentioned by George Augustus Sala as the one in which he first saw Thackeray. The house was kept by one Dick Moreland, supposed to have been the last landlord in London to wear a pigtail and top-boots, and a small club was held upstairs.”

The problem with this story is that Queen Anne died in 1714, twenty two years before the original pub seems to have been built. The change in name was probably to separate the pub from another pub with the same original name, the Crown in Brewer Street.

I cannot find exactly when the pub changed name, the earliest reference I can find is from August 1811, when the landlord of the pub was unwittingly involved with handling a stolen £10 note. In this reference, the pub had the name of Crown and Two Chairmen.

Whether or not the Queen Anne reference is correct, the pub has one of the more unusual names in London.

The Dog and Duck – Bateman Street

So many London pubs are on the corner of two streets. This makes sense as a corner location stands out far more than within a terrace. Potential customers walking along multiple streets can see the pub, however it does cause confusion with the address of a pub. What street should apply?

Taking the Dog and Duck, the longest side of the building, with three upper floor window bays is on Bateman Street, and this is the street used in the address of the pub, however, searching for references to the pub, Frith Street is used just as many times as Bateman Street, and Frith Street has by far the shortest side of the pub, with just a single window bay.

As an example, the building is Grade II listed, and in the Historic England listing, Bateman Street is given as the address of the pub in the header to the entry, however Frith Street is used in the entry detail.

The listing states that that Dog and Duck was built in 1897, and designed by Francis Chambers for the Cannon Brewery. The interior of the pub is “an exceptional survival of a small late Victorian pub interior with tile work, mirrors and high-quality joinery”.

Although the current pub building dates from 1897, it was built on the site of an early 18th century pub with the same name. The earliest reference I can find to the pub dates from the 17th of July, 1752, and reads: “On Tuesday, about Five o’clock in the afternoon, as Lieutenant-Colonel Demarr, of Col. Holmes’s late Regiment of Marines was going along Thrift Street, Soho, he was suddenly taken ill, and went into the Dog and Duck Alehouse, where a Surgeon was sent for to bleed him, but to no purpose, for he expired in a short time.”

The spelling of the street as Thrift Street in the above article must have been an error, as the name Frith Street appears on maps in the 17th century and onwards.

In 2003, newspapers were reporting that the pop star Madonna was a visitor to the Dog and Duck, and that “The ‘Material Girl’ told how she had developed a taste for Landlord at the Dog and Duck in London’s Soho, where it has been sold for about 10 years. her revelation on Jonathan Ross’s BBC talk show has caused a flurry of media activity and now the Campaign for Real Ale are claiming bitter is back in Vogue”.

A nice touch with exterior decoration to the pub is that on the corner of the pub, where there should be a window on the third floor is the following relief showing a dog with a duck in its mouth:

The French House – Dean Street

The pub has had the formal name of the French House for a relatively short period of time, it was originally called the York Minster.

Another example of being careful with sources, Wikipedia states that the “pub was opened by a German national named Christian Schmitt in 1891 and traded as York Minster”, however there are plenty of newspaper reports that mention the pub, going back several decades in the 19th century, with the earliest I could find being from 1837 when a horse trotting challenge was being advertised and that the challenge could be backed at the York Minster, Dean Street, Soho.

The French theme to the pub has been around for some time, in parallel to being called the York Minster.

Although an early landlord was a German national, the pub was for long managed by a Belgian national, one Victor Berlemont, who had a son, Gaston Berlemont who was born in the pub in 1914.

Gaston was a British national, who lived in Soho, and served in the RAF, and became the landlord of the York Minister when his father died in 1951. He continued as landlord until retirement, rather appropriately on Bastille Day in 1989.

The pub was popular with the Free French forces during the Second World War and later Gaston promoted a Gallic image for the pub, and long before the change of name, it became known as “The French”.

There are two films of Gaston’s retirement on the 14th of July 1989 on YouTube. Part 1 is here (if received via email, you will need to go to the post on the website here to view):

And part 2 is here:

As can be seen in the above two films, the name of the pub in 1989 was the French House, and the name change had taken place 5 years earlier in 1984 after the fire at the real York Minster, when apparently donations for the repair of the church in York were being received at the pub in Soho, which Gaston did forward to York (and there is a story that wine destined for the pub in Soho reached the real York Minster in York).

The change in name was really just a formality for the pub due to its decades long association with a French influence. For example, in The Tatler on the 28th of January, 1953, the pub was described as follows: “York Minster, Dean Street, opposite bombed St. Anne’s. Upstairs in the small pub there is excellent, plain French cooking to be had most days. It is lucky if you happen to like one of the plats du jour, for they are one of the best bets. You can have wine by the glass and those who favour the drink can watch absinthe dripping into their glass on the zinc downstairs. There is nothing very French-looking about the York Minster (nothing except the period, to remind you of the Toulouse-Lautrec film), but most of the clientele is Soho-French. So is the patron.”

The French influence continues to this day, with the French flags on the front of the pub, and with the menu at the first floor restaurant.

Admiral Duncan – Old Compton Street

The Admiral Duncan in Old Compton Street, known as Soho’s oldest gay pub, was the scene of a bomb attack in 1999, when it was the third London site attacked by the so called at the time “London Nail Bomber”.

Although no one had died in the previous two attacks, the bomb at the Admiral Duncan killed three,. When the attacker was sent for trial, newspapers summarized the accusations: “A 23 year old engineer accused of murdering three people in London nail bombings was committed for trial yesterday at the Old Bailey. **********, of Cove, Hampshire, is accused of murdering Andrea Dykes, John Light and Nicholas Moore in a bomb blast at the Admiral Duncan pub in Soho, central London, on April 30th. He is also accused of three counts of causing an explosion relating to the bombing at Electric Avenue, Brixton, south London, on April 17th, a bombing in the Brick Lane, east London the following Saturday and at Soho on April 30th.”

He should have been charged with four murders as Andrea Dykes was pregnant.

The choice of bomb locations, where minority and vulnerable people were targets gives some indication of the attacker’s motivations as a neo-Nazi, who used bombs packed with nails, designed to cause maximum harm to anyone in the vicinity of the explosion, and many of the 139 injured in the three attacks had horrific injuries.

He told police that he “wanted to be an infamous murderer who started a race war”.

The above newspaper report included his name, however I have deleted it, as people who do this should not have their names remembered (as was his intention), rather they should be consigned to oblivion. He was given 6 life sentences, and hopefully should never be released, although he is eligible for parole in his seventies.

The Admiral Duncan pub seems to date from the early decades of the 19th century, I suspect it was 1826 as the Admiral Duncan was advertising for staff, for example with the following advert from the Morning Advertiser on Thursday 15th of June, 1826: “WANTED in a Public-House a SERVANT of ALL-WORK. A young Woman of good character may apply at the Admiral Duncan, Old Compton-street, Soho.”

The bomb attacks were the result of an individuals hatred and discrimination of other communities, and the above advert of staff in 1826 ended with another example, as it ended with “No Irish person need apply”.

A couple of month later, the Admiral Duncan was advertising for “a SERVANT of ALL-WORK – A young English WOMAN of good character”.

I do not know if this was specific to the landlord of the Admiral Duncan in 1826, as you do not see this type of discrimination that often in adverts for pub staff in the early 19th century.

The pub is named after Admiral Adam Duncan, who was the Admiral in charge of the Royal Navy fleet that defeated the Dutch fleet in the battle of Camperdown (or Camperduin, the Dutch name of the town on the coast of the Netherlands) off where the battle was fought.

The battle was a significant victory, and is ranked as one of the most important actions in the history of the Royal Navy.

Duncan was made a Viscount and received an annual pension of £3,000 as a reward for his success, and there seems to have been a number of pubs given the name of the Admiral Duncan in the first half of the 19th century.

Comptons – Old Compton Street

Comptons in Old Compton Street is another Soho LBGTQ pub, however the current name is relatively recent.

It started out as the Swiss Hotel a private hotel that seems to have catered for the Swiss community as in 1874 is was advertising for “a young Swiss”, who also speaks English. Whether having Swiss staff was to support a Swiss customer base, or as a novelty for English customers is not clear.

It could be the former as a year earlier in 1873, there was an advert placed by a Swiss person who gave the Swiss Hotel as an address, and who was looking for a position as an indoor servant, and among their abilities were listed as being able to speak French, German and Italian, and a little English. The hotel seems to have been a place for those from Switzerland to stay.

The earliest reference to the Swiss Hotel I can find dates from 1871 when there is a record of the license being transferred from James Dennler to Rodolphe Stauffer.

The Survey of London volumes for Soho entry for the Swiss Hotel opens with “This was built in 1890 to the plans of the architects W. A. Williams and Hopton, who exhibited their design in that year at the Royal Academy.”

The Survey of London does not make any mention of the Swiss Hotel as being in Old Compton Street before 1890, however taking newspapers from the 1870s and 1880s, there are mentions of the Swiss Hotel, and 1890 could be a reference to the build of the current building on the site, rather than the institution of the Swiss Hotel.

The last reference to the name Swiss Hotel I could find is from 1969 when it was the site for a large gathering of West End members of the National Association of Theatrical and Kine Employees union.

By 1972 is was known as the Swiss Tavern, and was the home of the Playroom Theatre Club, which was advertised as “A new lunchtime company, has been formed by Jonathan Burn and Alan West at the Swiss Tavern, 53 Old Compton Street, W.1. The aim is to present original and experimental productions, for which applicants are welcomed whether engaged in the evenings or not. Workshop exercises with emphasis not only on the group but on individual expression will be part of the activities. A number of directors, writers, actors designers and technical personnel are already collaborating but a total number of from ten to fourteen is needed.”

One of the productions put on at the Playroom Theatre Club in 1973 attracted much publicity, including the following from the “Entertainment” section of the Marylebone Mercury (excuse the language):

“On the fringe of respectability – THEATRE on the cheap is alive and doing all right in the pubs of Soho. They call it fringe theatre and it certainly is in every way – on the borderline of respectability, like Soho itself, and of bankcrupty.

The Playroom Theatre Club, above the Swiss Tavern pub in Old Compton Street has been going a year almost with productions like ‘Areatha in the Ice Palace’ and ‘Wankers’.

The Swiss Tavern is opposite a sex-movie club, next door to a strip club. No wonder one of the biggest hits by Playroom was ‘Wankers’, which had to be retained for an extra week.

People who think ‘ pornography’ must be awfully disappointed, said producer Judith Wills from Missouri.”

Later in the article, the producers complained that “So far, despite pressure, the Arts Council has refused to help this sort of fringe theatre”, and that this refusal could have been due to being over a pub. There was a number of other fringe theatre groups operating in pubs across Soho.

The Playroom Theatre Group does not seem to have lasted beyond the end of 1973, however the Swiss Tavern continued to be one of the Soho pubs frequented by those in the acting profession.

The name Swiss Tavern disappeared in the 1980s, and by the end of the decade it was known as Compton’s, and in the 1990s, its current identity was well established, as this report from the Scotsman on the 13th of June 1996, illustrates:

“SORRY, but there only is one game in town – England v Scotland on Saturday. It is understood that much of London pubs, clubs and other places of entertainment, plans to close down in spite of Scottish fans having one of the best reputations in world football.

But at least one pub will be open. Compton’s in Old Compton Street run by Stevie and George from Glasgow, will welcome Scots. One thing to remember; it is reputed to be Soho’s best gay pub.”

The Golden Lion – Dean Street

The Survey of London records that the Golden Lion existed in 1728, so this is an old pub, although the building on the site today is a later version of the pub, having been built at the end of the 1920s for the brewer William Younger.

The current version of the Golden Lion does retain a number of features saved from the earlier building, including this rather impressive sun dial from the time before the rebuild when it was known as Ye Golden Lion:

The journalist, author, TV presenter, and Soho drinker, Daniel Farson wrote the book “Soho in the Fifties” about his time in Soho during the decade, the people he met, the pubs restaurants etc. The book contains many of Farson’s photos of life around Soho at the time, and it is a brilliant book for a snapshot of Soho, a Soho that for the most part, has been lost.

He wrote about the Golden lion under the title “The Queer Pubs”:

“In Soho there were two ‘queer pubs’ as they were called then, the Fitzroy off Charlotte Street to the north, and the Golden Lion in Dean Street to the south. Though the Lion was a few doors away from the French, the two pubs had so little in common that they might have been in separate towns. Married couples wandered into the Lion by mistake and left swiftly when they discovered they were surrounded by strange men, or remained, delighted by their chance discovery, but Gaston (at the French) did not encourage stragglers who crossed the frontier for a change of scene, and one of his quizzical stares sufficed to scare them off again. Only a few customers were regulars of both.”

The Golden Lion later achieved some notoriety as the serial killer Dennis Nilsen picked up at least one of his victims at the pub.

The Coach & Horses – Greek Street

On the sign on the corner of the pub, the Coach & Horses claims that it is “the West End’s best known pub”, and on the pub’s website, that “it’s a deeply loved London institution with a rich history”, but fails to put any of this history on the pub’s website.

The claims seem to stem from one man, Norman Balon, the Landlord for an incredible length of time from 1943 to 2006, when he lived up to his self proclaimed reputation as being the “rudest landlord in London”.

Typical of the many accounts of Norman Balon’s last day at the Coach and Horses is the following:

“The strangely coveted title of London’s Rudest Landlord is now vacant, as its long-time holder, Norman Balon of the Coach and Horses, Soho, tucks the sale price of the pub into his locally made suit and takes the Underground home to his home in Golders Green.

Mr. Balon, 79, has told more people to drink up and leave than Jeffrey Bernard drank large vodka-ice-and-sodas at his bar side during the decades he wrote Low Life, his celebrated Spectator column.

Last week the pub overflowed like a badly pulled pint with well-wishers. Richard Ingrams, founder of satirical magazine Private Eye made a two-sentence speech: ‘the only man grumpier than me. I salute you’.

Writer Beryl Bainbridge cheered, Spencer Bright, biographer of both Boy George and Norman Balon, looked sad.

For this is the pub behind Michael Heath’s extraordinary cartoon strip ‘The Regulars’ in Private Eye, which once had one Regular saying to another ‘I’m sorry I was rude last night. You see, I was sober’.

At the farewell bash, Heath remarked ‘I don’t remember Norman being rude. in fact, i don’t remember anything from those years’.

By classic Soho standards of stiletto rudeness, Norman Balon was a measured man. Tourists asking for sandwiches might, though, be puzzled to be told to leave and not come back. It was a defense mechanism against bores. The Coach, as everyone called it, was a pub for talking, since Mr. Balon would tolerate no jukebox, among other things.”

The Coach and Horses featured in the play, “Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell”, by Keith Waterhouse, which opened in London at the Apollo Theatre in Shaftesbury Lane in October 1989, with Peter O’Toole playing the lead character of Jeffrey Bernard, with a small supporting cast.

Jeffrey Bernard was a journalist who wrote for Private Eye and Sporting Life, and for the Spectator under the name of “Low Life”, where he wrote about his life in Soho and in the Coach and Horses where he was very much a regular.

The magazine Private Eye held their lunches at the pub for 25 years.

Norman Balon’s biography was ghost written by Spencer Bright and went by the title of “You’re Barred, You Bastards: The Memoirs of a Soho Publican”.

There is a conversation with Norman Balon here (again click here to go to the website if you cannot see the post):

There is a 1987 BBC Arena documentary about Jeffrey Bernard which includes film within the Coach & Horses:

And another documentary on Jeffrey Bernard – Reach for the Ground, which includes some film of Soho as it was:

The Coach and Horses is Grade II listed, both the pub building, and as part of a block of adjoinging buildings. It is listed for the exterior architecure and for surviving internal features.

The first record of a license for the Coach and Horses dates back to 1724. The current building dates from around 1840, and the pub was remodeled and extended in 1889, with the interior bar from 1930 when the pub was taken over by Taylor, Walker & Company.

It is a wonderful pub, and a reminder of a lost Soho.

The Three Greyhounds – Greek Street

The Three Greyhounds claims that the name comes from the greyhounds that roamed the area that became Soho, when it was open field.

The pub appears to date back to 1837, when Soho was a densely built and populated area of London, and greyhounds roaming the fields would have been a couple of centuries before. The mock Tudor styling of the pub probably intends to give its appearance some age.

I cannot find too much of a history to the Three Greyhounds, apart from it being a typical Soho pub which attracted its fair share of writers, musicians, those active in the theatre industry etc. All who were once part of the drinking culture of Soho.

The journalist, author, TV presenter, and Soho drinker, Daniel Farson quoted earlier in the section on the Golden Lion, included in his book a summary of “A Soho Type of Person” and which encapsulates how drinking was such an important part of the culture of Soho:

A Soho Type of Person:

The drinkers in the French symbolised Soho in 1951.

What makes a Soho type of person? You need a Bohemian streak to find the lure irresistible. You would never contemplate going out for ‘just the one’ unless it was the one day. Soho people rarely use ‘drink’ in the singular – lets meet for a drink, or we’ll discuss it over a drink – for they know that that much singularity is absurd. Yet they take offence if someone asks them if they want ‘another’ for the semblance of self-discipline is vital.

