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Guest post by LH Member Laurence Scales. This article first appeared in LH Members’ Newsletter of July 2019. 


Dean Street in Soho was probably named after a dean but sources disagree about which one. In this article I shall brandish for your casual admiration some deans whose names are commemorated in the streets of central Westminster. Regular readers of my articles will not expect me to fuss about ecclesiastical history but this little collection of deans includes a number notable in other ways.
Victoria Street, an unlovely main thoroughfare running south west from Westminster Abbey, was a Victorian invention, the clue is in the name, and its birth flattened a large area of mean and decayed housing, including Dickens’ “Devil’s Acre” for which the slang word slum was brought first into general use. This and follow-on improvements around central Westminster, and a weeding of duplicate street names to help the postman, resulted in a number of new streets in the area named after deans.

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Victoria Street, 1854.

Not being part of the diocese of the Bishop of London, there is no Bishop to house or commemorate at Westminster Abbey. The Abbey is a Royal Peculiar, or church under the direct control of the monarch, and the highest ranking divine of that shrine is the Dean. After Victoria Street ploughed across the cityscape Dean Street, running south outside Westminster Abbey, was subsumed into Great Smith Street. Concealed hard by Westminster Abbey there is also Dean’s Yard, named for the deanery there.
I became interested in the topography of central Westminster named after specific deans having noticed several, and then been surprised to find one of them named for the Victorian Dean Farrar whom I recognised from the historical back catalogue of lecturers at the scientific Royal Institution of Great Britain. But I will come to him later.

Before we consider the Victorian deans in the new wave of streets christened after the First World War, we should perhaps note briefly some of the other divines name-checked in the streets of the vicinity. John Islip (1464–1532) was abbot of the monastery of Westminster shortly before Henry VIII’s dissolution. (There has been a connection down the centuries between the Abbey and the village of Islip in Oxfordshire, and Dean Buckland died there.) John Islip street runs south towards the Tate Britain. Then Atterbury Street, which contains the new entrance to the Tate, was named for a Dean of Westminster appointed in 1713.

Vincent Square is named after Dean William Vincent (1739-1815), once also the headmaster of the ancient Westminster School which has a discrete frontage in Dean’s Yard. The school has the green centre of Vincent Square for its games. Vincent displayed an intriguing mania for researching the particulars of the trading voyages of the ancient Greeks extending into the Indian Ocean. (Vincent’s father was a merchant.) He compared the Greek’s anecdotal accounts of their travels with current knowledge in The Commerce and Navigation of the Ancients in the Indian Ocean (1807). Here is a taster.

“We shall have reason to observe as we proceed, that fish is almost the only means of supporting life, or furnishing the conveniencies of life, such as they are, to the natives; that their houses are constructed with the larger bones of fish, and thatched with the refuse; that their garments are of fish-skins; that their very bread is a fishy substance, pounded and preserved; and that even the few cattle they have, feed on fish.”

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Dean William Vincent. National Portrait Gallery, London.

His publications on this subject included the contribution of the previous Dean of Westminster, Samuel Horsley, who provided an astronomical appendix on the rising of the Pleiades constellation above the horizon in classical antiquity, but who did not (apparently) merit a street being named after him.

Apart from the loose canon (pun intended) of Dean Farrar, whose street leads off to the north of Victoria street, the other named Dean Streets are around or close to Smith Square. In that square, the architectural oddity of St John’s Church of 1728 lies, according to Dickens, “On its back with its legs in the air.”

Dean Trench was Richard Chenevix Trench (1807-1886). Dean Trench Street, west of Smith Square, was roughly a replacement for Little Tufton Street, which could otherwise be confused with its grown-up neighbour, Tufton Street. His address of 1857 On some Deficiencies in our English Dictionaries at the London Library to the Philological Society is regarded as launching the 80-year effort to produce the Oxford English Dictionary. The complete OED, distinctively, charts the changes in the meanings of words over the centuries, by example. The murderer William Minor and polymath John Lubbock were among many contributors of illustrative quotations.

Dean Stanley was Arthur Penrhyn Stanley (1815-1881) who enjoyed a particularly good relationship with Queen Victoria. Dean Stanley Street, east of Smith Square was formerly Church Street of which London already had a few namesakes. Refreshingly, for a cleric in the Church of England, in which music plays such a large part, Stanley was apparently “incapable of distinguishing one tune from another.” He had a favourable opinion of the Quakers and saw Christians for what they had in common rather than what divided them. Notably, this made for his key role in university reform – as secretary to a royal commission of 1850. This commission urged removal of the requirement for students to subscribe to the 39 articles of faith of the Church of England in order to attend universities such as Oxford and Cambridge, and be awarded a degree. University College London had already broken with the practice but London had promptly founded a new Christian college, King’s. Previously, some of the most distinguished scientific minds in the country had been denied a university education, through being nonconformists. But the other side of the coin was that their thinking had been novel and untrammelled by the natural philosophy routinely taught at the ancient universities. Earlier reform might have denied the country many a celebrated savant.

