The Office of Works

The Office of Works. It’s almost a cartoonish name, like the Daily Mash’s Institute of Studies. To those of us of a certain age it has a black-and-white, Andy Capp, post-war era quality. Its staff, we might imagine, would probably be middle-class improvers with a modest terrace house, a modest car and a mousy wife. Its an organisation from a bygone age and nobody knows what it was or probably few people did back then either. In reality, it was far more exciting that its name suggests, particularly if you appreciate history and heritage issues.

The Office of Works was an ancient department dating back to the 14th century. Its job was the maintenance of Crown property; it also participated in organising Royal ceremonies: weddings, coronations, funerals. In 1882 the Ancient Monuments Act gave it the job of acquiring and maintaining prehistoric monuments; from 1900 this was extended to historic buildings.

But this side of the Office’s duties changed fundamentally into something we would recognise today on 15  August 1913 with the passing of the The Ancient Monuments Consolidation and Amendment Act. 

The Act gave the Office powers to 1) list protected monuments which could not be altered without reference to the Office; 2) issue a Preservation Order where a monument was under threat and 3) take a monument into the care of the state, with or without the owner’s agreement.

Hence the Office of Works became the predecessor of English Heritage. In the first 20 years after the Act a small cadre of workers who included historians, restorers, builders and archaeologists and led by the formidable Charles Peers, rescued 229 monuments.

These include Rievaulx Abbey, Furness Abbey, Richborough Roman Fort and Goodrich Castle.

Peers, the first Chief Inspector of Ancient Monuments, was one of those leaders who seem to have disappeared from public life: driven, determined, competent and insistent to have things as he would have them. He reminds me in that way of his contemporary Frank Pick over at the London tube.

The other prime mover in this story was George, Lord Curzon. While Viceroy of India at the turn of the twentieth Century,  Curzon had restored the Taj Mahal and its gardens. Back in England, and shocked by the state of our monuments, in 1912 he personally intervened using his own money to prevent Tattershall Castle from being wholly exported to America. The government’s powerlessness and his example created the momentum which led to the Act.

The centenary of the 1913 Act and its aftermath is celebrated in a wonderful exhibition at the Quadriga Gallery within Wellington Arch, appropriately run by English Heritage. It includes lots of objects saved from rescued monuments, plus many photographs, portraits, paintings and plans.

A Monumental Act: How Britain Saved its Heritage
1 May – 7 July 2013, Quadriga Gallery
Entry: £4. English Heritage Members: Free.
More Information.

Horace and the Bridge

Today is the architect Sir Horace Jones‘s birthday. He was born in 1819 in the City of London. He also trained in the City before opening his practice in Holborn. He was architect and surveyor to the City of London from 1864 until his death in 1887. A Londoner of Note indeed.

Much of Jones’s work has survived both the Blitz and the wrecking ball, notably the Temple Bar memorial along with Billingsgate, Leadenhall and Smithfield Markets. He loved iron and steel. But most sensational of all was Tower Bridge.

In the late 19C, London’s rapid expansion required yet another bridge to link the City to the Surrey side downriver of London Bridge. The difficulty was that this could potentially block the old Customs House and its surrounding wharfs from offloading vital cargo – food and fuel – to supply the city’s massive populus: shipping needed to pass by the bridge. Many wacky and bizarre plans were put forward, along with more practical ones by the great Joseph Bazalgette, Horace Jones, and others. In 1884, Jones’s design was given the nod. It was essentially a drawbridge idea, the key difference being that it was based on a bascule (see-saw) principle rather than chainlift. The power that drives the bascules up and down is provided by hydraulic chambers filled by water pumps, originally steam but electric from 1976.

Jones died only two years after work began on the bridge, but his technical partner, the engineer John Wolfe Barry saw the project through to completion in 1894, when it was opened by the Prince and Princess of Wales on 30 June. Barry had also been responsible for the mechanism and hydraulics systems for the bascules.

London Historians had a group visit to Tower Bridge last month where we visited the museum and walkways along with the rest of the public, but we were also shown the modern engine room, the old control room, the storage tanks for the hydraulic lift system and, crucially, we went down into one of the bascule chambers. A week or two previous to that, I had the enormous privilege of raising the bascules myself from the modern control room. Here follows some pictures from these visits, but I’ve put a larger set on our Flickr space here.

London Historians on the pedestrian walkway.

Instruments in the old control room.

Engine Room.

Hydraulic Accumulator.

In the bascule chamber.

Old steam engine in the Tower Bridge Museum.

Author in the safe hands of engineer Charlie Harrison in the modern control room.

All my own work.

Tower Bridge Trivia:

John Wayne: Duke of Hazard.

