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A guest post by London Historians Member Martin Thompson.

150_portrait_lee millerElizabeth (Lee) Miller was one of the most remarkable women of the 20th Century; Vogue fashion model; fashion photographer of note with her own studio; artist’s muse; an accredited war correspondent during the Second World War, covering events such as the London Blitz, the liberation of Paris, and the concentration camps at Buchenwald and Dachau; friend of luminaries such as Man Ray and Pablo Picasso; and in later life becoming a gourmet cook. She was admired as much for her free-spirit, creativity and intelligence as for her classical beauty. Known as ‘Lee’ Miller, she married the artist Sir Roland Penrose in 1947 and thereafter was also known as Lady Penrose.

Lee Miller was born on 23 April, 1907 in Poughkeepsie, New York. The name derives from a word in the local tribal Wappinger language, meaning “the reed-covered lodge by the little-water place,” referring to a spring or stream feeding into the Hudson River south of the present downtown. She was the second child of Theodore, an Engineer, Businessman and Inventor and his wife Florence, a Nurse. Always a tomboy, she grew up on a farm and was always trying to outdo her brothers, Tom and Erik. Her father, who was also an amateur photographer, was a strong influence on the young Lee and introduced all three of his children to photography at an early age often using Lee and her young friends as models.

At the age of seven she was raped by the son of a family friend. This was kept quiet, as such things often were in those days; so quiet in fact that no one knew about the event except her immediate family. It was only after her death that that this became known, her son Anthony having spoken to his Uncle Erik. It might be argued that it affected her personality as she was always restless and somewhat rebellious, finding it difficult to find love and settle down with anyone.

Aged 19 she was nearly killed when she walked in front of a truck on a Manhattan street but was saved by a passerby who managed to pull her away just in time. Her rescuer was Conde Nast, the founder of Vogue magazine. He effectively launched her modelling career on the cover of American Vogue. She was photographed by the greatest talents of the day, becoming one of the most sought after models in New York. However, unbeknown to Lee, one photograph of her was used in an advert for Kotex and work began to dry up.

Having become interested in the work behind the camera as well as in front as a model, she moved to Paris in 1929, becoming apprenticed to the surrealist painter and photographer Man Ray as well as becoming his lover and muse. It was here that she started her career as a photographer. She was an active participant in the surrealist movement, making friends with, among others, Pablo Picasso, who immortalised her in a number of his famous works; and the artist and film maker Jean Cocteau. In 1932 she returned to New York and opened a portrait and commercial photography studio with her brother Erik as her darkroom assistant. This was not to last. In 1934, almost on a whim, she married Egyptian businessman Aziz Eloui Bey who had gone to New York to buy equipment for the Egyptian Railways. They moved to Cairo. But by 1937 she had become bored with her life in Egypt and once more moved back to Paris where she divorced Aziz and met the surrealist painter Roland Penrose (later Sir Roland), who was to become her second husband in 1947 and father of her only son, Anthony.

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With Pablo Picasso.

Early in World War 2, Lee was living at 21 Downshire Hill, Hampstead, with Roland Penrose when the bombing of London began. Ignoring pleas from friends and family to return to the United States, she embarked on a new career in photojournalism as the official war photographer for Vogue, documenting the Blitz. Roland was called upon to work as a lecturer on camouflage and used a picture of the naked Lee covered with camouflage netting. He said that his lectures were very well attended after that with some participants coming back to his lectures two or three times. He was also required to do duty as an air raid warden; Lee would sometimes join him on his rounds. From Hampstead Heath the criss-crossing searchlights, bursting flak and glow of the fires at London docks would present an awesome panorama, one that she found exciting. She also recounted that one night a barrage balloon collapsed on the house. She and the operators spent the whole night getting the thing under control, rolled up, down into the garden, through the house and through the front door. Their house in Downshire Hill played host to a variety of colourful characters, including the ‘Cambridge spies’ Anthony Blunt, Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean although, of course, they were not known as such at the time.