An alcoholic hates drink; the Soho person loves it. This is why there are so few alcoholics in Soho though plenty of drunks.

Soho people do not tell ‘jokes’ and avoid the eyes of those who do. They relish true stories, especially of their friends’ disasters. equally they enjoy celebrating a friend’s success….when the friend is paying. The good luck might rub off.

A Soho person is someone:

  • who is not afraid to cry in public;
  • who rarely travels by public transport, preferring the privacy of taxis;
  • who regards taxes of the other sort, and all brown envelopes with little windows, as an unwarrantable intrusion;
  • who cashes cheques anywhere, except the bank;
  • who seldom knows the date;
  • who will miss a dinner appointment if he is enjoying himself;
  • who has been barred from at least one pub, club or restaurant;
  • whose life staggers from the gutter to the Ritz and maybe back again.

Pubs have long been an important part of life in Soho, and is one of the reasons why so many pubs remain. I will continue exploring these wonderful institutions in part 3 of my tour of Soho pubs.

For more on the author Daniel Farson quoted in this post, see my post on The Waterman’s Arms – Isle of Dogs.

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Strand Lane, a Tragic Story and William Lilly

Tickets for my final Southbank walk until next summer: The South Bank – Marsh, Industry, Culture and the Festival of Britain, on the 20th of October, are now available by clicking here.

As well as finding the locations of my father’s photos, it is fascinating to see how London has changed compared to any old photo, and the three volume set of Wonderful London from the 1920s is a fantastic source to compare how London has changed in the past 100 years, and the following photo of Strand Lane from the book took me to a very old place with a long story:

The text from Wonderful London with the above photo reads: “Strand Lane is thought to have once been the bed of a stream which ran down from Drury Lane to the Thames. A bridge called Strand Bridge crossed it, and the name was afterwards transferred to the landing stage at the bottom. The entrance to the Roman Bath is just to the right of the passage under the old watch house, and the property belongs to the parish of St. Mary’s. Just below the point where the camera stood for this photograph are some steps on the right leading up to Surrey Street”.

There is some truth and also a big error in the above 1920s text, which I will come to later in the post.

The same view today (although not exactly from the right place as there was a van and a car parked to the right and behind where I was standing):

The photographer for Wonderful London walked through the passage under the house, and took another photo looking down Strand Lane:

So I did the same:

The Wonderful London text for the second photo reads: “A low entry opposite the church of St. Mary-le-Strand leads to this quant passage. In former times Strand Lane led down to Strand Bridge, a landing place for boats much used by the inmates of Strand Inn, which lay just to the west of the lane. In ‘The Spectator’ it is recorded that Addison landed with a ten sail of apricot boats at Strand bridge for somebody’s stall in Covent Garden. There used to be some tenements in the Lane called Golden Buildings, but at present the backs of high houses on the east and a brick wall on the west are all that keep it as a lane.”

The description of the lane in the last sentence of the above 1920s text can equally apply to much of the lane today, but where is Strand Lane?

I have marked the location of Strand Lane within the red oval in the following map  (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

The entrance to Strand Lane is from the south, along Temple Place. The Strand Campus of King’s College London occupies the large area of land to the west, and also the buildings along the eastern side of the lane, so today, Strand Lane seems to be fully within the campus of King’s College London.

Today, the lane comes to a dead end at the north. The Wonderful London description states that entry to the lane from the north was through a “low entry opposite the church of St. Mary-le-Strand leads to this quant passage“, however this has been closed off for the last fifty years due to the expansion of the college buildings.

Rocque’s map of 1746 shows that Strand Lane was to be found in the mid 18th century, and also shows how the lane ran directly to the Strand, just opposite the eastern end of St. Mary-le-Strand. Strand Lane can be seen running down from the Strand, in the centre of the following extract from Rocque’s map:

In the above map, you can see that Strand Lane runs down to a set of stairs into the river which went by the name of Strand Bridge.

In an 18th century reproduction of an earlier map, we can see Strand Lane, with the name of Strand Bridge Lane on the left edge of the map, when it was along the western border of the old Arundel House, one of the large houses and grounds that once lined the area between the Strand and the river:

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 above map shows 4 small boats at the end of Strand Bridge Lane, illustrating that this was a place where you could take a boat along the river for a fee.

The use of the word “Bridge”, either in the name of the lane, or for the landing place at the end of the lane can best be described by taking the following extract from “London Past and Present” by Henry B. Wheatley (1891) :

“Strand Lane, in the Strand, east of Somerset House, and opposite the east end of St. Mary’s Church, was originally the channel of the rivulet which crossed the great thoroughfare under Strand Bridge. It must be remembered that the Strand at this part has been raised fully 20 feet above the ancient level. The lane led to the landing place, at one time known as Strand Bridge; but this was destroyed in forming the Thames Embankment and the lane is no longer a thoroughfare.”

“London Past and Present” also includes a passage from the 1709 publication “History of the Quakers” to substantiate a claim that there were once 311 open channels of water crossing the roadway between Westminster Hall and the Royal Exchange:

“The 18th December 1656, J. Naylor suffered part; and after having stood full two hours with his head in the Pillory, was stripped and whipped at a cart’s tail, from Palace Yard to the Old Exchange, and received three hundred and ten stripes; and the executioner would have given him one more (as he confessed to the Sheriff), ‘there being three hundred and eleven kennels’, but his foot slipping, the stroke fell upon his own hand, which hurt him much.”

“Kennels” were streams of water that ran either along the middle or along the edges of a street. One place where Kennels can still be found is Wells in Somerset, where there are streams flowing in channels along the sides of the streets:

Whether there were 311 streams or channels of water leading down to the river, crossing the road between Westminster and the Royal Exchange in the heart of the City is impossible to confirm and it does seem like a very large number, however there must have been a significant amount of small streams, and Strand Lane appears to be the route of one of these old streams. A reminder of how much we have changed the land surface of the city over the centuries, with so many of the original natural features erased or buried.

The plan of Arundel House shows the street as Strand Bridge Street, and perhaps the stream of water also acted as the western border of the plot of land on which Arundel House was built.

This is the entrance to Strand Lane from Temple Place. the buildings of King’s College London line the two sides of the land, and there is an enclosed overhead walking route between the two sides:

Temple Place, and the Embankment which was behind me when I took the above photo, were built during the late 19th century, so originally, the Thames came up to the roadway in front of me, and this was where the stairs at the end of Strand Lane could be found.

I use old newspapers for research into the places I write about. You need to be careful about journalistic spin, and as ever, newspapers always focus on the bad aspects of life, however they do give a good impression of day to day life in a city such as London.

We also tend to romanticise the London of the past, however if you did not have money, London was often a dark and brutal place for the poor, and particularly for girls and women, and whilst researching Strand Lane, I came across one of the most appalling and sad stories that I have read. This was reported across several newspapers on the 16th of June, 1786:

“Saturday morning the body of a fine young woman was taken out of the Thames at the end of Strand Lane, where she had drowned herself the preceding night. She appeared to be about eighteen years of age, and was known to have been turned out of doors the day before, by one of those inhuman monsters, in the shape of women, who keep brothels in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane.

The poor young victim had been brought from her parents at the age of eleven years, by the mistress of the Bagnio, from which she was dismissed when her face grew common, and the charms of extreme youth and novelty were no longer a temptation to debauched constitutions, and debilitated age. Thus thrown upon the town, penniless, and heart-broken, she put an end to her existence. the body was taken to a house in Strand Lane.”

The article states “charms of extreme youth and novelty” when she should have been described as a child, and although from the article some of her history was known, the article does not even give her the dignity of a name.

One cannot begin to imagine how much she must have suffered by the time she ended her life at the end of Strand Lane, in the Thames at what is now Temple Place and the Embankment.

Looking up Strand Lane today, the white house from the Wonderful London photo towards the end of the lane, buildings of King’s College on either side, a mix of very different architecture, and overhead crossings:

View to the west of Strand Lane, with a large, brick building with what looks like an apse, the curved section at the end of the building, almost over hanging the lane:

There is an unusual feature on the very top of the building in the above photo, a dome to house an astronomical telescope:

I wonder how much of the night sky can be seen given the level of light pollution in central London?

Approaching the end of Strand Lane, the van, and a car behind it, was the reason that I could not get into the right position to take an identical photo to that in Wonderful London. Whilst I was there, the lane seemed to be used for deliveries to and from King’s College buildings:

To the right of the van in the above photo, you can see some white tiling on the wall. This is the entrance to Surrey Steps:

Surrey Steps connect Surrey Street with Strand Lane:

One of the buildings that runs between Surrey Street and Strand Lane forms an arch over Surrey Steps. The end is gated so there is no public access from Surrey Street through to Strand Lane:

Surrey Steps is shown, but not named, in Rocque’s 1746 map, and I have highlighted them within the orange oval in the following extract from the map (note that where the steps meet Strand Lane, there appears to be some shading which would be the steps leading down to the lane):

I have also highlighted another feature in the above map, one that cannot be found today having been built over by Kings College buildings. This was Naked Boy Court, and the court featured in the earliest newspaper reference I could find to Strand Lane, from the 9th of January, 1733:

“On Friday Night the House of Mrs. Smith, a noted Midwife in Naked-Boy-Court, near Strand-lane, was broke open and robbed of 19 Guineas, 24 Broad Pieces, and several suites of Wearing Apparel.”

There were a number of Naked Boy Courts and Alleys in 18th century London, and the name seems to have come from a sign of a “youthful Bacchus astride a barrel”.

Walking into Surrey Street and this is the opposite end of Surrey Steps and shows that they are closed and gated:

There is also a sign on the wall at top left stating: “The National Trust Roman Bath, Down Steps Turn Right”.

Not only are the directions impossible to follow, but if you did get through the gate and down the steps, you would not find a Roman Bath, but the remains of a cistern dating from 1612 and built to feed a fountain in the gardens of Somerset House.

Just to show that you cannot always believe what you read, even in old books that for the most part are authoritative and accurate, in the book “London Past and Present” which I have quoted earlier in the post, Henry B. Wheatley states that “on the east side of this lane is a genuine, ancient Roman bath which is well worth inspection”.

Wonderful London also mentioned the Roman bath in the description to the photo.

In researching my blog posts, I always try to use multiple sources, books, maps, academic journals etc. to ensure they are as accurate as possible.

The Roman Baths / 17th century cistern are inside the building shown in the following photo, within Strand Lane. They are owned by the National Trust, but to gain access you need to contact Westminster Council at least a week in advance.

At the northern end of Strand Lane, there is no further access. This is where the old lane turned to the left / west in the 1746 map, and the turn is still here, but abruptly ends at a metal gate and the King’s College buildings that were built over the rest of where Strand Lane ran up to the Strand:

The northern end of Strand Lane was blocked up in 1971, using an order under section 153 of the Town and Country Planning Act, 1962 entitled ‘The Stopping up of Highways (City of Westminster), No. 3 Order 1971, authorising the stopping up of a length of Strand Lane.”

Looking back down Strand Lane with the brick building and apse on the right:

The building on the right appears from a plan of the college to be the King’s Building, and this link appears to have a photo of a large ornate room at the header of the page, which includes an apse at the far end, so perhaps this is the interior of the building with the apse almost hanging over Strand Lane.

Another view of the building:

Looking up at how the apse is supported:

Another delivery van enters Strand Lane:

Walking up to the Strand, and there is no sign of where Strand Lane once entered the Strand. From aligning maps, it seems to have been in the section of the building between the first and second pillars from the right, in the bay to the left of the “Welcome to King’s” sign:

At the far end of the King’s College building is the old Strand / Aldwych Underground Station, and on the side is green plaque:

Telling that William Lilly, Master Astrologer lived in a house on the site:

William Lilly was born in the county of Leicester, and the Leicester Chronicle on the 25th of October 1930 provides a summary of his life under the perfect local paper headline of “Diseworth Man’s Lucky Prophecies”:

“Leicestershire has given birth to some famous men. One of these, undoubtedly, is William Lilly, who was the first man in England to produce a prophetic almanac. He was born in Diseworth in 1602 and went to Ashby Grammar School. At the age of eighteen he journeyed to London and entered ‘service’.

He was fortunate to find in the City, a prosperous Leicestershire man who wanted a servant. Lilly was engaged to do odd jobs, but as his master was illiterate, and found the Diseworth youth was good at figures he employed him to keep his accounts.

It seems to have been the policy of William Lilly, all his life, to look specially after William Lilly. He so wormed his way into his master’s favour that he was awarded a legacy of £20 a year when the old man died in 1627. That was not enough for him, so he wooed the young widow and persuaded her to marry him. Six years later she died, leaving him property worth £1,000.

That gave him a start. he was now a man of leisure, and devoted a good deal of time to the study of astrology – then a very popular science (!), for most people believed in the influence of the stars on public and private lives. At the age of 42 he brought out his almanac, signing himself Meilinus Anglicus, junr.”

William Lilly:

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 article continues:

“His almanac succeeded so well, and served him as so good an advertisement, that he set up a sort of astrologer’s business, being prepared to read the future for all who were willing to pay him. It seems extraordinary to us of the twentieth century that the most distinguished people of Lilly’s time used to patronise him, anxious to hear what the stars had to say about coming events.

Cromwell himself is said to have consulted the Diseworth astrologer. In 1648, when the Roundheads were besieging Colchester, and were not getting on very well, Lilly was sent for. He prophesied an early surrender, and the parliamentary troops were so encouraged that they forced the city to fulfil the prophecy.

But while Lilly was taking money from the Parliamentarians he was also feathering his nest from Royalist sources. He was consulted as to how King Charles might escape from his captors, and actually prepared a scheme for enabling the unfortunate monarch to get free. It failed because Charles had not the courage to carry it through to the end.

When the Stuarts were restored, Lilly’s fame began to decline, but he had several strokes of luck in his almanac. One of the prophecies, for instance, was taken to have been a clear indication that he knew the Great Fire of London was to happen; another helped him to acquire the favour of the king of Sweden, who sent him a gold chain worth £50.

In his old age Lilly found it wise to retire and keep out of the public eye. He lived to pass his eightieth birthday. He was a shrewd old man, if often unscrupulous and once his shrewdness saved him. He had prophesized in his almanac for 1653 that the Parliament would not last long, and that the Commonwealth would soon come to an end. He was summonsed to appear before a Governmental committee to account for his publication, but, before he attended, he got his printers to let him have some copies from which the objectionable prophecies were omitted. He presented them and protested that the other copies were spurious, issued by his enemies – and thus saved his skin.”

William Lilly and one of his annual almanacs:

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.

William Lilly, an example of one of the problems of walking around London, there is always so much to find in any small area, as Lilly lived just to the north east of Strand Lane.

Strand Lane is a strange place. There are gates up against the wall at the entrance from Temple Place. I cannot remember if I have ever seen them closed. It is also not clear whether Strand Lane is really public space, or it is part of the King’s College campus, as buildings of the college line both sides of the lane.

The entry into Surrey Steps from Surrey Street is closed and locked, implying that this entrance to the lane is not public space.

In all the time I was looking around, and photographing the lane, there was no challenge, however the only other people in the lane were clearly those who had business with King’s College, and it is a dead end, so there is no destination to be reached by walking along the lane.

It is though, a fascinating place. Possibly the route of a very old “kennel” or stream that ran from north of the Strand, under Strand Bridge, down to the river. It was cut off from the Thames in the late 19th century when the Embankment was built, but for long was a landing place, a boundary between the river and land, and was once also the western boundary to Arundel House.

It was also the site of the tragic suicide of an eighteen year old girl, who must have suffered much in her short life in eighteenth century London.

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The Gates of Stationers’ Hall – Perhaps

Three of my father’s photos in today’s post, which goes by the title of “The Gates of Stationers’ Hall – Perhaps”.

The reason for “Perhaps” at the end of the title is that I am still not completely sure that I have found the right location, but, as I will explain in the post, I cannot find any other location for the photo.

Each of the three photos are looking through some ornate iron gates, or railings, with part of St. Paul’s Cathedral in the background, with the twin towers on either side of the western entrance to the cathedral and the dome providing a clear landmark:

In the photo above, you can see a line of buildings leading to a gap towards the right of the photo where part of the western entrance to the cathedral can be seen.

In the photo below, you can now see the dome, again through ornate ironwork, with more of the row of buildings in front of the cathedral:

There is no glass in the windows of the building on the left, probably from wartime bomb damage. The buildings in the above photo were where the Paternoster Square development is today.

The following photo is very similar to the above photo, but is looking slightly to the right, with part of the western entrance visible:

The Guilds and Livery Companies of the City of London often had their halls set back from the street, with a small courtyard in front, and an alley leading to the street. The alley would have an ornate iron gate to secure access to the courtyard and hall.

One of these halls, Stationers’ Hall is just to the west of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and I checked the OS map published a couple of years after my father took the above photo, and the location of the hall, and view across to the cathedral does seem to correspond to the three photos (Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland“):

In the above map, I have underlined Stationers’ Hall with a red line. The square to the lower left of the hall is their garden, and to the lower right is a small courtyard with the double lines, possibly of a gate just to the left of the red arrow, and the lane Stationers Hall Court which could also have been the location of the gates.