1. On full lift, the bascules are 77° to the horizontal except when the monarch passes through: 87°.
2. Between 1894 and 1976 the bridge had over 300,000 lifts without a failure.
3. In 1940, an anti-aircraft gun was removed from the bridge after damaging one of the towers.
4. The pedestrian walkways were closed in 1910 due to lack of use.
5. In 1968 a disgruntled RAF pilot flew a Hawker Hunter jet through the bridge.
6. Raising the bascules for shipping is a free service.
7. Shipping always has priority over road traffic (1885 Tower Bridge Act).
8. In 1952, London bus driver Albert Gunton famously jumped the gap between the rising bascules after the traffic management system failed. He received a £5 reward.
9. John Wayne drove a yellow Ford Capri – simulated – across Tower Bridge in the 1975 movie Brannigan. Clip.
10. In 1997 the motorcade carrying Tony Blair and Bill Clinton was split by a bridge lift, leaving the leaders on opposite sides of the crossing. An international incident almost occurred when the bridge team, to prevent making matters worse, refused to stray from the procedure.

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On behalf of London Historians as a group and me personally for my lifting the bascule experience, a big thank-you to the City of London who manage Tower Bridge, in particular Chris Earlie, Iain Stanford and Charlie Harrison who are directly involved in the day-to-day running of the bridge, all highly professional, knowledgeable and welcoming.

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Links:
Wikipedia.
Tower Bridge Exhibition.

Review: Fallen In Love

Fallen In Love: The Secret Heart of Anne Boleyn, by Joanna Carrick, showing at the Tower of London.

A Guest Post by London Historians Member, Lissa Chapman

The Boleyn brand has never been more popular: novels, television series, conferences, a dozen Twitter users jostling for the name @AnneBoleyn – surely the perfume and a range of lingerie called “the most happy” can’t be far behind. It’s hardly surprising. Anne Boleyn was a celebrity (yes, they did have them in the sixteenth century), a whore or a religious heroine – delete according to taste – in her own lifetime, and her legendary status is unlikely to fade. She is one of the historical figures whose significance is in the eye, and often the heart, of the beholder.

So a play about her, staged within yards of the place of her violent death, has to be a winner. But it isn’t clear if “Fallen in Love: The Secret Heart of Anne Boleyn” is exactly a play. Supported by the Heritage (not the Arts) Lottery Fund and staged in association with Historic Royal Palaces, this project seemed to me to belong in the sometimes uncertain ground between theatre and live interpretation. It is both a strength and a weakness of the piece that it is written with great integrity, firmly based on primary source material. It also avoids the vulgarities of sixth fingers, witchcraft and serial shagging.

The theme is the intense bond between Anne Boleyn and her younger brother George – the two were of course convicted, among other things, of incest with each other. The premise of the piece is that their love was the central relationship in both their lives. The action spans nearly twenty years, starting at the time of the Field of the Cloth of Gold when the siblings were in their teens, and continuing until their execution; each scene is a self-contained set piece, with the two characters meeting to plan, rejoice, grieve or comment.

Emma Connell as Anne and Scott Ellis as George, both in their twenties, were convincing in the early scenes; each was able to convey the vitality and insatiable ambition of the pair, and their interdependence against the world, along with the febrile charm that must have characterised the real Boleyns.. It was as they were asked to age, to occupy a larger place in that world and to become more formidable that the difficulties began. These were partly inherent in the writing which, as the characters became public property, took more and more the form of paraphrased chunks of source material (relying on the accuracy of the reports of Eustace Chapuys a little too often for my particular taste). And as the Boleyns became significant and visible to the world at large, the limitations of the two-hander became more evident. Attempts were made to suggest the influence of others, in particular the king, but neither the danger and watchfulness of court life nor the dangerousness of the characters themselves became manifest.

It is worth noting that this production represents a huge ask of its cast and crew. The 9pm performance I attended was the third of that day – an exhausting prospect for a show with an 85-minute running time. The choice of the New Armouries as the setting was a disappointment, as it is one of the least atmospheric parts of the Tower, although the practicality in terms of lighting and comfort were evident. And the costumes, although they would have been acceptable in a larger space, were not of sufficient quality to bear the close scrutiny they receive from an audience only a few feet from the action.

Despite all this, however, this is a serious and thoughtful piece of writing. It would be interesting to revisit the subject using a larger cast of characters and perhaps with live rather than recorded music. Yet – secret heart? Walking through the dark precincts of the Tower on a night in May seemed to me to offer a greater sense of connection with Anne Boleyn than any play ever could. Perhaps that is as it should be.

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Fallen In Love: The Secret Heart of Anne Boleyn, by Joanna Carrick, runs until 16 June. There are three performances most days, ticket prices £27 – £32. Concessions available, including 10% discount to London Historians Members.

More information here.
Booking here.

Middle Temple

Yesterday, a group of Members went on one of our behind-the-scenes: a tour around the Middle Temple whose ancient hall dates from the Elizabethan era. It’s a magnificent structure with a handsome double hammerbeam roof, one of only four in the world. Middle Temple is one of London’s four Inns of Court, the other three being its near neighbour Inner Temple plus Lincoln’s Inn and Grey’s Inn slightly to the north on t’other side of Fleet Street. Before universities proliferated, along with Oxford and Cambridge the Inns collectively were main centres of learning for young gentlemen who perhaps preferred to hang around the capital. Sir Walter Ralegh was one such.