Lee was accredited into the U.S. Army as a war correspondent for Conde Nast Publications from December 1942. She travelled to France less than a month after D-Day and teaming up with Life photojournalist David E. Scherman, recorded the battle of Saint-Malo, field hospitals in Normandy, the liberation of Paris, the battle for Alsace, and the horror of the Nazi concentration camps at Buchenwald and Dachau. Her photographs, some of the first photographic evidence of the Holocaust, were a horrifying glimpse of the atrocities committed by the Nazis in the camps. From Dachau she and Scherman went directly to Hitler’s private apartment in Munich. She had Scherman photograph her washing herself in Hitler’s bathtub, her boots still with the mud of Dachau on them on the bathmat. Immediately after the war, Lee travelled throughout Eastern Europe to see and photograph the devastating aftermath of the war. She photographed dying children in a Vienna Hospital, peasant life in post-war Hungary, and the execution of the fascist ex-Prime Minister Laszlo Bardossy of Hungary. After that, she continued to work for Vogue for a further two years, covering fashion and celebrities.

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In uniform.

In 1949 Roland and Lee bought Farley Farm House in East Sussex which became a sort of artistic Mecca for visiting artists such as Picasso, Man Ray, Henry Moore, Eileen Agar, Jean Dubuffet, Dorothea Tanning, and Max Ernst. Having witnessed so much pain and pointless destruction during the war, she fell into a long period of depression and alcohol abuse but reinvented herself as a gourmet cook in the 1960s having completed the cordon blue course in Paris, as featured in several magazines. She hosted Surrealist dinner parties and made wildly experimental dishes, serving her guests food such as green chicken or blue fish, the latter said to have been inspired by the Spanish Surrealist painter and sculptor Miró.

Lee Miller died from cancer at Farley Farm House in Chiddingly, East Sussex, in 1977, aged 70. She was cremated, and her ashes were spread through her herb garden at Farley Farm House. Farley Farm has now, through the work of Anthony Penrose, become a museum featuring the work, life and times of Lee Miller.

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Image: London Remembers.

The house at 21 Downshire Hill, Hampstead was awarded an English Heritage blue plaque in 2003. Unveiled by the playwright Sir David Hare, it reads simply: Lee Miller (1907-1977), Photographer, and Sir Roland Penrose (1900-1984), Surrealist, lived here. For historians of 20th-century photography, the plaque marks the rightful rehabilitation of a remarkable artist and character that had been all but forgotten since her death.

 

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A guest post by London Historians member Martin Thompson. 

Lying slightly behind the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead lies a remarkable block of flats. Remarkable for two reasons. The first being for the architecture which was ahead of its time and secondly for the people who lived there and those who visited it.

isokon flats

The Lawn Road flats in Hampstead opened in July 1934 and were the product of Molly and Jack Pritchard, who put up the money, and their architect Wells Coates. The three had similar views on the problems of city living and wanted to apply Modernist principles in solving them. This meant that the flats would follow Le Corbusier’s mantra that the home was ‘a machine for living in’. It was the first block ever to be built mainly using reinforced concrete. Intended to be the last word in contemporary modernist living, the block of flats was minimalist with built in furniture and communal facilities such as a laundry. They were aimed at the market of new young professionals of the 1930s. They contained 22 single flats, four double flats, three studio flats, staff quarters, kitchens and a large garage. In 1937 a club, ‘The Isobar’ was added to the complex.

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Walter Gropius

The first ‘Controller of Design’ was the internationally-renowned architect Walter Gropius who was appointed in 1934. With the rise of Hitler and National Socialism in 1933, Gropius, then the Director of the internationally renowned Bauhaus School, believed that there was little future for him or the institution. In this he was proved correct as Hitler closed the Bauhaus shortly after coming to power. Gropius and his second wife, Ise Frank, whom he had married in 1923, secretly fled Germany and arrived in England on 18 October 1934. However, in March 1937, Gropius left for the USA to become professor of Architecture at the Harvard Graduate School of Design. A month before he left, Gropius recommended Marcel Breuer, as his replacement for Controller of Design.

Marcel Breuer, otherwise known as Lajkó, was a Hungarian born designer who became world famous for his furniture designs in the early part of the 20th Century. After Gropius had left the Bauhaus, Breuer followed suit. He initially moved to Switzerland where he concentrated on furniture design. The tubular steel and aluminium pieces which he produced won universal praise but still left him with little or no money. By the time he left in 1935 to join Gropius in the pioneering modernist Lawn Road Isokon Flats in Hampstead, Breuer was one of the best-known designers in Europe. During the two years he spent in Hampstead, Breuer was employed by Jack Pritchard at the Isokon Company, which became one of the earliest proponents of modern design in the United Kingdom. The innovative furniture Breuer designed whilst at Isokon in Hampstead were highly influential pieces of modern design and included chairs, tables and the famous ‘Long Chair’. He not only designed furniture, however, as between the years 1935 and 1937 he worked in practice with the English architect F. R. S. Yorke with whom he designed a number of houses in and around Hampstead and further afield.