The red arrow shows the rough direction of view for the photos.

It is across Ave Maria Lane, and some open space, as the area was bombed badly during the war. To the right of the open space, you can see a a couple of buildings to the right of London House Yard, and leading between the buildings is a small street, also with the name of London House Yard.

Below the red arrow is a line of buildings along Ludgate Hill, and between the two rows of buildings, where the arrow is pointing, there is a gap, and through this gap, the view of the western entrance to St. Paul’s Cathedral is visible, as can be seen in my father’s photos.

So, I am sure that my father was taking photos behind the gates of the entrance to Stationers’ Hall, the short double lines, or in Stationers Hall Lane, to the left of the start of the red arrow in the map. But I cannot be 100% certain.

The reason I cannot be certain is that I cannot find any photos of the gates to the hall to confirm.

The best photo I have been able to find is from the London Picture Archive, and which dates from 1920 and can be seen by clicking here.

In the photo, you can just see the inner gates, and these do not appear to have the ornate ironwork as in my father’s photos.

The outer gates, presumably the ornate iron work in my father’s photos, cannot be seen as they are wide open.

So again, the location looks exactly right, with the view across to the buildings opposite, including the slight offset to where London House Yard runs between the two buildings, and the view of the cathedral through the gap between buildings, all seeming to confirm.

But as I cannot find a photo of the gates, I will leave the word “Probably” in the title of the post.

Time to have a look at Stationers’ Hall, and the hall consists of buildings on two sides of a courtyard, in front, and to the right of the following photo:

The other side of the courtyard:

To learn about the Stationers’, I turned to the book “The Armorial Bearings of the Guilds of London” by John Bromley and published in 1960, which does seem to offer one of the more comprehensive overviews of the City’s guilds and companies.

In this book, the company has the name of “The Worshipful Company of Stationers and Newspaper Makers”, which was the full name used from 1937 to recognise the amalgamation of the Stationers’ Company with the Company of Newspaper Makers.

Today, the Newspaper Makers wording has been dropped, and the company describes itself as “The City of London Livery Company for the Communications and Content Industries”, showing how these City institutions have continuously evolved as their trades have changed.

The word “stationer” comes from the Latin word stationarius – a stall holder as opposed to an itinerant seller of goods, and it seems that the important role of these “stationarii” in producing, lending and selling books in mediaeval universities started to limit the name to this specific trade, which also then included bookbinders, illuminators and text writers.

In 1403, Text Writers and Illuminators were united by civic ordinance into a single Guild, which is the direct ancestor of the Company of Stationers’.

On the 4th of May, 1557, the Stationers’ were incorporated by Royal Charter.

The Stationers’ have had a hall on the current site since 1606, following a move from their original, 1554 hall, a short distance away.

The hall has been rebuilt and been through a number of changes and modifications in the past 400 years. It was destroyed in the 1666 Great Fire and more recently suffered serious bomb damage in 1940, during the same raids that resulted in the cleared space seen in front of my father’s photos.

At the rear of the hall is a small garden, and a gate to the side of the hall provides access to Stationers’ Garden:

The following print from 1830 shows the entrance to the garden on the left, and the hall looking much the same as it does 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.

On the front of the hall is a memorial to liverymen of the company who lost their lives in the Great War, 1914 – 1918:

And a plaque that records one of the trades associated with the Stationers’, recording that Wynkyn de Worde set up his press in nearby Shoe Lane around the year 1500:

An ornate sign for Stationers’ Hall, with their coat of arms, hangs from the hall:

The arms of the Stationers’ Company include three clasped books, an eagle between two Tudor roses, and above a white bird, a representation of the holy spirit, and a white cloud radiating beams of light.

The arms are also displayed on wooden bollards around the courtyard:

The following view is looking from the courtyard towards St. Paul’s Cathedral. The building surrounding two sides of the courtyard, and blocking the view of the cathedral is the Club Quarters Hotel:

The walk way through the hotel, seen in the above photo, appears to be in the same location as the original exit from the courtyard to Ave Maria Lane. If I am right, it was in this walk way that my father took the photos looking through the old gates.

Walking through, and looking in the direction of the cathedral, the view is still blocked, now by the Paternoster Square development:

Looking back from Ave Maria Lane, with the entrance to the courtyard in front of Stations’ Hall, at ground level, and under the hotel. The gates in my father’s photos would have been somewhere around this entrance:

To get a view of the cathedral, I had to turn right and walk along Ave Maria Lane to Ludgate Hill, where, on the corner of the junction, I had the following view;

Compare the above view with my father’s photos, and imagine then walking to the left, back along Ave Maria Lane to where the entrance to Stationers’ Hall is located, and the alignment of the cathedral, the dome, two towers, is about right in the photos looking through the gate.

I cannot be completely certain, as I cannot find any photos of the gates with the hall behind, but the map, and the views across to the cathedral, including the gap between buildings, and the street layout, all look right.

So whilst I cannot guarantee, I can say that the gates were probably those at the entrance to Stationers’ Hall.

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Royal Commission on Local Government in Greater London 1957-60

Two new dates for my walks are now available on Eventbrite. Walks, dates, and link for details and booking, here:

Bankside to Pickle Herring Street – History between the Bridges – Sunday 29th September

Limehouse – A Sink of Iniquity and Degradation – Sunday 6th October

The Royal Commission on Local Government in Greater London, 1957-60 was a significant investigation into the governance of London, with a target of recommending whether any, and if so what, changes in the local government structure and distribution of local authority functions in the area, or in any part of it, would better secure effective and convenient local government.

The 1957-60 report, with some modifications led to the London Government Act 1963, which resulted in the creation of the Greater London Council in 1965, along with the formation of 32 London borough councils.

The report is an interesting read, not just for its recommendations, but also for the descriptions and statistics of London at the time of the report, the challenges facing London, how London, and the governance of the city had developed etc.

I find it fascinating how, when you explore much of London’s history, many of the themes are much the same today, and the following paragraphs from the introduction to the report could have been written today, rather than 64 years ago:

“Throughout its history London has had this astonishing quality of vitality which has shown itself in two main ways. London has constantly attracted people to itself from the outside, and it has also grown constantly from the centre outwards. These centripetal and centrifugal forces have worked at varying paces at various times; but viewed in perspective the two processes have been continuous. Both forces have been working with accelerating impetus since the year 1900 and they have never been more active than they are today.

At intervals attempts have been made to contain this growth. Sometimes the Court has tried to restrain the growing power of London. Sometimes social reformers have shaken their heads over the problems of size this growth has engendered. Nowadays restriction through planning and other controls is the order of the day. If London remains true to its historic character, it will continue to attract and to try to expand; to attract for business and residence, and to a lesser extent for industry, and to try to expand outwards as its population grows and as the demand for more spacious surroundings grows, a demand which a rising standard of living gives people the means to satisfy.

Already London is leaping over the green belt which as recently as twenty years ago was designed to contain it. Many of the problems with which we deal with in this our Report are direct reflections of the phenomena to which we have referred. The fundamental question is not ‘How can growth of London be stopped?’ but ‘How can London’s abounding vitality be guided and directed for the general good through the medium of self-government?’. The problems we have to consider are the problems of vigorous growth, the growth of a living organism which has earned a better title than the cold, ugly, and in this instance misleading term ‘conurbation’. Such a term would certainly have repelled visionaries such as William Blake whose poetry perhaps brings us nearer the truth than we should get by too exclusive adherence to the prosaic details of the machinery of government:

I behold London, a Human awful wonder of God!

He says: ‘Return, Albion, return! I give myself for thee.

My Streets are my Ideas of Imagination.

Awake Albion, awake! and let us awake up together.

My Houses are Thoughts: my Inhabitants, Affections,

The children of my thoughts walking through my blood-vessels

So spoke London, immortal Guardian! I heard in Lambeth’s shades.

In Felpham I heard and saw visions of Albion:

I write in South Moulton Street what I both see and hear

In regions of Humanity, in London’s opening streets.

The report is almost 400 pages of considerable detail, far more than I can explore in a weekly post, however one thing I can cover are the maps.

At the back of the 400 pages is a large pocket, and in the pocket are 12 maps which illustrate the report, and also provide us with a snapshot of London over 65 years ago, the proposals contained within the report, and how London had developed to the late 1950s.

Map 1 – The Review Area

The first map in the series shows, appropriately, the area covered within the review. This was the extreme boundary of what could be considered Greater London.

As will be seen in a future map, parts of the review area were excluded from the reports’ recommendations for the administrative boundaries of a Council for Greater London.

Map 2 – Proposals for Reorganisation

This map shows how the report proposed the reorganisation of London governance, with the outer boundary showing the “Area of Council for Greater London” (and with modifications, would become the Greater London Council), along with the proposed Greater London Boroughs and their population estimates in thousands:

The thick grey line from the original review area shows that the report concluded that parts to the north west, the north and a small area to the east, should not be included in a new Council for Greater London.

Map 3 – The Growth of London

This is a fascinating map as it shows how the city had grown since the year 1800, with the land area covered in the following 155 years identified by different colours to show expansion.

The map also identifies the outer boundary of the London green belt, major open spaces within the growing city, and the planned new towns, all orbiting the growing city:

Map 4 – Where Does London End?

There is no title to this map, so I have given it my own title – Where Does London End?

I suspect an often asked question, and one that is difficult to answer. London has far outgrown the original City. Over the centuries, it has expanded and consumed all the villages that once surrounded the original City of London.

Add to this complexity, there are different interpretations of London by the different authorities and service providers involved in many aspects of London governance and critical service provision, and this was the focus of the report.

The map shows these different boundaries as they were at the time of the report, and included the boundaries of, for example, the Registrar General’s Greater London Conurbation, the Metropolitan Water Board, Metropolitan Police District, London Transport Executive Area etc.:

Map 5 – Built-Up Areas 1958 and London Green Belt

This map shows “Built-up areas, which include the residential, industrial and business areas of towns, villages and other closely developed settlements, together with the educational institutions, allotments and smaller open spaces which they envelop. Large industrial and service establishments in rural areas are also included. Golf courses and most airfields are excluded. The Greenbelt is that shown in approved Development Plans at 1/1/60”:

There has been a conflict between the green belt and the need for development for as long as the green belt has existed. The 1960 report included the following in the introduction “Already London is leaping over the green belt” which demonstrates that over 60 years ago this was a problem.

The green belt featured again in the recent General Election with Labour’s proposals for more building and the possible inclusion of areas of the green belt in a building plan.

I suspect that the conflict between preserving green belt, and the need for new development and housing will be an ongoing issue for very many decades to come.

Map 6 – Population Density 1951

A colour coded map of population density as it was in 1961 is the next in the map series.

As could be expected, the map shows the highest density of people per square mile towards the centre of the city, with density reducing as you move further away from the centre.

The exception to this is with the City of London and the City of Westminster, where population density, particularly in the City of London has always been low.

Map 7 – Travel to Work into Central London

One of the impacts of the 19th century revolution in rail travel was the ability to live in the London suburbs and travel into the centre of London to work, and map 7 shows the percentage of “total occupied persons resident in each local authority area who worked in Central London in 1951”.

The definition of central London was The City of London, City of Westminster and Metropolitan Boroughs of Finsbury, Holborn and St. Marylebone.

The map shows that in 1951, the majority of travel into central London was from within the area under review, however there were significant areas to the north west (showing the impact of the Metropolitan line), and to east London, and an area to the east in south Essex from Brentwood to Southend:

Map 8 – Changes in Population and Employment

This map shows the changes in population and employment in a single decade, the 1950s.

This was an unusual decade as London was still in the process of recovering from the destruction of the Second World War, and both industry and populations were changing dramatically.

The map shows there was a decrease in population across the majority of London, but increasing population along the boundaries of Greater London.

The map also shows changes in employment, with decreasing employment in east London and to the north and south of the City, but increasing employment further out, and to the west.

The decrease in employment seems to have been more significant in the small area bounded by the City, Shoreditch, Islington and St. Pancras, with a decrease of 8,000 workers in just six years. By contrast, central London from the City of London to the City of Westminster increased employment by 136,000 workers in the same six year period.

There are large increases in employment in some of the surrounding new towns, as these start taking both jobs and people from London.

Map 9 – Classification of Service Centres

In the report, a Service Centre is a place where there is a concentration of services such as theatres, cinemas, banks and shops.

The location of these service centres was calculated using the concentration of these services as well as the analysis of bus services to identify where there were nodes that concentrated bus services as well as the banks, shops, etc. that people would want / need to travel to and use.

Map 10 – Educational Administration

The provision of education across London was a key part of the report, and the following map shows how education services were administered in 1960:

Throughout the report, there are themes and challenges which are the same now, as they were when the 1960 report was published.

The report talks about the importance of delegation of responsibility to heads of schools and teachers, the importance of Youth Services, including the Youth Employment Service and that these should be fully integrated with schools.

School Health Services were considered key, and again should be integrated with health services provided by local authorities and central government.

The report stated that “As standards of education have risen, both as to actual teaching and as to the quality and amenity of buildings, more and more subsidies from tax payers money have been needed and more and more money has had to come from the rates.”

It seems a recurring message with public services, that if you need good services you need to invest, and public services should be fully integrated to work efficiently and deliver an effective service.

Map 11 – Sewerage and Sewage Disposal

A topic which is much in the news today, but had very little commentary in the 1960 report. The report saw little further scope left for further centralisation, following the Report on Greater London Drainage in 1935, and in 1960 these services were provided by a mix of authorities, ranging from the London County Council, and various other boards within urban and rural districts, as shown by the following map:

There is no comment in the 1960 report on sewage discharges into rivers, so I have no idea whether this was a problem in the years between 1935 / 60, however today, it really is a serious problem, and for London, it happens all along the Thames.

I wrote about the London Data Store a couple of months ago, and within the vast amount of data on London available, there is an interactive map of Sewer Overflows across London.

Taking just a small section of central London, between Blackfriars and Tower Bridges, there are the following sewer overflows on the north bank of the Thames:

  • Fleet Main Line Sewer
  • Paul’s Pier
  • Goswell Street
  • London Bridge
  • Beer Lane
  • Iron Gate

When I check the map whilst writing this post, the Fleet Main Line Sewer, Paul’s Pier and Iron Gate were all recorded as “This storm overflow discharged in the last 48 hours. This means there could be sewage in this section of the watercourse.”

If you walk along the Thames foreshore, and want to touch anything, I would wear disposable gloves. If you want to check the map, it can be found here.

Map 12 – Central Areas

Map 12 shows the area that was defined as the central area of London, and the boundaries of various authorities who operated within this central area:

The report makes very little reference to infrastructure projects, which is understandable as it was a report on the governance of London, however are two specific projects which received some attention in the report.

The first was on the Narrow Street Bridge in Stepney. This was the swing bridge that carried Narrow Street over the entrance to the Regent’s Canal, now Limehouse Dock.

The bridge was 100 years old, and since the 1930s had suffered increasing amounts of damage from heavy traffic.

By 1952, the bridge was in such a bad state of repair, that it was closed to motor vehicles and horse drawn traffic. There were too many worn and rusted main girders that even after repair, it could not be operated safely without traffic limitations.

In 1955, the bridge was closed to all traffic, and during the period of closure, “vehicles carrying goods to and from the wharves and warehouses in the area, including the Regent’s Canal Dock, have had to make a detour of 2.5 miles, part of which is along a main road”.

The issue was money and who was responsible to pay for a new bridge. The bridge was owned by the British Transport Commission, but there had been discussion with the London County Council, the Ministry of Transport and Stepney Borough Council about sharing the costs of the bridge.

It seems that finally, the London County Council agreed to accept the whole liability for the additional costs of building a bridge as a special case, and at the end of 1959 approval for the work to go ahead was given.

I did not know that such a key bridge was closed for so long, when use of the docks, wharves and warehouses in the area was still considerable. Trade through the docks was still increasing in the 1950s.

The case of the Narrow Street Bridge is very similar with that today of Hammersmith Bridge, where a bridge in need of repair is closed, stays closed for a considerable period, with the issue being who covers the costs for the considerable repair work needed.

The second infrastructure project in the report was the “Cromwell Road Extension Scheme with particular reference to the Hammersmith Roundabout and Flyover”.

The report goes into some of the challenges with getting approval for the roundabout and flyover (restrictions on capital expenditure, objections by Hammersmith Borough Council etc). These were gradually overcome, with the roundabout opening in 1959 and the flyover in 1961.

Hammersmith flyover is now over 60 years old, and is the main route between central London and Heathrow, and to the west of the country via the M4, and carries around 90,000 vehicles a day.

There were concerns that it might have collapsed in 2011 due to corrosion and weakened support cables running through the structure. This required much repair work, with a second phase of repairs carried out which ended in 2015.

Around this time, there was talk of replacing the flyover with a tunnel, but this proposal does not seem to have made any progress, and would be hugely expensive and disruptive.