Today the hall’s main function is a refectory for members and students. But in its early days it was also a venue for revels, lectures, drama. Twelfth Night’s first performance was here in 1602. Our tour started and ended here for afterwards we enjoyed a fabulous buffet lunch seated on one of the long bench tables. Between these bookends in time, we were led through a series of wood panelled function rooms, all richly decorated with portraits of luminaries of the past who had close connections with this Inn. King Edward VII and the late Queen Mother were both enthusiastic supporters who enjoyed the convivial hospitality of the Middle Temple.

The guided part of our visit ended in the Library. The books are old; the building is modern, for the old library was irretrievably Blitzed. It’s the home of the Molyneux globes, one terrestrial, the other celestial. They are among the earliest of the type ever made, remarkable survivors.

Members of the public are permitted to visit the hall, but only if it’s not being used and at the discretion of the porters, so it’s all a bit random. But we had our fill and much more besides, all thanks to the Inn’s senior librarian Renae Satterley @resatterley whose knowledge, enthusiasm and warm hospitality are a credit to this ancient institution.

Rather than repeat what’s available elsewhere, read the history of Middle Temple on Wikipedia here or, better still, on their own web site here. Look out for the PDF download.

Related post: Agnus Dei.

Our group at the high table. donated by Elizabeth I. A massive plank of Tudor oak which was manoevred in only by removing the stained glass window.

Double hammerbeam roof.

There are hundreds of these members’ coats of arms throughout the Middle Temple.

Contemporary Portrait of Elizabeth I.

This bench top is a hatch from the Golden Hinde, where newly qualified barristers are sworn in.

The Bench Apartment.

Charter from James I granting possession of the Middle Temple in perpetuity.

The spot where a Zeppelin-delivered bomb pierced the floor. Middle Temple was a victim of bombs in both World Wars.

The Prince’s Room, named in honour of Prince William, formerly the Members’ Smoking Room.

The library.

A lamp post in Ealing

“You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” as Joni Mitchell once warbled. This is certainly true of lamp posts if you look at the hideous modern ones and compare them with their predecessors. A few years ago a local residents pressure group succeeded in preventing the council from ripping out the last of the old Victorian lamp posts around Ealing. There is one that would have been safe in any case because it is listed. Dating from 1895, it’s on the corner of Aston Road and Woodville Road a tad north of Ealing Broadway, and it’s a beauty.

What puzzles me, though, is a photo from the LMA of the same post, taken in 1976, apparently. The cars would indicate that this is roughly correct. But the lamp design at the top is entirely different and must have been replaced at some stage in the past 35 years or so. But the existing lamp appears a much older design than 1976, so what’s going on? It seems that the old lamp was replaced with another old lamp, possibly of similar vintage.

Anyone know?

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* Hat-tip to the Queen of the Rat-run, Fiona Pretorius, aka @missysun for drawing my attention to this.

State Opening of Parliament: Like Clockwork

Her Majesty arrives via the Sovereign’s Entrance in the Victoria Tower (ie not the Elizabeth (“Big Ben”) Tower).

When her vehicle pulls up here, and is directly under the octagonal oculus…

…an army signalman stationed up here radios up to his colleagues on the roof who switch the union flag for the royal standard.

More on the Victoria Tower here.

Anti-art on the Underground

I don’t really wish to besmirch our blog with these images, but I feel strongly about this. As we all know, this year marks the 150th anniversary of the world’s first ever underground railway system. The London Transport Museum has done a great job of celebrating this huge London achievement and we, London Historians, have contributed in our modest way, with more in the pipeline. If you haven’t yet been to LTM’s fabulous exhibition of Tube posters over the years, you really must. Truly inspiring. There’s also a large selection here.

So how do the posters of 2013 – the Tube’s big anniversary year – shape up against the best from days of yore? Well, just take a look at these examples.

Not too bad, admittedly, a strong idea which links St George’s Day with eating out.

Bossy poster on the left cannot match Fougasse’s charming cartoon treatment of good Tube behaviour from the 1930s.

Adobe Illustrator and Johnston Sans font file, and Bob’s your uncle. Awful.

“Art on the Underground.” The irony.

Possibly the worst of them.

Is this Transport for London’s best tribute to the commercial artists, painters, calligraphers of the past? Our city is the home to some of the most talented illustrators on the planet, acknowledged worldwide. Many of us know one or two of them. I know I do. So why, TfL, what’s going on here? Who’s responsible for this drek?

It’s the end of April. There’s time to put things right. Our – and all proud Londoners’ – challenge to you.

Update: Turns out these items are from the GLA, not TfL (hat-tip to Hazel Baker on Facebook) – hence, presumably Ken Livingstone’s Mayor of London propaganda tag, something Boris chose to retain. So, too many cooks is a factor.