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Marcel Breuer in one of his trade mark chairs.

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Agatha Christie

The flats – and particularly the bar – became famous as a centre for intellectual life in North London. Notable residents included Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, the authors Nicholas Monsarrat, Agatha Christie and her husband Max Mallowan as well as Gropius and Breuer. Agatha Christie lived at 22 Isokon, throughout the Second World War, from 1940 until 1946, suffering all the fears and privations of the bombing. She did voluntary war work at the University College Hospital as a hospital dispenser as she had done in the First World War. Sometimes she walked home to Belsize Park when the Tube trains were not running properly, and her evenings were spent writing. She was at the height of her powers and fame as an author, and her war-time years at Lawn Road were extremely productive. Not only did she write several of her well known crime novels but she was also very involved in writing for the stage, which she loved. When her daily life became too stressful she would take refuge in her flat and in her own words, “lie back in that funny chair here which looks so peculiar and is really very comfortable”. An original 1930s Isokon ‘funny chair’ can be found in the Hampstead Museum at Burgh House. She left Lawn Road in 1946 when she was able to reclaim her home in Devon which had been requisitioned by the navy.

Regulars at the Isobar included Henry Moore, who made a series of remarkable sketches of people sheltering from the German bombing in the nearby Belsize Park underground station. Others included the artists Piet Mondrian, Paul Nash, Roland Penrose and his wife the war photographer Lee Miller, Barbara Hepworth and Ben Nicholson, all of whom were at one time resident in Hampstead. The chef at the Isokon building later became the first British celebrity TV Chef – Philip Harben.

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Henry Moore sketch of Londoners sheltering from the Blitz.

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Henry Moore in the Underground, by Lee Miller.

The building fell into disrepair in later years but in 2003 it was sympathetically refurbished. During the restoration the services were completely renewed and a later overcoat of render removed from the exterior The Isokon is now occupied by key workers under a shared ownership scheme whilst the larger flats were sold outright on leases.

As part of the refurbishment, an exhibition space was created in the former garage. Run since 2014 and staffed wholly by volunteers, it tells the story of the building, as well as the social and artistic life of the residents. It is usually open on weekends from March to October from 11:00 to 16:00.

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Review: Faith in the City of London by Niki Gorick

Faith in the CityThere are over 50 places of worship in the City of London, serving many faiths. In times gone by there were many more. Dozens of churches have been lost down the years to fire, the Blitz and town planning, St. Paul’s being chief among them. Most have risen from the ashes – resurgam – and many others have disappeared forever. A tiny handful, such as St Olave Hart Street, miraculously swerved disaster. The sad ruins of a couple – St Dunstan-in-the-East, Christ Church Greyfriars –  remind us of what we have lost.

Still, you may think that many is a good many for just a square mile (+/-). But, actually, they have a lot of ground to cover, and not just ecumenically. The City comprises 26 Wards and is also the home to over a hundred livery companies, most of them dating from medieval times. In addition there are dozens of military units attached to the Square Mile in some way. Virtually all of these institutions have a bond with one or more church. Then there is their relationship with City Hall itself. Throw this into the mix of actual ecumenical work and you will soon appreciate how busy and vibrant the City’s religious institutions are and have to be.

This new book by Niki Gorick covers all of this. She has been taking pictures in the City for many years with exhibitions at the Guildhall and elsewhere. This project is the culmination of over 200 individual shoots over several years. In the Preface she explains why the City’s religious institutions are so vibrant, an incongruous situation for many who only see the Square Mile’s ‘reputation as a financially obsessed powerhouse’. She writes, rather, of the ‘hidden and surprisingly vibrant world of worship, stretching out into many different faiths’. She explores in the pages that follow, the ‘multi-layered interaction between faith and commerce within its tight geographical confines’.

It would be easy and obvious to include church images which are purely architectural. There are none. This is because – first, foremost and throughout – this is a book about people, where architectural features – windows, columns, porches whatever –  play a supporting role. As you would expect, the ordained feature most strongly. At the head we have two bishops of London: the outgoing Richard Chartres; and his successor, London’s first woman Bishop, Sarah Mullally whose brilliant and natural smile shines from several of these pages. There are the ‘characters’, some of whom you might know:  Archdeacon Luke Miller, a regular on Twitter; Rev David Parrott of St Lawrence Jewry; Bertrand Olivier, formerly of All Hallows by the Tower; Rose Hudson-Wilkin and many more. Their enthusiasm and dedication for all to see.