So the Hammersmith Flyover is gradually getting older, and at some point will become a major problem, with, no doubt, the same “what can be done” and “who pays” issues that have long been an issue with any infrastructure project across London.

The 1957-60 Royal Commission on Local Government in Greater London paved the way for the creation of the Greater London Council, a body that would only last from 1965 to 1986.

The report highlights that whilst the way London is governed and administered changes over time, many of the issues and themes at the heart of London’s development, growth, provision of services, finance, and relationship with the areas of the south-east that border London, are the same today as they have always been – and I suspect, will continue to be the same for very many years to come.

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King’s Road, St. Pancras Power Station

Walk around London today, and for a major city, the air is generally good to breath. Much of this improvement has been down to the move away from coal as a fuel for heating homes. The change has also been due to the loss of industry from the city, much of which used coal as a fuel source, and some of the worst were electricity generators, which, in the days before any form of national grid, were located across the city, close to where electricity was needed.

My grandfather was the superintendent of two of these electricity power stations, both of which were in the area under the authority of the St. Pancras Vestry.

I have already written about the first of these in my post on the Regent’s Park Power Station and the First Electric Lighting in Tottenham Court Road, and for today’s post I am exploring the second of these, the much larger King’s Road Power Station, which my father photographed in 1951:

The photo was taken in Camden, at the junction of Royal College Street and Georgiana Street, just by where Lyme Street meets Georgiana Street.

The following photo shows the same view, 73 years later in 2024:

There is a new building in the final stages of construction on the site of the power station, although the view is now obscured by trees which were not there in 1951. The road layout is the same, although the streetlamp in the middle of the road, surrounded by bollards, has gone. The alignment of the footpath and kerb on the right, where Royal College Street meets Georgiana Street is exactly the same.

The 1951 photos shows something you could not do today, as a mother is pushing a pram with a child along what appears to be the middle of the street:

Given that the photo was taken 73 years ago, the child in the pram must now be around 75 years of age. I wonder if they still live in Camden?

I have marked the location from where my father’s 1951 photo and my 2024 photo were taken, with the red circle in the following map of the area today, with the red dotted rectangle showing the block of land occupied by the King’s Road power station (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

The new building which occupies the site of the power station:

Before the construction of the building shown in the above photo, the site was occupied by small industrial units.

The St. Pancras Vestry was at the cutting edge in the generation and use of electricity in London, and wanted to provide electricity across St. Pancras, and show residents what could be done with this new form of power.

In March 1891, there was an “Electrical Exhibition” held in the Vestry Hall of St. Pancras, which was open to the public, and ran for several days. The London Daily News reported that:

“The display of electrical appliances was as beautiful as it was complete; it must have astonished more than nine-tenths of the people present, for the simple reason that comparatively few are aware of the rapid progress made since 1885 in electric lighting, decorative as well as merely utilitarian, and in the use of electricity as a mechanical force.”

The article mentioned that the 260,000 inhabitants of St. Pancras are not the only persons interested in electrical enterprises, but that every municipality will sooner or later be taking the same approach.

The Vestry had a plan to build four power stations to serve St. Pancras. The first power station was the Regent’s Park power station, explored in my earlier post, close to the Euston Road and bounded by Longford Street and Stanhope Street.

The King’s Road Power Station was the next to be built, and in an interesting take on the costs of electricity provided by private or municipal organisations, it was reported at the time that with electricity generated by the St. Pancras Vestry, “the price is to be one-sixth lower than that charged by the private companies, of which there are now twelve or thirteen in London; but it is believed that the price many be considerably lowered by the time the four central stations which it is proposed to build in St. Pancras are in full working order”.

The Electrical Exhibition at the Vestry Hall was full of the household and industrial wonders that could be powered by electricity, including what was described as a new word, the “electrolier”, a new light that would hang from the ceiling and take the place of the gas chandelier.

The Vestry started to build the power station on a large site, which had been occupied by industrial buildings, in 1893, and the first electricity was generated two years later in 1895. It was designed to burn both coal along with commercial and industrial rubbish.

If you know the area, you may well be wondering why the power station was called the King’s Road Power Station?

The following map from 1895 should help explain. Firstly I have outlined the site of the power station using red dotted lines, and you will see that only part of the overall site was occupied by the power station, with terrace houses still running along Royal College Street. This was the first phase of the power station, and over the coming decades it would grow to take over the whole block as electricity demand increased.

Regarding the name, the red arrows point to what was King’s Road. This street was renamed in the early 20th century (I suspect to avoid a clash with King’s Road in Chelsea), and today is St Pancras Way (Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland“):

You will see that the first phase of the power station faced the Regents Canal and the large area of railway coal depots, and this was one of the reasons why the power station was located here – the easy access to supplies of coal, whether delivered to the power station via train to the depot opposite, or along the canal from Regents Canal Dock (now Limehouse Dock), brought in from the north east of the country using colliers.

St. Pancras were a large consumer of coal, and frequently invited tenders for the supply of coal. For example, a 1937 advert in the St. Pancras Gazette, the Metropolitan Borough of St. Pancras (as the old Vestry had evolved to through local government changes) invited “Tenders for the supply of Coal for the Electricity Generating Station, the Public Baths and other Departments”.

In the first decades of the 20th century, the use of electricity was growing rapidly, and in February 1914, at a meeting of St. Pancras Borough Council “The Electricity Committee recommended ‘That the proposals for extensions at the King’s-road electricity generating station be approved and adopted, and that authority be given for the preparation of the necessary specifications, and for the invitation by advertisement of tenders for the boilers and steel work.”

The recommendation was approved, and the power station was extended, now including the area once occupied by the terrace houses along Royal College Street.

The King’s Road power station eventually took on the final form as shown in the following extract from the 1951 OS map (the red circle shows the position from where the 1951 and 2024 photos were taken, the power station is now labeled St. Pancras Generating Station, as by 1951, King’s Road had been renamed St. Pancras Way (Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland“):

Having a power station in the heart of the borough of St. Pancras was a wonderful innovation for residents in that they now had a regular supply of electricity to power all the innovative new appliances for use in the home, and to power the industry of the area, however there was one major problem – grit.

Before burning, coal was pulverised to turn it into a black dust that was blown into a combustion chamber where it rapidly burnt, thereby creating the heat for the boilers, where water was turned into steam to power the electricity generators.

Some of the pulverised coal, and the end results of burning coal were expelled via the chimneys of the power station, and being heavier than much of the gasses produced as a result of combustion, this fell as grit in the local area.

Newspapers were full of letters to the editor, campaigns, and reports of the problems that this grit caused to those living in the area. For example, in July, 1928:

“A LONDON GRIT COMPLAINT – The latest revolt against the dirt and discomfort arising from the use of pulverised fuel for the generation of electricity is at Camden Town, where residents near the St. Pancras Council’s generating station have decided to call a meeting of protest”.

This was following a letter written to the St. Pancras Gazette from Mr. H.R. Williams who was the Councilor for Ward 3. He wrote:

“Dear sir, For a long time past the residents of Ward 3 have suffered a great annoyance from the pollution of the air by the chimneys of the King’s-road generating station. Appeals and petitions have been in vain, and the nuisance from the smoke, grit, soot and ash continues.

A large number of my friends and neighbours – including many shopkeepers – have asked me to form a committee in order to enforce a consideration of their complaint. Will any of your readers who wish to associate themselves with this committee please communicate with me.”

This was a London wide problem, with complaints against nearly all the coal fired power station in the city (for example, see my post on Stepney Power Station, Limehouse, and on Bankside Power Station).

All these power stations were initially built with multiple, smaller chimneys (see the photo of King’s Road power station at the start of the post). The technology of the early 20th century required a chimney per boiler, and as these were relatively low in height, the pollution did not escape high enough into the atmosphere.

When Bankside was rebuilt, it was changed from coal to oil, with a single, much taller chimney. Stepney power station had a new, much taller chimney installed, which at the time was the tallest chimney in London, and the same approach was used with the King’s Road power station, where a much taller chimney was built, which my father photographed when in use:

As well as a single, tall chimney, other measures were introduced to try and restrict the amount of grit that would descend on the residents of St. Pancras.

One such measure was reported in the Holloway press in July 1932: “Grit arrestors and collectors, at a cost of £3,825, are to be fitted at the St. Pancras Generating Station in King’s Road”.

Whilst the tall chimney and the grit arrestors and collectors helped, it was impossible to get rid of all the pollution from a coal fired power station that would fall on the residents of the area.

When my father took these photos, he was working as a Draughtsman for the St. Pancras Borough Council Electricity and Public Lighting Department in nearby offices in Pratt Street. I wrote about these offices, and the work that took place in the building, along with photos from the roof of the building, in my post on the View from Pratt Street, Camden.

A photo I did not feature in the previous post was the following photo showing part of the power station and some of the original chimneys, along with the gantries at the corner of the power station, which were also marked on the OS map. The map also shows a “hopper” adjacent to the gantries so it may have been here that coal was fed into the power station:

The photo shows just how close this major generator of electricity was to the dense terrace houses of the surrounding area.

One of the buildings in the above photo has a set of adverts on the side, for National Savings and Oxo. I cannot identify the advert at top right:

Despite all the complaints about the pollution generated by the power stations, there were concerns that it might be forced to close down.

In 1928 Parliament had sanctioned electricity proposals which would split the country into electricity areas, and London was in the South-East England area, from the English Channel to the Wash.

Within this area, electricity undertakings were to be divided into three classes, generating stations, distribution centres only, and places to be closed down at once.

The St. Pancras, King’s Road Power Station was defined as a class two station, therefore to become a distribution centre, meaning that the power station would close, and the site used for distributing electricity generated from outside London.

These proposals would not come into effect for a further forty years, but they do define the way a nearby site is used today.

The King’s Road / St. Pancras Power Station was still working into the early 1960s and there seemed no immediate risk of closure, as on the 24th of April, 1963, the power station, which was now part of the Central Electricity Generating Board, was advertising for Boiler Operators.

The Power Station closed in 1968. By the late 1960s there was no need for power stations operating within cities. The national grid had been built to transport electricity across the country. Technology was such that large scale generation was possible within a single site, although city locations did not offer enough space, and power stations were now built out of towns to avoid local pollution.

By 1968, the first nuclear power stations were operating and in the year of the St. Pancras closure, the Ratcliffe-on-Soar Power Station opened in Nottinghamshire. Close to local coal fields and with many times the generating capacity of a small station in St. Pancras.

Coincidently, the power station at Ratcliffe-on-Soar which opened in the same year as the King’s Road / St. Pancras Power Station closed, is due to close in four weeks time, by the end of September, almost at the end of the use of coal for electricity generation.

I suspect those working in the power station, would have left a shift rather thirsty, especially after working in what must have been a polluted atmosphere, and they would probably have frequented the three pubs that surrounded the power stations.

I covered the Golden Lion, on the corner of Pratt Street and Royal College Street in my previous post on the view from Pratt Street, and facing the north-west corner of the power station is the Prince Albert, hiding behind one of the trees that also now obscure the view from where my father took the 1951 photo:

Walking along Georgiana Street, along what was the northern edge of the power station, there is another pub and a bridge:

The pub is the Constitution:

The pub is alongside the bridge, which takes what was King’s Road, now St. Pancras Way, over the Regent’s Canal:

In the above photo, the coal depot shown in the two OS maps was to the left of the canal. Being so close to the coal depot, and the Regent’s Canal provided the King’s Road power station with access to large quantities of coal which could be delivered from coal mines via train or ship / barge.

As shown with an earlier advert, the power station owners would regularly go out to tender for supplies of coal, which could then be delivered by rail, or along the coal.

There was no direct rail line into the power station, if arriving in St. Pancras by train, coal would have been unloaded and transported the short distance by road to the power station.

I wonder if the bridge that carried King’s Road over the Regent’s Canal needed to be strengthened to support these deliveries of coal, as the bridge that now spans the canal was opened a couple of years after the power station started generating:

I did find an account of the opening of the bridge, and there is no mention of the power station, only that the old bridge needed to be replaced due to “increasing vehicular traffic”. The impact of the railways can also be seen on the area, as the Midland Railway Company contributed £6,000 to the construction of the bridge, and that money from the extension of the railway in the area would also contribute to the bridge, so there was no need for any financial contribution from the ratepayers of St. Pancras.

The account of the opening of the bridge is fascinating, as it brings to life the names written on the plaque that is still fixed to the bridge.

There was a marque erected in the bridge, lots of speeches, ceremonial trips over and under the bridge, and then a trip to Reggiori’s Restaurant in King’s Cross “to further commemorate the event”.

The King’s Road power station has left its mark on the area, despite closing in 1968.

Power stations were hubs for the cabling network that distributed electricity to the local area, so when the power station closed, the network was still in place, and the area around the power station became a hub for the distribution of electricity generated from across the country, and that continues to this day with this large brick building:

Which dates from 1936, and has the date on a stone plaque on the wall, as well as the initials of St. Pancras Borough Council:

St. Pancras Vestry, then St. Pancras Borough Council seem to have been one of the more innovative of the local London authorities in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, certainly in the generation and use of electricity they clearly wanted the benefits this would bring to the borough.

The downside was the dirt and general pollution to the local area. My grandfather died relatively young, well before I was born, and I do wonder whether working in such an environment contributed to an early death.

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Soho Pubs – Part 1

There are two areas of London that probably have the highest concentration of pubs in the whole city – the City of London and Soho.

Much of the wider London area once had a far higher number of pubs than now. You only have to look at old OS maps from the end of the 19th century to see just how many there were in, for example, east London, with some areas having a pub almost on every street corner.

Whilst many have closed, a high number have survived in the City of London due to the number of City workers and the type of business in the City being conducive to socialising and meeting in pubs. Whilst the traditional liquid lunch has mainly become a thing of the past, one only has to walk through the City on a summer’s afternoon to see plenty of busy pubs, with drinkers spilling out onto the pavement.

I went on a walk to find City of London pubs back in 2020, and the first of three posts on these establishments can be found here.

The other area of London with a high density of pubs is Soho.

As with the City of London, Soho has always been a distinctive area with historically many aspects of the place being conducive to pub culture. There continue to be a high number of pubs in Soho to this day. Generally always busy with locals, workers, visitors and tourists, and four years after searching for City pubs, I thought I would explore Soho pubs, and today is the first of three posts over the coming couple of months detailing the results.

Every Soho pub has a back story. Some extensive, some quite humble, but there is something to discover for each pub, the majority of which have been there, and often rebuilt, since the 18th century.

So today is the first post on Soho pubs, and I will start with a visit to:

The Devonshire – Denman Street

There are plenty of pubs closing and it is not often that a pub reopens, but that it what has happened with the Devonshire.

Originally the Devonshire Arms, the pub dates back to 1793, and for the following 219 years it was a typical Soho local pub.

The Devonshire Arms closed in 2012 and soon after became a Jamie’s Italian restaurant.

The building’s use as a restaurant ended a couple of years ago, and new owners completely refurbished the building to the standard of a traditional pub on the ground floor, and restaurant seating on the upper floors, and reopened as the Devonshire in 2023.

Judging by how many people are using the pub every time I have been in, or walked past, it appears to be very successful, and apparently has the reputation of selling the most pints of Guinness of any pub in London.

Looking back at the history of the pub, the only thing I could find were recurring stories of typical London low level crime, however there was one report, dating from the 18th of August, 1894 which highlighted some of the challenges of policing 19th century London:

“On Saturday evening a desperate affray took place outside the Devonshire Arms public-house, Denman-street. it appears that a constable was called to eject some men and women from the public-house named. When they got outside the mob made a rush at the policeman, who was thrown to the ground. He got up, however, and blew his whistle, and several other constables quickly arrived. A desperate fight then took place, in the course of which one of the policemen was stabbed in the back by one of the women with a large hair pin. Other constables then arrived, and after much trouble four men and two women were taken to Vine-street station. Several hundred people witnessed the conflict.”

Hopefully the Devonshire now has a more peaceful, and long future as a restored Soho pub.

The Queens Head – Denman Street

The Queens Head in Denman Street is a lovely traditional, independent London pub.

My use of the word traditional is for a pub which has a bar, typically all wood, with hand pumps. Shelves behind the bar full of bottles of spirits. A large bar area with a mix of seating and standing, with wooden seats and tables. The Queens Head is independent in that it is not tied to a specific brewery, and therefore able to sell a range of beers and spirits.

The Queens Head claims to date back to 1736. I cannot find any evidence that would either confirm or contradict the date.

There are plenty of newspaper references to the Queens Head, petty crime, the societies who used the pub as their meeting place etc. but my favourite was an article that shows that back in 1874 you could get a large fine or a prison sentence for lying on your CV.

John Holder,a 24 year old barman was taken to court accused of fraud. He had applied for a job as a barmen at the Nightingale Pub in St. John’s Wood.

He said to his prospective new employer that he had worked at the Queens Head in Denman Street but had left after a change of ownership, and that Mr. Cardwell, his previous employer at the Queens Head would give him a reference.

He gave an address for Mr. Cardwell, and his prospective employer went to the address to confirm his references, however his was told that no one knew Mr. Cardwell, and after talking to the Queens Head, it was confirmed that John Holder had not worked at the pub.