Interfaith dialogue - The Rt. Rev. & Rt. Hon. Dame Sarah Mullaly

Bishop Sarah Mullally with Archbishop Angaelos, Coptic Orthodox Church.

And then, of course, their congregations. Some might be ordinary worshippers, others functionaries, musicians, bell ringers and so on. Still others are ordinary members of the public in the streets, bemused perhaps to see congregationalists of St Bride’s rolling eggs down Fleet Street at Easter; or a donkeys being welcomed at St Giles Cripplegate during Holy Week.

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Faith in the City of London is divided into 10 Chapters which address various types of religious roles and activities. Broadly speaking, the early chapters deal with ecumenical matters, mainly pertaining to service and ceremony. There is a lot of emphasis on diversity of worship. Inevitably, most of the ‘action’ relates to the ministry of the predominant, established order: the Church of England. However, the author has given  much space to other Christian denominations – Roman Catholic, Romanian Orthodox, Welsh Presbyterians etc. – along with Jewish worshippers of Bevis Marks; and other non-Christian faiths which lack their own buildings but nonetheless are catered for, in particular Muslims and Sikhs.

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The first fire of Easter at St Barts.

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Muslim Friday prayers at Wax Chandlers’ Hall.

The second half of the book, roughly, looks at the history of faith in the City as well as the very rich topic of music. Quirky and ancient ceremonies such as Beating the Bounds and the Knollys Rose ceremony; the Great Fire and more recently, celebrating the Siege of Malta every August. Of course the City’s churches have a centuries old bell-ringing and choral tradition alongside organ music. In addition they are venues for a plethora of other music – military, classical, jazz, folk, rock, world – all of it (Top Tip: the City is a fabulous place for a free concert, especially at lunch time!).

The end of the book examines other functions of City churches, as venues for anything from corporate lunches to yoga. It also shows pictures of evangelical outreach activity: mixing with the community in businesses, shops, second hand book sales, and so on.

So all in all, a huge swathe of territory pictorially covered.

Faith in the City of London is atmospheric, joyous and optimistic. It is a celebration of a side to the Square Mile that many of us – including even people who work there every day of their lives – don’t always realise or see.


All images by Niki Gorrick. 


Faith in the City of London (160pp) by Niki Gorick is published by Unicorn Publishing with a cover price of £25.

 

 

 

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Having yesterday announced our Book of the Year for 2019, you may be interested to know the previous winners, going back to 2011. Every one is a humdinger and should help if you’re shopping for Christmas presents.

2011 Mr Briggs’ Hat by Kate Colquhoun
2012 Mr Foote’s Other Leg by Ian Kelly
2013 Beastly London by Hannah Velten
2014 Played in London by Simon Inglis
2015 The Street of Wonderful Possibilities by Devon Cox
2016 Curiocity by Henry Eliot and Matt Lloyd-Rose
2017 The Curious World of Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn by Margaret Willes
2018 Trading in War by Margarette Lincoln
2019 City of Beasts by Thomas Almeroth-Williams

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Review: Trading in War: London’s Maritime World in the Age of Cook and Nelson, by Margarette Lincoln. 

What is the opposite of a spoiler, I wonder? Some six months late, I am able to announce our Book of the Year for 2018. It is this one.  I had already established this at the time but felt a bit daft to broadcast the fact having failed to publish a review. I have therefore now read it twice – no hardship, I can assure you.

This book describes the unsung heroes, heroines – and villains too – who rarely felt the bite of salt water whip across their cheek, but nonetheless played a vital role in keeping Britain’s fleets afloat in the vital period when this country gained hegemony of the oceans.

As the title suggests, this era is characterised by almost constant warfare by both land and sea, but particularly the latter. Great Britain’s only significant reverse was the loss of the American colonies while enjoying great gains in the sub-continent and further afield. War ran in parallel with massive gains in exploration and trade. The end of our period, covered in the final chapter, sees the arrival of steam and the construction of London’s first deep water docks, changing fundamentally East London’s relationship with large shipping until the arrival of containerisation in the 1980s ended it forever.