In mitigation, poor John Holder told the court that he had been out of work for some time, and could not get a job, and was very sorry for what he had done.

Despite this, he was convicted of fraud and he had to either pay the full penalty of £20 and 10 shillings of costs, or be imprisoned in the House of Correction for three months.

Given his lack of work, I suspect he ended up in the House of Correction for three months, a penalty which seems very harsh for someone who appears to have just been desperate to get a job.

The Crown – Brewer Street

The Crown in Brewer Street, at the corner with Lower James Street.

The Crown is one of the many Soho pubs that has some interesting decoration. Facing Brewer Street, the pub has two upper floors, with a row of four windows along each floor, however along the narrower side of the building, the second floor has a large semi-circle of decoration with the name of the Crown Tavern displayed.

There is some interesting history covering the location of the pub on a panel on the ground floor:

The panel states that the Crown sits on the site of one of the most well known concert halls of the 18th century, the Hickford Rooms.

I found an article about the Hickford Rooms in an issue of the Musical Times, titled “A Forgotten Concert Room”. The following is from the first paragraph of the article, and I will give you the date of the article after this extract:

“Modern London is becoming a new Americanised city, and all its old and peculiarly English characteristics are fast becoming improved out of existence. If anyone who left it during the sixties of the last century return to visit it today, he will imagine himself to be in some foreign town, and for the most part fail to recognise the London he knew so intimately of old.”

That was the opening to the article, published in the Musical Times on the 1st of September 1906, and illustrates what is a theme of the blog, that London has undergone almost continuous change for the entire period there has been people living in what we now call London.

The introduction also follows up on last week’s blog, that the 19th century was one of the periods when there was a high degree of change that set the city on course for the following century.

The article provides the following introduction to Hickford’s Room:

“The long-forgotten old concert-room in Brewer Street has fortunately escaped demolition, and it recalls a chapter of London’s musical history little noticed by the general reader. The building now forms part of the premises of the Club Francais, but for thirty-five years during the middle of the 18th century, it was a much frequented and fashionable resort, and was known by the name of Hickford’s Room.

John Hickford, the proprietor, began life as a dancing-master in the latter part of Queen Anne’s reign, and originally had a dancing school in James Street, Haymarket. There was at that time only one other room in the West-end large enough for concerts of any pretensions, and as that was sometimes difficult to secure, and its proprietor was not a particularly agreeable man, certain well-known artists began to make use of Mr. Hickford’s great dancing room wherein to give their concerts.”

The school mentioned above was in Haymarket, but became so successful that Hickford then moved to the site in Brewer Street, where it was assumed the new hall was designed specifically for Hickford.

The front door of the new hall opened into a square hall, which gave access to the concert room which was at the back of the building, and there was also a staircase which gave access to a small gallery.

The concert room was fifty feet long and thirty feet wide, and the ceiling was coved, and there were moldings, cornices and other decorations, that were in an “elegant style that the brothers Adam improved upon”.

The article mentions a large number of artists who performed at Hickford’s Room, and has the following to say about Mozart playing in Brewer Street:

“Two other shadows, brother and sister, play the harpsichord. The boy is eight years old, the girl thirteen, a demure, motherly child, her hair crowned by a mop-cap. The boy’s playing is phenomenal, and he bids fair to rival Mr. Handel in composition. But the scanty audience is not interested, it cares no longer for these two children who only a year ago were the spoiled darlings of the whole town. The little boy fulfilled in manhood the brilliant promise of his youth, and London should be proud that it still possesses a room once distinguished by the performance of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

Hickford’s Hall soon faced competition from other halls in London, along with changing fashions as in the later part of the 18th century, interest changed from small musical recitals to orchestral performances, which Hickford’s Hall was not large enough to accommodate.

As well as music, the hall put on other events such as talks and lectures, including in 1761, Thomas Sheridan who gave a “Course of Lectures on Elocution”.

Over the following years, the hall went through a number of changes in owners and use, but survived until 1934 when it was demolished to make way for an annex of the Regent Palace Hotel.

If the hall lasted until 1934, it obviously raises the question of how can the pub be on the site.

As far as I can tell (given the time available for a weekly blog post), the house and main entrance to the hall was on the site of the Crown, and the hall was to the rear of the Crown.

The earliest reference to the crown that I can find are from the years around 1830, so I suspect the house and entrance to the hall were demolished and the Crown was built, with the hall surviving just behind the pub, until demolition in 1934.

Glasshouse Stores – Brewer Street

The Glasshouse Stores is another pub that claims to date back to the 1730s, however the rather unusual current name is not the original, as it had the more traditional pub name of the Coach and Horses.

The last time I can find the original name mentioned is in 1849, and by 1872 the name Glasshouse Stores was in use, as the pub was advertising for an active, single young man, to work as a Potman, and also to wait on the Billiard Room, to wash pewter and also the windows of the pub – so basically anything that was needed.

No idea why the pub changed its name, or the relevance of the new name, however it demonstrates that changing a pub name is not a recent phenomena.

The Sun and 13 Cantons – Great Pulteney Street

The Sun and 13 Cantons must have one of the most unusual pub names in London.

The pub’s website claims that the source of the name is from the Swiss watch-making community that lived and worked in Soho in the late 1800s.

The pub also claims that the name of the pub was originally just “The Sun”, and the 13 Cantons was added in 1882 when the pub reopened after a rebuild, however I am not so sure, and am confident that the pub had its full name of The Sun and 13 Cantons earlier in the 19th century. For example, the following is from the London Morning Advertiser on the 13th of May, 1823:

“Dr. Dell, of the Sun and 13 Cantons, Great Pultney-street, was fined fifteen shillings and costs for the like offence.”

The “like offence” was referring to another fine in the paper where a licensee of a different pub was fined for serving customers after twelve o’clock.

The Englishman (published in London) on the 3rd of June, 1832 had a report about a fire where a couple of people had died, and in the report was stated:

“The inquest was held at the Sun and 13 Cantons, Great Pulteney-street”

To add some mystery, in the London Morning Post on the 22nd of April, 1825, there was an advert for an auction, where Lot 2 was “The Sun and 13 Cantons, Liquor Shop and Public House, on the east side of Castle-street, Leicester Square, adjoining Cecil-court.”

So there are two newspaper reports, one from 1823 and the other form 1832 both referring to the Sun and 13 Cantons being in Great Pultney Street, as it still is today, on the corner with Beak Street, well before the 1882 mentioned on the pub’s website.

The 1825 report is strange as it refers to a pub with the same name, but being in a different, but nearby, location. It is an unusual name for there to be two pubs of the same name, although they were close, so probably had the same association with local Swiss watch makers.

An interesting pub, with a name that recalls some of the people and trades that have made Soho their home.

Old Coffee House – Beak Street

The Old Coffee House is a really good, family run pub, and is well worth a visit for a proper local pub.

The name is strange for a pub, but it does tell of the early history of the site.

The main entrance to the pub today is on Beak Street, and to find the original purpose of the site, we need to look at name changes. The first part of Beak Street was built in 1689 by Thomas Beak, and he gave his name to this first section of the street.

The section of the street where the Old Coffee House is located was developed in 1718, and went by the name of Silver Street. This name was dropped in 1883, when the whole of both Beak and Silver Streets became Beak Street.

A Coffee House was originally on the site of the current pub, and went by the name of the Silver Street Coffee House. I cannot find exactly when the establishment changed from being a coffee house to a pub, but it seems to have been around the 1870s / 1880s, and with a lovely bit of continuity, it kept the Coffee House name as part of the new pub name.

The Old Coffee House appears to have had a number of associations with the theatre, as in the 1920s it was the meeting place on a Sunday morning for members of the Electrical Trades Union Cinema & Theatrical Branch, and in 1948, the Sphere was reporting that the pub had “a very large audition room which has often been used for theatrical rehearsals”. The pub is larger than the pink painted section suggests, as the pub extends further along Marshall Street to the right.

A lovely, traditional Soho pub.

John Snow – Corner of Broadwick Street and Lexington Street

The John Snow pub stands on the corner of Broadwick Street (originally Broad Street) and Lexington Street (originally Cambridge Street). A number of streets in this area of Soho have changed their names since the mid 19th century.

The pub building dates from the 1870s, and was originally called the “Newcastle-upon-Tyne”, The name changed in 1955 to commemorate the centenary of the work in the area of John Snow.

Dr. John Snow, often called the founding father of Epidemiology was known for his work on the transmission of Cholera in London, and he would demonstrate conclusively how this killer of large numbers of Londoners was transmitted. Perhaps hs most well known work was on the location of the source of a Cholera outbreak in 1854 in Broad Street, Soho area.

It is a really fascinating story, and instead of including it in this post about Soho pubs, click here for a dedicated post I wrote a couple of years ago about John Snow and the Soho Cholera Outbreak of 1854.

Star and Garter – Poland Street

The Star and Garter in Poland Street is a lovely little pub squashed between two much later and larger buildings.

Researching the pub, it highlights how pubs once served an essential purpose as the meeting place of clubs and societies, and with the Star and Garter it seems to have been the regular meeting place of two groups who were looking to protect the interests of workers and to campaign for improved rights.

in 1834, the Star and Garter was the meeting place for a Society of Journeymen Tailors, and on joining the society, those working in the trade would “meet with constant employment, and the protection from malicious threats of those who are regardless of their own, or the wellbeing of others”.

In 1868 the Star and Garter was the meeting place of the “West End Cabinetmakers’ Branch of the Reform League”. The Reform League was founded in 1865, and campaigned for all adult males to have the vote.

These meetings also identify some of the trades that once occupied Soho, and as well as watchmakers (from the Sun and 13 Cantons), we also now have tailors and cabinet makers.

The meetings in the Star and Garter in 1868 tell of the long struggle for universal suffrage, the right for every adult in the country to have the vote.

In 1831, only 4,500 men in the whole of the country could vote in parliamentary elections. These 4,500 were generally landowners, and there was incredible inconsistencies across the country where the Borough of Dunwich in Suffolk (population 32, and one of the Rotten Boroughs) could elect two MPs, whilst the expanding industrial cities of Birmingham and Manchester did not have any MPs.

Parliament did, very grudgingly, expand the male vote, for example the Second Reform Act of 1867 expanded the vote to men who owned houses or lodgers who paid rent of £10 a year or more.

It would not be until the 1918 Representation of the People Act that the vote was extended to all men, and also gave the vote to women over the age of thirty who owned property, and all women would have to wait until the Equal Franchise Act of 1928, when any women over the age of 21 (the same as men) would get the vote.

When you sit in pubs such as the Star and Garter, having a pint on a summer afternoon, it is fascinating to think of the Londoners who met here to plan how they would be part of a wider campaign for the vote.

Blue Posts – Corner of Broadwick Street and Berwick Street

On the corner of Broadwick Street and Berwick Street is the Blue Posts pub. The current rather attractive building dates from a 1914 rebuild, however there had been a pub on the site since the original development of the area.

The lantern and decoration on the corner of the pub:

As with other Soho pubs, the Blue Posts was frequently used for auditioning those who wanted to get into the entertainment business, and a typical advert (this example from the Stage in 1925) reads:

“Wanted for Mrs Sydney T. Russelle’s Troupes, good all round Lady Dancers. immediate work for the Continent and England. Only first-class ladies need apply between 2 and 4 Thurs and Fridays at the Blue Posts, Berwick Street”

The Blue Posts also has a rather obscure claim to cinematic fame when a model of the pub was destroyed by a brontosaurus in the 1925 film Lost World. The following clip shows the pub just before the brontosaurus crashes in and demolishes the building:

Apparently the animators, who created a rather impressive animated film for the 1920s, drank in the pub they chose to destroy for the film.

There is a Westminster City Council green plaque on the Berwick Street side of the pub, recording that Jessie Matthews, “Musical Comedy Star of Stage and Screen” was born in Berwick Street in 1907. She was not born in the pub, rather in a flat above a butchers shop at 94 Berwick Street, which is almost half way along Berwick Street from the pub.

Perhaps the Council decided that the Blue Posts was a more permanent building, in a more visible location, to display the plaque then the place of her birth.

Duke of Wellington – Wardour Street

The website of the pub describes the pub as “Serving the LGBTQIA+ community for over 20 years, the Duke of Wellington takes pride in being your Soho local” and it is a very busy Soho pub.

It has long had a Wardour Street address, desite the long length of the building being on Winnett Street.

In 1966, the Tatler described the Duke of Wellington as “facing the stage door of the Queen’s Theatre. perhaps the most famous after-theatre pub in Soho. It has been the property of Christ College Hospital since 1723, and Mr. W. Evans has been the tenant since 1931. Old Tudor beams, stag heads and antique vaults. Home-made lunches are enjoyable and plenty of stimulating theatre chat could keep one going until closing time.”

Today, the pub is owned by the Stonegate Group (was known as the Stonegate Pub Company). I cannot find whether this is freehold or leased, but I suspect that Christ College Hospital have sold the site in the past few decades.

The Ship – Wardour Street

The Ship has a Wardour Street address, and is on the corner of Wardour Street and Flaxman Court.

Again, a lovely traditional pub, but a pub which had a more interesting name than just the Ship.

Dating from the late 18th century, and rebuilt in the late 19th century, the pub was originally called “The Ship in Distress”.

I cannot find any reference to the source of the name, whether it referred to a specific ship, or whether it was just an imagined name.

The last mention I can find of the name Ship in Distress is on the 9th of July, 1865, when in a list of license transfers in the Weekly Advertiser, the license for the Ship in Distress was reported as transferring from Charles Humby to Robert Henwood, although in 1859, the pub was referred to as the “New Ship” in a number of newspapers, for example with reports of the results of a Billiard competition between pubs.

The pub may have changed name at the same time as a rebuild, and the use of the old name with the license renewal six years after the name “New Ship” was in use, may just have been an error with records not catching up with name changes.

The name may have changed as the “Ship in Distress” is a rather depressing name, recording either a factual or fictional tragic event. New landlords / owners may have wanted to have a more positive name, and changed to the Ship, which was probably how the pub was called in day to day use.

In recent decades, the Ship was frequently used by many of the musicians who lived, performed, and had business in the area of Wardour Street. The Marquis Club was a short walk from the Ship, and there are various stories about Keith Moon of the Who being banned from the Ship, the Clash drinking in the pub, along with many other musicians.

The George – D’Arblay Street

The George is on the corner of D’Arblay Street and Wardour Street.

To help with dating the building, the year 1897 is displayed on the corner of the building, on the first floor, and on the second floor there is an image of presumably one of the King George’s that the pub is named after.

The Survey of London records that the George has been here since at least 1739, so at around the same time as the street was laid out in 1735. Based on this date, the George could be George II who became monarch in the year 1727.

The George was originally on Portland Street, the original name of the street that became D’Arblay Street in 1909 after Fanny Burney (the novelist, diarist and playwright, who lived from 1752 to 1840), and who lived in Soho, and married French émigré General Alexandre D’Arblay.

I find it strange that to name a street after a woman, you use the surname of her husband. I am always cautious with applying a 21st century view to earlier times, however a quick newspaper search, and the name Fanny Burney was used many, many more times both during and after her life, rather than Madame D’Arblay as she was also known, so rather than D’Arblay Street, perhaps the street should be called Burney Street.

The Hat Tavern – Great Chapel Street

I was in two minds whether to include this establishment, which has a full name of Mr Fogg’s Hat Tavern, and is on the corner of Great Chapel Street and Hollen Street. It is one of a number of taverns and gin establishments across London which go under the Mr. Fogg brand, named after Phileas J. Fogg, the lead character in Jules Verne novel Around the World in Eighty Days.

It is a pub on the ground floor, and a gin club in the basement.

The name Hat Tavern is taken from the building on the opposite side of Hollen Street, which still has the wording “Hat Factory Henry Heath Oxford Street”.

The Henry Heath Hat Factory occupied a large site between Hollen Street and Oxford Street, where hats were manufactured, and sold from the building that faced onto Oxford Street.

The company manufactured hats for a range for uses, from sporting (such as ventilated hunting caps for ladies and gentlemen) to formal (with silk hats).

In 1885, the company was advertising “The Exhibition of ‘RATIONAL DRESS’ – HENRY HEATH of 107, Oxford Street has a sensible improvement in the shape of a soft-banded hat. Everyone knows the painful sensation experienced from the pressure of the usual stiff felt or silk hat; this is quite obviated in the hat manufactured by HENRY HEATH”.

In 1922, Henry Heath celebrated their centenary, and in newspapers announced that their rebuilt showroom in Oxford Street was now open. The factory between Oxford and Hollen Streets employed 200 workers, and their hat making skills led to the following 1922 description of the business in the Pall Mall Gazette:

“Henry Heath has supplied the headgear of each succeeding monarch during the century that has elapsed between George IV and George V, as well as of all the notabilities of each reign. The Prince of Wales, just before his Indian tour, appointed Henry Heath his hatter by Royal Warrant. many foreign monarchs too, have been fitted by Henry Heath, and have appointed him Royal hatter; the King of Spain amongst them.