Trading in War puts the spotlight on the maritime parishes of London, upriver of the City: Wapping, Rotherhithe, Bermondsey, Deptford, Greenwich. These communities built, maintained, provisioned and indeed broke up the ships of both the Royal Navy, mainly stationed in Deptford, and the nation’s merchant fleet (increasingly dominated at this time by the East India Company).

The conditions and well-being of these communities, as the author demonstrates, were affected to a huge extent by war, hence the title. The two main wars in our period were, of course, war against the American colonies and various wars against France after the Revolution to 1815. Through the chapters, the author closely examines the lives of all strata of maritime society on the Thames, men and women, rich and poor. These societies were by definition, largely artisnal: shipwrights, carpenters, rope makers, sail makers, caulkers and so on.

The busiest shipyards in the biggest port in the world offered a myriad opportunity for all. Wealth for the owners; employment for the local populace; and rich pickings for smugglers, pilferers and fences, particularly on high-duty goods. Stakes were high and criminals bold: customs men often met with extreme violence and even death. The author has used the wonderful Old Bailey Online to shed light on this criminality. It is interesting to note that women played a significant part.

Indeed, Margarette Lincoln has taken particular care to address the lives of women in these districts. A huge number, as you might expect in maritime communities, had to cope without their husbands. But it wasn’t just sailors’ wives. Many were widows, whose knowledge of their late  husbands’ work enabled them to keep family businesses not only running, but thriving. The Navy Board, in particular, increasingly recognised the inherent value of these women and wisely let them get on with it. But also, there was a supporting community spirit and, in at least one case, even from a rival shipyard. The imperative to churn out ships in time of constant national emergency was paramount.

I’m sure, like me, you will enjoy in particular, the pen-portraits of various individuals in this story. Benjamin Slade, the Navy Board’s purveyor in Deptford. His job was to procure every piece of material that went into a ship, from the anchor to the topsail. The best quality for the best cost he had to do a balancing act between shipwright and Navy. Mary and Elizabeth Slade, spinster sisters who ran a habidashery business in Deptford and lived to a great age. Some of their properties have survived to this day. Betsy Bligh, the wife of the famous sea captain, whose sensible management of his affairs at home underpinned his success such as it was and hedged against his tribulations. Her efforts at last remembered here. Frances Barnard, widow of the shipbuilder William Barnard. Following his death in 1795, she continued to run his business just as he had done: for the Navy Board, seamless continuity was the first priority.

I can but scratch the surface here. The author explores many other important areas: the rise of organised labour and the use of strike action, in effect proto-trade unionism; theatres, boxing and other entertainment in the maritime communities, including debating societies (the Government wasn’t keen!).

Then there are the interesting snippets. Did you know? Many ships were 499 tons or less to avoid the obligation by law of carrying a surgeon and priest; an average East Indiaman was only good for up to four voyages before being scrapped (this surprised me) – copper bottoming could extend a ship’s life by 50%; a ship’s owner or manager was known as its ‘husband’; a large ship would typically take three to four years to build. There is much more.

This book paints a detailed and very human picture of London’s maritime communities over a couple of generations at a time when Great Britain became the dominating world power. In sprite of the nation’s success and growing wealth and self-confidence, it highlights, in particular, the hard and precarious existence of all levels of society in the maritime parishes. It is a beautifully well-rounded work of history and deservedly our Book of the Year for 2018. I trust that is some compensation for not scooping the Woolfson Prize a few weeks ago!

 


Trading in War: London’s Maritime World in the Age of Cook and Nelson (292pp), by Margarette Lincoln, is published by Yale University Press, 2018.

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A guest post by LH Member Val Bott, @BottValbott.

Review: The Hidden Horticulturists by Fiona Davison.

hidden Horticulturists coverWhen the Horticultural Society’s Chiswick Garden closed in 1904, greenhouses, fixtures and fittings and plants were moved to Wisley. Amongst the items taken from Chiswick was a modest volume labelled The Handwriting of Under-Gardeners and Labourers. Soon after she became Librarian at the Lindley Library, Fiona Davison came across this in the stores there; its record of 105 young men who had been selected as trainees in the Chiswick Garden in a six year period starting in 1822 set her off on a significant piece of research.

The Society began offering training to raise horticultural standards nationally and the young trainees had succeeded in a very competitive selection process. Each wrote in the book in his own hand a short CV, all covering similar ground; often they were the sons of gardeners or had worked on estate gardens, sometimes both. Each recorded his horticultural experience, the name of the person who had recommended him (usually a Fellow of the Society). This demonstrated his literacy and the fact that he fulfilled the eligibility criteria for admission. Most were young men from England and Scotland but a few came from abroad.