Such is the International reputation of ‘Ye Hatterie’ as the famous establishment in Oxford-street is known, that visitors from all parts of the globe come to this historic house to be fitted with their headgear while sojourning in London.”

The last mention of Henry Heath hats I could find was in Country Life in 1962 where one of their soft brown hats were been shown as part of an overall outfit. In the 1930s, 40s and 50s they seem to have either moved to, or opened a showroom in New Bond Street, and the number of adverts in the London press declined gradually.

Whether they were still an independent company in the 1960s, I cannot confirm, however it appears that the Henry Heath brand disappeared in the 1960s, most likely the victim of changing fashions and cheaper imports.

The building that once had Henry Heath’s showroom is still to be seen in Oxford Street, and it is an interesting building which I will save for a future post.

That was a bit of a diversion, but it explains why the Hat Tavern has the name.

Before the Hat Tavern opened, the building was the Star pub / coffee shop, before that the Bloemfontein, and originally the George, with the first reference I could find for the George being in the Morning Chronicle in 1817.

The Nellie Dean of Soho – Dean Street

The Nellie Dean of Soho occupies a listed building, and the Grade II listing details on the Historic England site states:

“Corner public house. Possibly earlier C18 fabric, refronted c.1800 with c.1900 pub front. Stock brick, slate roof, 3 storeys and dormered mansard. 4 windows wide with 3 window returns to Carlisle Street. c.1900 pilastered pub front to ground floor with angled entrance on corner. Upper floors have recessed sash windows, no glazing bars, under red brick gauged flat arches. Crowning stucco cornice with open cast iron balustrade in front of mansard. Formerly called the “Highlander”. A public house was on the site in 1748. Prominent corner with strong group value.”

The first reference I can find to the Highlander pub is from 1826 when the pub featured in a court report where the defendant was identified as living at the Highlander.

The name Nellie Dean comes from the sentimental song “(You’re My Heart’s Desire, I Love You) Nellie Dean” written by the American composer Henry W. Armstrong in 1905.

The song became the signature song of the music hall star Gertie Gitana, after her brother had heard the song whilst in America.

Gertie Gitana died in 1957, and the following is typical of newspaper reporting of her burial at Wigston Magna, Leicestershire:

“A cold wind blew through the scores of wreaths that had been hung over the railings at the edge of the grave as more than 200 people stood in silent tribute to the gay, sunbonnet girl of the old time music hall.

Gertie was more than just a variety artist. She expressed the spirit of her age and the careless rapture that went with it. Her songs were sad, but they were also gay.

Before Nellie Dean became a stock song for gentlemen songsters on a spree, she could, by swinging it, make it sound like the happiest ballad in the world.

To many she was Nellie Dean and many of the wreaths at her graveside were addressed in this way. Flowers arranged in notes of music came from her music hall friends. There were wreaths from the Variety Artists Federation, the Water Rats, Robb Wilton and entertainers from each corner of the British Isles.

All wished to say to Gertie Gitana – Thanks for the memory.”

Gertie Gitana singing Nellie Dean (if you cannot see the video, click here to go to the website):

And that is the origin of the Nellie Dean of Soho in Dean Street. I wonder if Nellie Dean is still a “stock song for gentlemen songsters on a spree” in the pubs of Soho.

I will continue my exploration of Soho pubs in a few weeks time.

alondoninheritance.com

Late Victorian London in Photos

One ticket has just become free for my walk next Sunday, the 18th of August, exploring the Lost Landscape and Transformation of Puddle Dock and Thames Street, an area that could soon change dramatically. Click here for booking and details.

Four years ago, I published some photos from the book “The Queen’s London”. This was a book published in 1896 and described as “A pictorial and descriptive record of the Streets, Buildings, Parks and Scenery of the Great Metropolis in the Fifty-Ninth Year of the reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria”.

The photos in the book show London as it was, near the end of both the 19th century and the Victorian period. A century and a reign of considerable change across the city.

New streets had been carved through areas of historic small streets, courts and alleys. Many of the city’s slum areas had been cleared and rebuilt, although there were many left, and the 19th century had not really done much for the average worker, with poor housing, low wages, and often unstable employment.

However, the 19th century also saw a rapidly growing middle class, who lived in the terrace houses that expanded rapidly in the suburbs.

In many ways, London is still a 19th century city. Although industry has almost disappeared from the city, but many of the innovations of the 19th century have continued to expand, and enable the growth of the city, for example the Underground (the first stretch of the Central Line between Shepherds Bush and Bank opened in 1900, and parts of what are now the Circle, District, Northern, Metropolitan, Waterloo & City, opened in the last few decades of the 19th century).

The railways were transporting passengers and commuters into the city, road traffic was growing rapidly. The docks were exporting and importing goods across the world and serving the industries expanding across the country.

Institutions and places such as the Natural History Museum, Albert Hall, University College London, the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square were founded / built, along with the current Palace of Westminster. The Embankment and the first great sewer system was constructed.

The City of London was a global centre of finance and business, and to emphasize how the City had changed during the 19th century, the population of the City had declined as commerce and industrial took as much space as possible, and after the 1666 Great Fire, the Victorian period saw one of the largest periods of closures of City churches due to the dwindling population.

In the 124 years since, there have not been so many fundamental changes to the city. We have just expanded much of what was started by the Victorians (housing, transport networks etc.), and the landscape has changed from relatively low buildings (where St. Paul’s still stood high above the rest of the city’s buildings), to a city of towers, both office and residential.

The major changes have been the exodus of manufacturing industry and the closure of the docks, air travel resulting in London being one of the world’s main tourist destinations, a move to a service / cultural / knowledge based industries (although the roots of these were formed in the 19th century, and earlier), along with significant demographic change.

The dedication at the start of the book shows perhaps one of the most significant changes, when in the 1890s, London was the capital of an empire on which “the sun never sets”:

“To her most Excellent Majesty Victoria, Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of India, etc. etc. This Pictorial representation of the Capital of Her Empire is by Her Majesty’s Most Gracious Permission., respectfully dedicated.”

The riches from the Empire, whether traded goods or finance, were one of the key drivers of the development of 19th century London, and it was the loss of the Empire, two World Wars, and significant social change, and change in the workplace, that contributed to the development of the London we see today, built on the foundations of the 19th century.

To see how the city has changed, the following photos are a sample from “The Queen’s London”, showing how a Londoner or visitor in the 1890s would see the city (the captions from the book are below each photo):

The Victoria Embankment, From Waterloo Bridge

“The Victoria Embankment, as viewed from Waterloo Bridge, quite surpasses anything that is seen beside the Seine or the Tiber. Its magnificent sweep from the Houses of Parliament to St. Paul’s is one of the finest sights in the whole of London, and cannot fail to impress every observer. Cityward the most noticeable building is Somerset House, with its fine façade of 780 feet, and beyond this lie the Offices of the London School Board, the Temple Library, Sion College Library, and the City of London School. The Embankment itself, the greatest achievement of the late Metropolitan Board of Works, cost nearly two millions, and its construction occupied six years – 1864 to 1870.”

The caption mentions the “late Metropolitan Board of Works”, which was founded in 1856, and then integrated into the London County Council in 1889, following a number of corruption scandals within the MBW, and the drive to deliver competent, London wide, governance, another late 19th century initiative.

St. Paul’s Cathedral

“This noble Cathedral is the third largest church in Christendom, being only surpassed by St. Peter’s in Rome and the cathedral in Milan. The old Cathedral was burnt in 1666, and the first stone of the one designed by Sir Christopher Wren was laid in 1675, divine service being celebrated twenty-two years later. the great architect is buried in the east end of the crypt. The building cost, according to Milman, £736,750, and not only was it virtually completed by one architect, and under one bishop, but the same master builder who laid the first stone also laid that crowning the cupola. The great dome is 112 feet in diameter, 27 feet less than that of St. Peter’s. the Cathedral is 500 feet in length, and the height to the top of the cross from the road is 370 feet.”

London was a low rise city at the end of the 19th century, and would stay that way for much of the 20th century, until buildings such as the Post Office Tower (1964), and the Nat West building (1980) were constructed. In the following decades there would be an explosion of tall towers across the city, both office and residential, however there are now protected views of St. Paul’s Cathedral, which were brought in after developments such as the Post Office Faraday Building (1933) in Queen Victoria Street were constructed, higher than other buildings between the Thames and Cathedral, and impacting the view of the cathedral.

The National Gallery, With St. Martin’s Church

“The National Gallery, concerning the merits or demerits of which such strong opinions are expressed by architectural critics, is Grecian in style and Wilkins was responsible for the design. This gallery was built in 1832-8 to receive the pictures of which the nucleus had been formed in 1824; after twenty two years, the structure was considerably enlarged, and the façade is now 460 feet in length. To the right, in our view, is the church of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, which boasts a Grecian portico of quite unusual beauty. It was built in 1721-6 by Gibbs, on the site of an earlier church; and in the old churchyard lies buried Nell Gwynne, under whose bequest the fine bells are rung every week.”

The opening sentence in the above description shows another constant in London’s history – that there will always be strongly differing opinions about the new buildings that line the city streets.

The Customs House

“Between London Bridge and the Tower, and having, separating it from the Thames, a broad quay that was for long almost the only riverside walk open to the public, is the Customs House. Five earlier buildings on the same site were destroyed by fire, and the present structure was erected in 1814-17, the fine façade being designed by Sir R. Smirke. Some 2,000 officials are employed at the Customs House, and in its famous Long Room alone – 190 feet by 60 feet – eighty clerks are habitually engaged. this is not surprising, for the trade of the Port of London is by far the greatest of any port in the world. the building, which is entered from Lower Thames Street, contains an interesting Smuggling Museum.”

The Customs House building is still there, although, the closure of the docks made the purpose of the building redundant. The caption makes an interesting point regarding access to the river, as it was “for long almost the only riverside walk in London, open to the public”, however although we now have long lengths of riverside walks, in many ways as the Thames is no longer really a working river, we have lost a much greater connection with the Thames.

The Natural History Museum, South Kensington

“A high place among the fine public buildings in South Kensington must be given to the Natural History Museum, which faces Cromwell Road. Mr. Waterhouse, R.A. was the architect, and the erection occupied the years 1873-80. The structure is Romanesque in style, and the terra-cotta façade is, with good reason, greatly admired. The Museum is 675 feet in length, and the towers which rise from the wings are 192 feet high. Hither were brought the Natural History collections of the British Museum in order to relieve in some measure the congested condition of the national institution in Bloomsbury. Considering the popularity of such collections, it is not surprising that the annual number of visitors to the Natural History Museum should be over 400,000.”

In the late 19th century, 400,000 visitors probably seemed like a very large number, however in the Natural History Museums latest annual review, they state that “In the year to April 2023, we welcomed 5,157,405 visitors”.

Much of this growth has been fuelled by the growth in tourism within London, but the figures highlight that with many aspects of London today, it is just a much busier / larger version of what was established in the 19th century.

The Royal Exchange

“Few edifices in London are more impressive that the Royal Exchange, with its stately Corinthian portico. it was built by Tite in 1842-4, on the site of Gresham’s Exchange. In the tympanum is a group representing the Sovereignty of Commerce, whilst below are inscribed the words ‘The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof’. Business is transacted in the building of an afternoon, the attendance being greatest on Tuesdays and Fridays. On the left of the Royal Exchange is the Bank of England, at one end of Threadneedle Street. the equestrian statue in front represents Wellington and is an excellent specimen of Chantry’s work. The open space bounded by the Exchange, the Bank, and the Mansion House is perhaps the busiest in all the City.”

The congested junction in front of the Royal Exchange was long a problem with City traffic and is one of the reasons why Upper and Lower Thames Street and London Wall were widened as east – west routes to bypass the Bank junction (see last week’s post).

Today, the junction is very different, not only has horse drawn traffic long disappeared from the City streets, changes brought in by the City of London to reduce vehicular traffic in the City have made the junction much quieter.

The Strand, Looking West

“No better idea of the Strand can be obtained than from the church of St. Mary-le-Strand, whence this view was taken. On the left is the entrance to Somerset House, used as Government offices and erected by Sir William Chambers in 1776-80, in place of the old palace begun by the Protector Somerset. A little further west is Wellington Street, bisecting the Strand and affording access to Waterloo Bridge. At the far end of the houses is seen the Nelson monument in Trafalgar Square. The Strand is the southern main artery from the City to the West End, and is always crowded with traffic, especially when the theatres which abound in the neighbourhood are being emptied of their patrons. The thoroughfare, which is here shown at its broadest, owes its name to the fact that the Thames formerly flowed close beside it.”

Apart from Somerset House, nearly all he buildings in this view have been demolished, however the terrace immediately to the right of Somerset House can still be seen today, to give an impression of what the overall street would have once looked like.

The reference in the caption to the theatres of the West End is just as relevant today, as it was in the 1890s.

The Crystal Palace

“Built of the materials that housed the Great Exhibition of 1851 in Hyde Park, the Crystal Palace at Sydenham cost no less than a million and a half sterling. It is composed entirely of glass and iron, and was designed by Sir James Paxton. The Palace from its lofty eminence is visible for miles in every direction. Its principal hall, or nave, is 1,608 feet long, while the central transept is 390 feet long by 120 feet broad and rises to a height of 175 feet. On either side of the Palace are the water towers, each 282 feet high, and these add greatly to the general effect, best appreciated from the delightful grounds, which cover some 200 acres. Our view shows the Upper Terrace, the Central Transept, and the northern Water Tower.”

Crystal Palace was destroyed by fire in November 1936, although the building has gone, the name remains.

The following photos are from the Britain from Above website, showing Crystal Palace before the fire (!928):

And after the fire (1936):

The Tower Bridge

“Further communication across the Thames at this point had been urgently needed for many years. The necessary act was passed in 1885, the foundation stone laid by the Prince of Wales on June 21, 1886, and the work completed at a cost of about a million sterling in 1894. the bridge, designed by Mr. Wolfe Barry, C.B. is of somewhat peculiar construction, the low level passage being on the ‘bascule’ principle: i.e. the centre span of 200 feet is divided into two, each half being pivoted and furnished with a counterpoise, and hauled upward and back against the towers when the waterway is opened, the bridge is shown thus opened in the view. A high-level footway is also carried across nearly at the top of the towers, access to this being afforded by lifts in the latter. The side spans are on the suspension principle.”

Tower Bridge was the last central London road bridge to be built, so by the end of the 19th century, London had the same number of road bridges as we do today. This also applies to the rail bridges. Some have though been rebuilt, and dates for the first and current road bridges are show below:

  • London Bridge – very early : 1973
  • Southwark Bridge – 1819 : 1921
  • Blackfriars Bridge – 1769 : 1869
  • Waterloo Bridge – 1817 : 1942
  • Westminster Bridge – 1750 : 1862

The only completely new river crossing we have built since the end of the 19th century is the Millennium Foot Bridge.

The Imperial Institute

“The Imperial Institute at South Kensington was built with the twofold object of celebrating the Queen’s Jubilee and cementing the British Empire. Her Majesty in person both laid the foundation stone of this splendid building in 1887, and declared it open in 1893. The architect, Mr. T.E. Colcutt, was inspired by Tennyson’s words ‘Raise a stately memorial, Make it really gorgeous, Some Imperial Institute, Rich in symbol, in ornament, Which may speak to the centuries’. In design the Institute is Renaissance, freely treated. the main entrance is particularly fine, and the interior is worthy the exterior. Altogether the buildings occupy two acres. Every Friday, the public is admitted free to the exhibitions, and the attractions of the Institute are enhanced by concerts, lectures etc.”

Despite Tennyson’s words and the ideals that the Imperial Institute aspired to, it was not a great success, and by 1899, the University of London had taken over half of the building for administrative offices.

Demolition started in 1957 and was completed by 1967. The site of the Imperial Institute is now occupied by Imperial College.

The tower that can be seen to the right of the above photo was saved from demolition, and after some substantial works to enable the tower to stand on its own, it now stands within the Imperial college campus, and can be seen close up by cutting through the campus along Imperial College Road.

Yeoman of the Guard

“In very welcome contrast to the sober story of the Tower of London is the bright red uniform of its wardens – the Yeoman of the Guard. These men are commonly called Beefeaters, a title as to the derivation of which etymologists differ. Some explain it as a corruption of ‘buffetiers’ or waiters at the royal buffet; others trace it back to the rations of beer formerly served out to men whilst on duty. Be this as it may, the Yeoman of the Guard are veterans who have all more or less distinguished themselves on the field of battle. On State occasions they sometimes constitute a picturesque guard of honour, and at the opening of each new Session of Parliament a body of them searches the cellars of the Houses of Parliament as a precaution against any ‘gunpowder treason and plot’.”

The Yeoman of the Guard are still very much a key part of the Tower of London. I suspect the beard size has decreased somewhat since the end of the 19th century. The major change to the Yeoman of the Guard was very recent, with Moira Cameron becoming the first female Yeoman in 2007.