Using this apparently modest and limited source Fiona Davison has traced the life stories of 32 of the apprentices to introduce to her readers. Using the clues offered by the entries in the Handwriting Book, she has asked many questions of the sources. While one was the famous Joseph Paxton, much less was known about others and some had rather lowly lives in comparison. From my own research into 18th century gardeners I am aware how difficult it can be to trace the lives of such individuals and, while she had the advantage of additional sources, like the Census and local newspapers in the 19th century, I can see how hard the author has persisted with her inquiries over three years of spare time research to bring us this book!

She has grouped them according to types of experience, from “The Horticultural Elite”, through the “Deserving Men” lower down the horticultural ladder and “Fruit Experts”, to “Criminals in the Garden”. She writes sensitively and almost affectionately about the young men’s experiences at the Chiswick Garden, describes their successes and failures, traces their future careers, as gardeners on large estates, as plant hunters on the other side of the world or as nursery gardeners some of whom had little business acumen.

Many of the trainees went on to have the kind of lives which would not ordinarily have attracted a biographer, though others left their mark on significant gardens which have survived. Nevertheless the narrative is surprisingly rich because it provides the context offered by their family histories and their horticultural activities in a variety of locations in the UK and abroad. Correspondence and press reports show the difficulties encountered by men who went to Egypt, Ceylon, Australia and South America; some were caught up in difficulties in far-flung colonies or became ill in hostile climates.

The records of the Old Bailey reveal the foolishness of young men caught out selling stolen seeds. But she found in the archives evidence of Joseph Sabine’s poor management of the Chiswick Garden and his failure to spot embezzlement by a protegé which led to serious financial difficulties for the Horticultural Society. So stealing seeds may have been an act of desperation for the men involved, when the Society cut labourers’ wages from 14 to 12 shillings a week and the pay of the under-gardeners from 18 to 14 shillings weekly.

This makes for a thoroughly readable book full of good stories about real people; its glimpses of 19th century history will have a wider a wider appeal than pure garden history. Though attractively designed with rich colour plates, its only shortcoming is the fact that a few of the black and white images in the text are rather grey. However, I am already thinking of the friends for whom it will make an excellent gift!

An RHS exhibition about the Hidden Horticulturists at the Lindley Library runs until 6 May.


The Hidden Horticulturists, Fiona Davison, Atlantic Books/Royal Horticultural Society
published 4 April 2019, £25.00 cover price.


Val Bott. Some of Val Bott ‘s research on gardening history can be seen on nurserygardeners.com. She is the Editor of the Brentford & Chiswick Local History Journal.

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A guest post by John Hawkins. This article was first published in London Historians members’ newsletter from December 2014.


 

In 1855, members of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society visited the Inner Temple, taking time to admire its collections of paintings and prints. Referring to one of the engravings in the old Parliament Chamber, the report of their visit that was published subsequently said:

A bird’s-eye View of the whole of the (Inner and Middle) Temple is also here, engraved by R. White in a large plate (35 by 18½ in.), which was published in 1671, when Sir Heneage Finch, Attorney-General, was Treasurer of the Inner Temple. In one corner are his arms, and in the other those of the Duke of York, with the Holy Lamb and Pegasus, the emblems of the two Temples, and in the margin several other shields of the Benchers. From this print a copy was made at the expense of the Society of the Inner Temple, in 1770 [see Ill. 1], but without engraver’s name. It is of the same size as the original, and intended for a facsimile, but is not quite faithful in some minor details. The same view had, however, been previously copied in Stow’s Survey, edit. 1720, and it is identical with that of which a reduced copy in Brayley’s Londiniana, vol. iii. [1829], is entitled ‘The Temple Buildings in 1720’, and with a print published by Laurie, 1831, entitled ‘The Temple in 1722’. Also in Strype’s Stow, dated 1755. (1)

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Anon. after R. White: The Temple in 1671, re-engraved 1770.

‘R. White’ is presumably Robert White (1645-1703), who is generally believed to have assisted David Loggan with the engravings for Oxonia Illustrata between 1665 and 1675 and would therefore have been very familiar with the bird’s-eye views of buildings that were used extensively by Loggan at Oxford and later at Cambridge. White also produced engravings of other London buildings at around this date, for example Bethlem Hospital in 1677. If we can believe the report of the visit, the 1770 version (36 by 19 in) is indeed similar in size to the lost 1671 version. It is regrettable that the report does not itemise the changes ‘in some minor details’.