Greenwich Hospital

“Greenwich Hospital occupies the site of the royal palace erected in the fifteenth century on the south bank of the Thames four miles from London bridge. To students of Inigo Jones and Sir Christopher Wren, the Hospital is of great architectural interest. It consists of four quadrangles, and is best seen from the river, whence the less worthy portions are invisible. William and Mary deserve the credit of rebuilding the palace and of converting it into a refuge for decrepit and disabled seamen. In the present reign, however, in the year 1871, the pensioners made way under an Admiralty scheme for naval cadets, who are here educated. The Painted Hall, the Nelson relics, and the ship models, regularly draw to the Hospital troops of visitors.”

The Naval College for cadets closed in 1997. Part of the site is now occupied by the University of Greenwich, and it is often used as a film set.

The above view is much the same today, and it is worth walking under the Thames in the Greenwich foot tunnel to get to Island Gardens to see the late 19th century view, as it still appears today.

Holloway Gaol

“Her Majesty’s prison at Holloway is an imposing building, modern in date and castellated in design, with excellently arranged accommodation. It is the chief gaol for London and the county of Middlesex, and is constantly in evidence owing to the fact that prisoners awaiting trial are thither sent. Holloway Gaol also offers hospitality to debtors, to female convicted prisoners, and to a few special offenders, such as those who have committed contempt of court. Lieut-Colonel E.S. Milman combines in his person two offices, being Governor of both Holloway and Newgate prisons. Pentonville Prison is less than half a mile distant.”

Holloway Prison closed in 2016, and the prison is probably best known for being the place where the last women to be executed, Ruth Eillis, was hung in 1955.

Ludgate Circus

“One of the busiest spots in the City is Ludgate Circus, where meet Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, Farringdon Street and New Bridge Street. As may be seen from our view, the stately dome and towers of St. Paul’s Cathedral are conspicuous objects from the Circus, although the railway bridge and the slender steeple of St. Martin’s – one of Wren’s churches – obstruct the view. The name Ludgate is derived from an old gate – the sixth and principal gate of London – says Stow on his survey, which was taken in 1760. Antiquaries, however, differ as to whether the gate was built by a King Lud, who flourished B.C.66, or whether the word is merely a corruption of Floodgate or Fleetgate.”

Apart from the cathedral and church, the only building that remains from the 1890s view is the building on the left of the photo.

The railway bridge has gone, with the railway through Ludgate Hill being replaced by the Thameslink route, with the railway now running underground, and the new City Thameslink station on the right of Ludgate Hill, just the other side of where the bridge was in the photo.

Although the buildings have changed, the view up Ludgate Hill to the focal point of the cathedral is essentially the same.

London Bridge, Looking North-West

“The most noticeable thing about London Bridge is the enormous traffic over it – now however, appreciably relieved by the Tower Bridge a little further east. London Bridge is only 54 feet broad, so that it is not surprising that many projects for widening should have been discussed. The first bridge over the Thames at this point was built about A.D. 994; the first stone one was finished in 1208. Since then the bridge has often been the scene of fighting and tumult, as well as of state pageants. In Elizabeth’s reign it was restored, afterwards the horrid custom grew of exposing upon it the heads of traitors. The present bridge was commenced under Rennie in 1824 and cost £506,000.”

The bridge shown in the above view is not the London Bridge we see today. The latest incarnation of London bridge was constructed about 30 metres to the west of the previous bridge shown in the photo, and opened in 1973.

The bridge in the photo was taken apart and sold to the American entrepreneur Robert McCulloch, who had the bridge rebuilt at Lake Havasu City in Arizona, although by rebuilt, the stones from the earlier bridge were mainly used as facing stones on a steel reinforced concrete structure, required to give the bridge the strength needed to carry traffic.

The Charing Cross Hotel

“Charing Cross Hotel is situated at the South Eastern Railway Company’s western terminus, and lends a dignity to the line which the hideous bridge across the Thames does its best to destroy. Entrance to the station is obtained from the large yard, which generally presents a very busy scene, especially when the Continental mail is about to start. The hotel was built by Sir C. Barry, on the site of Hungerford Market. Charing Cross was once marked by a Gothic Monument, known as Eleanor’s Cross which Edward I erected to distinguish the spot where his dead wife’s body remained a while when being taken to Westminster Abbey. It was erected in 1291, but in 1647 was removed by order of Parliament. The present cross is the work of the late E.M. Barry.”

This view remains almost the same to this day. Charing Cross is one of the few stations that has retained the hotel building that stood between the station platforms and the street. This was a feature of many other stations, such as Cannon Street, which have lost their hotels during redevelopment.

The Charing Cross building continues to be a hotel and is now the Clermont Hotel.

What the caption to the photo does not really make clear is that the cross by E.M. Barry is not in the same position as the original Eleanor Cross – see this post, and the Hungerford Market which was on the site of the station has a really interesting history, which I discovered in this post.

Cleopatra’s Needle

“Conspicuously placed on the Victoria Embankment is the famous granite obelisk known as Cleopatra’s Needle. It was put up in Heliopolis by Pharaoh Thothmes II, about 1500 B.C,. and twenty-three years before the Christian era it was erected at Alexandria – Cleopatra’s city. For centuries, the obelisk lay neglected in the sand, but in 1819 it was presented to the British nation by Mohammed Ali as a memorial of Nelson and Abercromby. Dr. (afterwards Sir) Erasmus Wilson expended £10,000 upon its removal to this country in 1877. Owing to stormy weather the transport ship had to be abandoned in the bay of Biscay, but fortunately the monument was rescued, and in the following year it was placed in its present position near Waterloo Bridge. It is 68.5 feet high, and weighs 180 tons. The sphinxes are modern.”

A view that looks much the same today, with the same lamps on the Embankment wall, and trees between the pavement and the road. I doubt the trees are the same as those in place today, and there is now a cycle way between trees and road, and in the background it is the original Waterloo Bridge that can be seen.

Oxford Street, Looking East

“A very characteristic part of Oxford Street is depicted above. The large house of which the corner is seen on the left is Messrs. Marshall & Snelgrove’s and in all directions are shops dear to the hearts of town and country ladies. New Bond Street opens on the right, where the flag is waving; and the view extends beyond Oxford Circus. Oxford Street is, as everybody knows, one of the main arteries of the metropolis, through which the traffic flows from east to west, and from west to east, in an unceasing stream; and the broadness of the thoroughfare at this spot affords a pleasing contrast to the cramped and inconvenient proportions of the Strand and Fleet Street.”

I am not sure if the shops along Oxford Street are “dear to the hearts of town and country ladies” today, and the street has come in for considerable criticism over the previous few years, with a number of shops closing, and the take over of many shops by American Candy Stores. The future of the Marks & Spencer store in the street is uncertain as the company want to demolish and rebuild, whilst there are campaigns to save the building.

Oxford Street is a street that needs some considerable change if it is to regain its reputation as one of the premier shopping streets in the country.

Hammersmith Bridge, From The South Side

“At Hammersmith, the River Thames is spanned by a very graceful Suspension Bridge, which was opened in the summer of 1887 by the late Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence. This bridge serves the district between Putney and Kew, a distance of five and a half miles. The parish church which is, however, of no particular interest is shown in the picture presented above. perhaps the most striking feature of Hammersmith, which lies, of course, on the left bank of the river, is the Mall, where are situated houses dating from the reign of Queen Anne. At Hammersmith, too, are the headquarters of the various boating clubs. The bridge used to be crowded on the occasion of the Oxford and Cambridge boat-race, but of late years, this practice has been forbidden by the authorities.”

The view of the bridge itself is much the same today as it was in the 1890s. Hammersmith Bridge was closed in 2020 due to micro-fractures, caused by corrosion, being found in the structure of the bridge.

It has since been reopened for pedestrians and cyclists (who need to dismount their bike to cross the bridge), and the task of trying to find a solution and repair the bridge is underway, although there is as yet no date when, or if, the bridge will ever fully reopen.

The main issue is financial, as the costs to repair such an old, Grade II* listed structure are considerable, and the previous Government told Hammersmith & Fulham Council that they would have to fund 33% of the estimated £250 million repair costs.

I suspect that the Victorians would have been stunned by the delays in repairing this bridge, however the approach taken in the 19th century would simply have been to demolish the existing bridge and build new. There was very little consideration of the historical or architectural significance of buildings and structures in the 19th century, and if they were in the way of what was assumed to be “progress”, they were simply demolished.

The West India Import Dock

“The West India Docks, a hundred and sixty four acres in extent, consist of two parallel docks running east and west from Limehouse to Blackwell. Over the chief, or western entrance are inscribed the words ‘The West India Import Dock, begun 12th July 1800; opened for business 1st September 1802’. The opening ceremony was performed by William Pitt, and this was the first wet dock built on the north side of the Thames. The Import Dock, the more northerly of the two has on the north side eleven huge warehouses, capable of accommodating nearly a hundred thousand tons of goods; here are stored sugar, coffee, flour, cocoa, spices etc. The other West India Dock is known as the Export Dock.”

A time travelling Victorian would be able to tecognise many of the photos from the 1890s included in the post above, however the West India Import Dock would be unrecognisable.

The dock is part of the overall Canary Wharf development, and whilst part of the dock remains, there is water for much of the original overall east – west length, the width has been reduced, considerable new office building on either side of the water, and the new Elizabeth Line Canary Wharf Station has been built along what was once the centre of the dock.

What the time traveler may recognise are the buildings of the Museum of London, Docklands at the north west corner of the old West India Import Dock. The museum is housed in one of the last remaining, Grade I listed warehouses which date from 1802.

The changes at the West India Import Dock represent not just the closure of the working dock, but the loss of a complete form of trade, with all the jobs and industries that were dependent on the ships that once sailed to and from the central London docks.

I find it fascinating to consider how a major city such as London changes over time, how there are periods in the life of a city which put into place the foundations of how the city will operate for the next one hundred years plus.

Much of what we see in London today, does have its roots in the 19th century, and we have just expanded what was started over one hundred years ago.

alondoninheritance.com

Greater London 1937 Highway Development Survey

Two tickets have just become free for my walk on Sunday, the 18th of August, exploring the Lost Landscape and Transformation of Puddle Dock and Thames Street, an area that could soon change dramatically. Click here for booking and details.

The 1937 Highway Development Survey of Greater London (published in 1938), was an attempt to address the rising level of road traffic and congestion in the Greater London area. It was commissioned by the Minister of Transport and was the work of Sir Charles Bressey with Sir Edwin Lutyens acting as a consultant.

In the decades at the end of the 19th century, and the first few decades of the 20th century, traffic on London’s roads had been rising rapidly. This was the result of a number of factors, including:

  • Increasing trade, both within the City and with the rapid growth of trade through London’s docks, along with expansion of the docks
  • Growth in Greater London’s population from 7.5 million in 1906 to 9.5 million in 1935 (with one fifth of the population of Great Britain and one quarter of the working population)
  • New modes of transport (underground, railways) along with growth in buses and trams and trolley-buses, as well as growth in petrol based vehicles
  • The growth of the suburbs around London and increasing travel into the centre of the city, from home to work (central London’s population had been in a slow decline due to the growth in industry, but the population of the wider suburbs had been growing rapidly)

The number of motor vehicles in the country was also expanding rapidly, as shown by the following graphs from the report:

Based on a 1922 start point, the number of motor vehicles had grown by 185%, from 1 million, to over 2.5 million, whilst the population had only grown by around 5%, and the number of vehicles by mile of road had risen from 5 in 1922 to 15 by 1936.

The above graphs covered the whole of the country. The report also included lots of London specific data, including the following numbers in a table headed “Millions of Passenger Journeys”:

The majority of the report was the work of Sir Charles Bressey, who was a civil engineer and surveyor with a broad experience of the design of road systems. He was already a surveyor, working in his father’s practice in the City of London, and during the First World War, he put his experience to the construction of military roads in France whilst in the Royal Engineers.

Sir Charles Bressey:

Attribution and source: GPO Film Unit, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Sir Edwin Lutyens was known mainly as an architect, designing a wide range of public and office buildings, government offices, churches and private houses. he also designed a number of war memorials, including the Cenotaph in Whitehall.

Their report was published in 1938, and contains a comprehensive number of recommendations to address the expected continual rise in the growth of road usage through to the 1960s.

The report first identifies places which were “Centre of Congestion”, including:

  • Oxford Circus – This is the focal point of Oxford Street; at times throughout the day, and particularly at morning and afternoon peak hours, congestion here is excessive, and saturation point is reached.
  • Gardiner’s Corner, Aldgate – This is probably the key point to the east end. A large proportion of the traffic from the east and the eastern suburbs to the City and vice versa pass this point. It is adjacent to the Docks, to Spitalfields Market and to the manufacturing and trading districts of Stepney, Whitechapel, Spitalfields, Shoreditch, etc. Five roads converge on the point and there is a substantial proportion of turning traffic from and to all the thoroughfares involved.
  • Hammersmith Broadway – A complex and badly arranged six way junction in which four of the converging roads are so close together that, without the most extensive alterations, adequate weaving space for roundabout work could not be obtained.

As part of the data collection process to help form the recommendations of the report, four routes across London were selected, and a 16 H.P, Austin Light-Six Touring Car drove along each of the routes every day (excluding Sundays), from 8 am to 7pm (1pm on Saturdays).

The car was “driven by a steady and competent chauffeur, who had no inducement to attempt to break records or to take risk”, and an observer was also in the car armed with a stop-watch and clip board to record times of sections along each of the routes.

Of all routes and sections along the routes, the slowest were:

  • between Ludgate Circus and Commercial Road on the west – east route where the average was only 5.85 miles per hour, while of the slowest journey, the pace dropped to 3.6 miles per hour, and;
  • between Euston Road and Trafalgar Square, via Tottenham Court Road, on the north-west – south east route. here the average pace was 7.7 miles per hour, while on the slowest journey, the figure dropped to 6.3 miles per hour.

Road improvements included the greater use of roundabouts which were seen as a way of improving traffic flow where several roads met at a junction. The first roundabout in the country was in Letchworth Garden City in 1907, but they would not really proliferate until the 1960s,

The report included several suggested designs for roundabouts, including the following two:

Slow roads were not the only problem identified in the report, there were many other factors identified, including one which showed the expected increase in air travel.

In the 1930s, there were a large number of airfields surrounding London, as the following table from the report identifies:

The number of airfields was expected to increase, with the following table identifying possible new locations:

The recommendations of the report covered new roads, city loops, motorways, street widening, changing the configuration of junctions, including the use of roundabouts, and a comprehensive list of schemes was included in the report:

and:

The recommended schemes include lots of proposals within London, such as the Piccadilly Improvement, Mayfair – Soho route etc. and the report is one of the first I have read which recognises that travel to and from London is dependent on the wider network across the country, so we have proposed schemes such as the Cambridge Road Northern Extension past Ware, Improvement of London to Ongar Road (A.113) and Extension to Norwich, and the London – Birmingham Route.

London to Birmingham would later become either the M40 or the combination of M1 and M6.

Another proposal in the list which would later become a new motorway is the Coulsdon – Crawley – Brighton route, which today is the M23 and A23.

The published report included a pocket at the back of the book in which there were a couple of very large maps.

The proposed new routes and changes were drawn on the maps, and I have reproduced these below.

It was difficult to photograph the maps due to their large size, and as they are almost 90 years old, I wanted to be very careful to avoid any tears or other damage, however I hope the following images provide a view of what was proposed back in 1937:

The above map shows the wider area surrounding London, and we are starting to get a map that is recognisable today, for example:

  • A new outer ring road for London, which for 1937 was a considerable way from the centre of the city. This outer ring road (with some changing of routing) is today the M25. Strange though that where the road crosses the Thames to the east, the north and southern routes do not meet at the location of what would become the Dartford Crossing.
  • The Motorway network spreading out from London. There are thick red lines running out from London across the wider country. These were the proposed major routes that would connect London with the rest of the country – an urgent need given the increasing number of motor vehicles of all types, both private and commercial.
  • The growth in the docks to the east of the city, with the thick red line to the right, leading north from the area around Tilbury, Corringham and Canvey Island.

The list of proposals shown on the map was included in the following key:

The following map shows the Great London proposals:

Along with the following key to the proposals:

Proposals included adding a second tunnel to the Blackwall Tunnel (which would not be completed until 1967), as well as the Rotherhithe Tunnel, which would not get its second tunnel, and would stay to this day as a tunnel with traffic running in both directions in a single bore.

The City Loop-Way was described in the report as follows:

“To relieve the almost intolerable pressure on the main routes which now traverse the heart of the City, converging upon the Mansion House and St. Paul’s Cathedral, the creation of the City Loop-Way is recommended, with a view to encouraging drivers to avoid the most congested central area.

The most important section of the Loop-Way would extend from Blackfriars to the Tower, thus forming a continuation of the Victoria Embankment eastwards to the Tower, thus forming a continuation of the Victoria Embankment Route, through a dingy part of the City, which stands urgently in need of renovation. From the Tower, the Loop-Way would follow approximately the general line – Crutched Friars – Duke Street – Camomile Street – London Wall to Wood Street; from here a new cut would be necessary to reach Aldersgate Street; Bartholomew Close is traversed and replanned, and a proper outlet formed into Farringdon Street, down which we turn to Blackfriars, thus completing the circuit.”

Whilst the Loop-Way did not get built, what is interesting about many of these proposals is how they, or variations of the proposals get included in future plans for London, so for example, parts of the Loop-Way can be seen in the 1944 City of London report covering Post-War Reconstruction of the City of London, where northern and southern routes around the City were proposed extending from Aldgate to Holborn via London Wall, and the Tower to Blackfriars along Lower and Upper Thames Street.

The following map from the 1944 report illustrates these routes as thick red lines to north and south:

Lower and Upper Thames Street did get considerably widened and now form a southern route to bypass the centre of the City of London, with the connection through to Blackfriars being completed in the late 1970s. All that got built of the northern route was the dual carriageway section along London Wall and part of Wormwood Street.

Some detail from the Greater London map shows some of the proposals. The following extract shows the area around the Victoria, Royal Albert and King George V Docks, and the Woolwich River Crossing:

These were the last docks to be built in the central London area, and their size enabled the largest of ships (at the time) to be accommodated in numbers, which resulted in a large amount of products and raw materials to be moved.

These docks were connected into the railway network, but their road connections were considered inadequate for the size of the docks. For example, the road between the Victoria and Royal Albert Docks was “the Connaught Road Swing Bridge which carries but one line of vehicles; its approaches are tortuous and interrupted by level crossings”.

To improve the roads to these docks, the North-South Lea Valley Road was proposed, although it was recognised that “considerable demolition would be required in West Ham and Leyton”.

The Woolwich ferry crossing was also a problem, and the report considered three options:

  • the construction of a high level bridge
  • the building of a barrage which might accommodate a road
  • the driving of a vehicular tunnel

The construction of a bridge in combination with a Thames barrage was the subject of a 1944 report which included the following illustration of what it could look like:

In the almost 90 years after the report was published, we still have the Woolwich Ferry.

One proposal that did get built, and in a far more comprehensive way than proposed in the 1937 plan, was the “Cromwell Road Extension to Great West Road” shown by the red lines in the following extract from the map:

This proposal would evolve into what is today the route from where Cromwell Road turns into West Cromwell Road (by the large Tesco at Warwick Road), and then runs along to the Hammersmith Flyover, down to the Hogarth Roundabout, then to the elevated section of the A4 through Brentford, then to the M4, which runs all the way to Pont Abraham in Carmarthenshire, south Wales.

Bressey wrote the conclusion to the report, as follows:

“The discussions that Sir Edwin Lutyens and I have had during the past three years with representatives of public bodies throughout Greater London have shown how widespread is the desire that the lines of new routes should be authoritatively laid down for rigorous observance as permanent governing features in the ceaseless development and transformation of the Metropolis, where, hitherto, so much uncertainty has prevailed as to the official status of various road schemes which are protected in one area and neglected in another.”

The 1937 report was published just before the start of the Second World War which put a hold on all such forms of development. Many of the proposals in the 1937 report were included in some form in the 1944 Reconstruction of the City of London report and the Greater London Plan by Abercrombie.

Post war lack of finance held up many projects, and it was not until the 1960s when some major projects were completed, such as the first Dartford Tunnel which opened in 1963.

Bressey and Lutyens could not have foreseen the closure of the London Docks and the impact that would have on transport requirements in that area of the City, where today, as well as roads, the Docklands Light Railway has been a considerable success in opening up the area.

As usual, in the context of a weekly bog post, I have only scratched the surface of the information contained within the report. The report contains lots of statistics and information on travel across London, and although getting on for 90 years old, many of the aspects of the report are just as relevant today.

Bressey’s comment in his conclusion about how his discussions had: “shown how widespread is the desire that the lines of new routes should be authoritatively laid down for rigorous observance as permanent governing features “, could I suspect. equally apply to today.

I suspect that there is still such a desire for “rigorous observance” today. As a country, we just do not seem very good at completing large scale infrastructure projects.

For example, the last government cancelled much of HS2 and there is still uncertainty on whether it will end at Old Oak Common or Euston, the current government has cancelled a range of infrastructure projects, including the Stonehenge Tunnel, and there is continuing uncertainty over whether Heathrow will ever get a third runway.

Whether you view these projects as good or bad, uncertainty, change or cancellation just costs and wastes yet more money.

I am sure you will be able to write the same thing in another 90 years time, but it would be really interesting to know what transport infrastructure would have been built across London by 2114.

Will HS2 terminate at Euston, will Crossrail 2 have been built, will there be a new Thames Barrier, and will the Bakerloo Line finally have new trains? Unfortunately, I will probably never know.

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St. Olave’s, Hart Street

St. Olave, on the corner of Hart Street and Seething Lane is a wonderful City church. One of the few medieval churches that survived the Great Fire of 1666, it was badly bombed in the last war with only the tower and walls surviving. Wonderfully restored in the 1950s, the church is well worth a visit.

The following print from 1736 shows the same view as in the above photo, and a visitor from 1736 would immediately recognise the church, although the surrounding buildings are now very different:

© The Trustees of the British Museum Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

There are minor changes, for example the crenellations along the top of the church walls have been lost, as has the porch over the door to the church on Hart Street. This door provides one of two main entrances today:

The above print from 1736 provides the following information about the church:

“This Church was dedicated to St. Olave, King of Norway, professing ye Christian Religion. he endeavoured to win his Subjects over thereto, but they took up Arms, and with ye Assistance of Canute King of England and Denmark overcame and murdered him A.D. 1028. he was deemed a Martyr, and is commemorated July ye 28th. the first Account we have of this Church is that William de Samford was Rector in 1319. It was repaired by ye Parish in 1633 with cost of £437. the Patronage of ye Rectory was formerly in the Family of Nevil, then in that of Cely (who were considerable Benefactors to ye Fabrick) and afterward in that of ye Lord Windsor, it is now in ye Gift of 5 gentlemen of ye Parish as Trustees by Appointment of Sir Andrew Richards who was Sheriff in 1651 and died in 1672. It was formerly called St. Olave neat ye Tower of London, but now St. Olave Hart Street from its situation n ye South side of Hart street at ye North West corner of Seething Lane near Crutched Fryers in Tower Ward within ye City of London.”

There are some very different interpretations of the story of Olave. he seems to have been baptised in the year 1010, in the Norman city of Rouen. He then helped the Anglo-Saxon King Æthelred II (also known as Æthelred the Unready) to regain his throne after the death of Danish King Sweyn Forkbeard.

Sweyn’s son was King Cnut, who took the thrones of England and Denmark in 1016, and would take the throne of Norway from Olave in 1028.

Olave was killed at the Battle of Stiklestad, when he was trying to retake his Norwegian throne.

He was declared a saint in 1031 by the English Bishop Grimketel who was working as a missionary in Norway at the time of Olave’s death.

Nidaros Cathedral, a wonderful Gothic cathedral, in Trondheim, Norway, which claims to be the world’s most northern mediaeval cathedral, is built over the site of Olave’s tomb.

St. Olave’s feast day is now the 29th of July, rather than the 28th as detailed in the text with the 1736 print, and if you work in the Faroe Islands, it is a public holiday.

View of the church from Seething Lane:

And the view of the church from Seething Lane today is much the same as it was in 1810:

© The Trustees of the British Museum Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

The gate from Seething Lane to what remains of the churchyard dates from 1658 and has three skulls in the centre and a skull on either side for decoration:

The gateway is Grade II* listed, and Historic England dates the wall and railing to perhaps the 18th century and the iron gates to the early 19th century.

Once through the gates, there is a small churchyard, steps down to the entrance to the church, and on the right an interesting post. Not sure what this could have been, possibly a parish boundary marker:

The Navy Office was once located close to the church, and on the wall to the right of the entrance is a plaque which records the following:

“Entrance to the South Gallery and the Navy Office Pew often mentioned in the Diary of Samuel Pepys. Tablet erected 1891.”

The entrance to the South Gallery of the church was discovered in 1883. The church had been granted a sum of £1,200 by the Charity Commissioners to undertake repairs to the fabric of the church.

A cement like material had been used to cover the walls, and on removing the cement, the old entrance was discovered, and was believed to have been where a wooden gallery extended to the Navy Office allowing Pepys to reach the Navy Office pew in the church from the Navy Office, without getting wet.

Inside the church, looking up to the altar:

The same view in the late 19th century:

Although the church had been very badly damaged during the war, and the wooden roof and wooden interior fittings had burnt, it still has the feel of an old church – which indeed it is.

On Wednesday and Thursday lunchtimes, well attended musical recitals take place in the church, but on the Friday afternoon of my visit, the church was very quiet, and for 20 minutes I had the church to myself.

Noise from the outside hardly penetrates the thick walls of these early City churches, and the sound of the camera shutter seemed excessively loud in this quiet space.

The southern gallery to the right of the altar:

The northern gallery to the left of the altar:

Looking back to the western end of the church:

St. Olave has four sword stands, two came from Allhallows Staining, and two have always belonged to St. Olave:

The book “The Annals of St. Olave Hart Street and Allhallows Staining” by the Rev Alfred Povah (1894) has the following to say about the sword stands:

“These picturesque pieces of church furniture – we have no evidence of such earlier than Queen Elizabeth’s reign – are often admired by visitors who have, perhaps, no precise notion of the purpose which they served. It was, till very recently, the custom for the Lord Mayor, accompanied by the Sheriffs to attend divine service at a City church on Sunday morning, and by their presence and their retinue, a larger congregation was drawn to the support of various charities.

On these occasions the Lord Mayor was escorted by the Bearer of the Mace and the Bearer of the State Sword, and our forefathers often did honour to a parishioner elected to be Lord Mayor, by causing a sword stand, sword rest, or ‘branch’ sometimes called a ‘Trophy of Arms’ to be placed upon his pew.”

Memorial to Samuel Pepys:

Samuel Pepys regularly attended services at St. Olave and when Elizabeth his wife died, she was buried in the church on the 13th of November, 1669. Her monument is high on the wall to the left of the altar.

When Samuel Pepys died on the 26th of May, 1703, he was also buried in the church. The entry in the church register reads “1703, June 4. Samuel Pepys buried in a vault by ye communion table”.

The memorial to Pepys would not be erected for well over one hundred years, and came about due to the actions of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society, as the book, the Annals of St. Olave records:

“As far back as the year 1864, on the occasion of a visit by the Members of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society. I proposed that a Memorial of Samuel Pepys should be placed in the Church of St. Olave, Hart Street, and promises of support were received from the Clothworkers’ Company, the Trinity House, Magdalene College Cambridge, and others.

It was not, however, till the Members of the Middlesex Archaeological Society paid a second visit to the Church in 1882, that the want of such a memorial was again publicly noticed. Mr. Henry B. Wheatley, who read a paper on that occasion, conferred with Mr. (now Sir) Owen Roberts, the Clerk to the Clothworkers’ Company and myself. At a meeting held July 5th, 1882, a committee, mainly representative of the great institutions with which Pepys had been connected, was appointed.”

Despite offers from a number of architects and sculptors, work on the design of the memorial was left to a Mr. (later Sir) Arthur Blomfield, and his design was met with approval by the committee.

An appeal for subscriptions to fund the memorial was met with a “liberal response”, and when complete, a service to unveil the memorial was arranged for Tuesday the 18th of March, 1884 at three p.m..

It was intended that the memorial was unveiled by the Earl Northbrook, First Lord of the Admiralty, given Pepys association with the Admiralty, however on the day, Northbrook could not attend, and it was instead unveiled by J. Russell Lowell, the United States Minister.

It was noted at the service that for the past 180 years, questions from visitors as to the location of the Pepys Memorial could only be meet with the reply that his only visible reference in the church was the entry about his burial in the church register, but now there was a stone monument placed on the wall, and in a fitting location as it was near the door where Pepys had entered from the Navy Office.

Whilst Pepys is probably the most famous of those with a memorial in the church, there are many other historic and fascinating memorials, including one which tells of the horrendous death rate for children in earlier centuries:

The memorial is to Reverend John Letts, who was rector of the parish for nearly twenty years. He died at the age of 57 on the 24th of March, 1857, and the memorial was erected by:

“His sorrowing Widow to the Memory of Her beloved Husband and of their children, Charlotte, Amy, Sarianne, Viola and Egerton who preceded their Father to the Grave”.

Five children who had died before their father. The monument does not record how many children John Letts and his unnamed wife had in total. There was at least one more as the monument records that Letts had died when on a visit to his Son at Staunton Harold, Leicestershire.

Life for the young was very precarious, even within a family who, with a father who was the Reverend of a City church, must have been reasonably well to do.

St. Olave’s association with Trinity House can be seen with a model of a lightship in the church. This is the lightship that was based in the North Sea at Smiths Knoll, an area a few miles off Great Yarmouth in Norfolk:

Stone tablet inlaid with brass – a memorial to John Orgone and his wife Ellyne:

There is no record of the death of John, but in the church registers there is an entry for Ellyn dated the 7th of June, 1580, which reads: “Ellin the wife of M’ John Organ aged 54 years of a swelling in the head”.

The two scrolls above the figures read: “Learne to dye” and “ys ye waye to life”. Between them is the representation of a wool sack, with a trademark and the initials IO (a merchants mark).

A fascinating record of a 16th century London merchant.

The next momument tells a story of how monuments were lost, and occasionally recovered, following wartime damage to the church.

This is the memorial to the physician Peter Turner who died on the 17th of May, 1614:

As mentioned earlier in the post, the church was badly damaged during the last war. Fire had gutted the interior, destroying the wood roof, pews etc. but leaving the stone walls, the tower and many of the monuments within.

There was a large amount of looting of bombed sites during the war. My father recorded furniture being stolen from one of the flats in his estate which had been damaged by an incendiary bomb.

Peter Turner’s monument was presumably stolen, as it went missing from the church.

It reappeared at an art auction in April 2010, and returned to its original position within the church the following year, almost 70 years after going missing.

There is much though that was lost from the overall monument as can be seen from the photo, with the original stone around the bust still missing, as is the stone below the bust and the plaque with the inscription, which are all new.

One that has remained in the church is this impressive memorial to Sir James Deane, who died on the 16th of May, 1608:

His entry in the church register states: “1608, June the 2. S’ James Deane Knight deceased on the 16th of Maie at his howse in hackneye being brought to London, was on the 2 of June following buried in the chancell.”

There is a related register entry which reads: “1600-1, March 16. A Cresom woman child of S’ James Deane’s”.

Cresom or “chrisomes” was an archaic term for death in infants. Chrisomes was used to describe the death of an infant under one month of age. The term came from the name of a white linen cloth that was used to cover a baby’s head when baptised, and was also used as a shroud for a dead baby.

If you look at the photo of the monument above, there is a central panel with a man and woman facing each other and praying. In the centre, below them, there are two babies, with the lower with its head resting on a skull, to symbolise death:

Another reminder of the terribly high child death rate, and how those who could afford a monument wanted to record their children, including those who died as babies, as being part of their family. My post on Bills of Mortality – Death in early 18th Century London, goes into some depth on the causes of death, and just how relatively few children reached adulthood.

Dame Anne, the wife of Sir John Radclif, Knight, who died on the 10th of December, 1585, and well over 400 years later, continues to kneel in perpetual prayer:

As does Andrew Bayninge, who died on the 21st of December 1610, aged 67:

Next is the statue of, and memorial to Sir Andrew Riccard, who died in 1672:

Sir Andrew Riccard was a leading member of two of the trading companies that contributed so much to the financial and trading success of the City of London in the 17th and 18th centuries; the East India Company and the Turkey Company.

The text below his statue reads:

“Sacred be the Statue here raised by Gratitude & Respect to eternize the Memory of Sir ANDREW RICCARD Kn’t. A Citizen &. opulent- Merchant of London Whose active Piety, inflexible Integrity & extensive Abilities alike distinguished and exalted Him in the Opinion of the Wise and Good. Adverse to his Wish, He was frequently chosen Chairman of the Honorable East India Company, and filled with equal Credit, for eighteen successive Years, the same eminent Station in the Turkey Company. Among many Instances of his Love to GOD and liberal Spirit towards Man one as it demands peculiar Praise deserves to be distinctly recorded. He nobly left the PERPETUAL ADVOWSON of this Parish, in Trust of five of its senior Inhabitants. He died the 6th of Sep’ In the Year of our LORD 1672 of his Age 68.”

I suspect that it was not too much “adverse to his wish” that he was frequently chosen as chairman, as these would have been prestige roles in the City and would have made him a wealthy man, as perhaps the scale of his monument suggests.

Another statue records one of the international inhabitants of London. This is Peter Cappone, originally from Florence, and who died in the City of London in1582:

The entry in the register records that he died of the plaque on the 27th of October, 1582, one of the many years during the 16th century when the plaque was a cause of death in London. Not on the scale of the outbreak in 1665, but a continuous risk among the many risks to health for Londoners over the centuries.

St. Olave is a wonderful City church. Restored following wartime bombing to a standard where it still provides a sense of the church when some of those commemorated around the walls once knew St. Olave, Hart Street.

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