Although the report’s author did not say so, versions of the Temple engraving had also by then appeared elsewhere. (2) From the end of the seventeenth-century, a number of illustrated books on London were published, arguably reaching their high point with John Strype’s 1720 edition of John Stow’s Survey of London. Four of these publications contained very similar engravings of the Temple, of which the two earliest are almost certainly based on the lost version of 1671. A significant difference is immediately noticeable between two late seventeenth-century engravings (from Delaune’s London, c.1681 and Morden & Lea’s Prospects, c.1687) and two from the early eighteenth-century (from Strype’s Survey, 1720 and Bowles’s London Described, 1731), which is the change in the layout of the gardens. By the early 1700s the western and middle gardens were planted more formally than they had been in the late 1600s and the eastern garden had apparently disappeared entirely. The fact that the less formal, but more extensive, garden is shown in the 1770 re-engraving of the 1671 print suggests that this reflects a real change that occurred towards the end of the seventeenth-century. That the less formal garden was also present in the 1671 version is supported by the fact that the report refers to changes in minor details compared to the re-engraving of 1770, but not the major change that would have resulted from a complete redesign of the gardens. The catalogue of the Guildhall Art Gallery, which holds the Corporation’s collection, lists seven versions of the Temple print, those listed above, plus two others of probably later date derived from them. (3)

The size of the 1671 original engraving suggests that it was not intended as an illustration for a book, but for use as ‘wall furniture’, an increasingly popular use of larger prints at this time. Evidence for this is provided by the complete absence of any references to engravings of the other Inns of Court made to a similar scale, or as early as 1671. This being the case, the mortality rate of prints in such use tended to be high and it would not be surprising if only a limited number of copies survived. In this case, however, it would seem that there may now be no surviving copy at all. This may well have resulted from a short print run. Although copper plates, when treated with care, could be used for making several hundred engravings before a deterioration in quality became noticeable, the limiting factor in this case was more likely to have been the specialist interest of the subject matter. It is very unlikely that White would have produced the plate (or, more likely, plates – there would probably have been two) speculatively and he probably received a fee from the Society for the considerable amount of work involved. This was around the time subscription lists for books and engravings of various types were becoming common, but no advertisements for the 1671 engraving have thus far been identified in the contemporary press.

In the introduction to the first volume of his calendar of the Inn’s records, Inderwick refers to ‘a drawing of the Temple in the possession of the Inn … dated 1563’ and a ‘drawing … published in 1770, by the Hon. Society of the Inner Temple, describing the Inn as it appeared in the year 1671, when the Duke of York, afterwards James II., was made a bencher, and before the great fire which occurred in the Temple in 1678’. He does not explicitly refer here to the 1671 version of the engraving and it is thus possible that by 1898 it was no longer in the possession of the Inn. However, in his introduction to volume three he refers to ‘a map [sic] in the possession of the Inner Temple … “as it was in 1671, when the king and the duke of York dined with the treasurer” Sir Heneage Finch’, which could be a reference to the earlier version. (4)

Given the subject matter, there are several collections that might be expected to hold copies of the 1671 engraving, including those of the Corporation of London and the Royal Family. Unfortunately neither of these do, and a copy is similarly absent from the collections of the British and Bodleian Libraries, the British, Ashmolean and Fitzwilliam Museums and the Museum of London. The fate of the Inn’s own copy is unknown. It is possible that it was the ‘map’ referred to when Inderwick wrote his introductions, but even if this were the case it does not seem to have survived the bombing of 1941. Will a copy ever resurface? It is not beyond the bounds of possibility and would certainly fill an important gap in the history of not only the Inner Temple, but also of seventeenth-century London. ‘Let diligent search be made …’
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1) Transactions of the London and Middlesex Archaeological Society, vol. 2 (London: J.H. & J. Parker, 1856), pp. 66-7.
2) John Stow (ed. John Strype) Survey of London 5th edn. (London, 1720); 6th edn (London, 1754/5).
3) I am grateful to Sir John Baker for pointing this out.
4) Frederick Andrew Inderwick (ed.) A calendar of Inner Temple records 5 vols. (London: Inner Temple, 1858-1936), vol. 1, p. xxx and vol. 3, p. xxxi.

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