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Dean Arthur Stanley. National Portrait Gallery, London.

Dean Bradley was George Granville Bradley (1821-1903), and his claim to inspiring the name of a street is, to me, obscure. Dean Bradley Street, south of Smith Square, was new. His main claim to fame is as the author of a number of Latin textbooks, on which subject I shall leave my next Dean to comment more eloquently than I ever could.

Frederic William Farrar (1831-1903) was an archdeacon at Westminster but a Dean at Canterbury. He was also a schoolmaster at Harrow and eager for educational reform. I must admit to cheering at his remarks that I found in his Royal Institution lecture, so unexpected in Victorian Britain, although the first below is perhaps unlikely to find favour with London Historians’ chief executive today.

‘We commonly see boys ready to sacrifice everything to cricket… they talk cricket, think cricket and dream cricket, morning, noon and night… This mania of muscularity has its share in the hunger-bitten poverty of our intellectual results.’

‘I must avow my distinct conviction that our present system of exclusively classical education… is a deplorable failure… Classical Education neglects all the power of some minds, and some of the powers of all minds.’

Farrar, published his views in Essays on a Liberal Education and sanctioned the burial in 1882 of the atheistic Charles Darwin in Westminster Abbey as deserving of that honour. Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, who famously attempted to ridicule Darwin’s ideas in debate with Thomas Huxley at Oxford in 1860 was, himself, formerly a Dean of Westminster. No street was named for him!

Remembrance of the unknown warrior was a concept born of mass slaughter beyond reckoning in the mud and chaos of no-man’s-land in the First World War and it found public expression first in memorials in Westminster and in Paris. Herbert Edward Ryle (1856-1925), Dean Ryle, was responsible for taking for Westminster the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Dean Ryle Street, south of Smith Square and Horseferry Road was a new creation.

My favourite dean, Dean William Buckland (1784-1856), was a cracking eccentric, significant in the history of geology, zoology and gastronomy, who included in his adventures a minor dalliance with cannibalism. But unfortunately, he is still waiting for a Westminster street to be named after him.


Laurence Scales is a specialist guide and lecturer interested in the history of science, invention, engineering and medicine in London. He is a volunteer at the archives of the Royal Institution and Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce.

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I always encourage people to wander into churches if they have even a few minutes to spare. Or any place of worship for that matter. I did this recently with quite a modern-looking church that lies between Chinatown and Leicester Square in Leicester Place: Notre Dame de France.

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It is, of course. a French church, founded in the 1860s at the behest of Cardinal Wiseman to serve the considerable French diaspora living in the immediate area. For most of its existence Notre Dame de France – a Marian church as its name suggests – has been run by the Marist Brothers. It is one of four Catholic churches in the West End.

It suffered severe bomb damage early in WW2 and its story is really about its rebuilding, refurbishing and redecorating later in the war and the years immediately afterwards.

When you enter you immediate realise that the church is a rotunda, that’s to say domed, its form having been inherited from a precious building on the site, Burford’s Panorama. Large scale panoramas had been popular forms of entertainment in the late Georgian period but by the mid 19th Century somewhat out of fashion.

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The most noteworthy item in Notre Dame is group of chapel murals painted by Jean Cocteau (1889 – 1963) in November of 1959. Largely forgotten today, Cocteau was internationally renowned at the time. A film director, writer, playwright, artist and poet, he was invited to paint three murals depicting the Annunciation, the Crucifiction and the Assumption. For a week he turned up at 10 in the morning, lit a candle and got on with the job, including a self portrait in the work. He additionally painted a panel of wood which was used to obscure an altar mosaic by the great Boris Anrep. This bizarre business was only rediscovered in 2003 whereupon the work was uncovered and remains so till this day.

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The Anrep mosaic.

There are other lovely bits of artwork dotted around the church, notably a large altar tapestry by the Benedictine monk, Dom Robert.

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Do pop in to Notre Dame if you find yourself in the Leciester Square or Chinatown area.

Website of Notre Dame de France.

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A guest post by London Historians member Robin Rowles.

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Modern bust of Thos Cromwell, Guildhall.

In September 2016, I was preparing for the annual Sherlock Holmes Society of London annual weekend, when I received an unexpected tweet from publishing firm Pen and Sword. Would I be interested in writing a book about Sherlock Holmes and London? I was very flattered, wow, somebody out there had heard of my Sherlock Holmes walks, but immediately realised this would be a difficult undertaking. Not writing about Sherlock Holmes, that would be relatively easy, but marketing might be trickier, because I knew the market was saturated with books about Sherlock Holmes and London. Not only do I own many of these, I’m also friends with the authors and I know how good their books are. However, thinking quickly, I explained this and said I could write a book about the civil war in London. After some negotiation, the contract was agreed and I got writing.

The book, which was given the working title of A civil war walk around London, was to be an expansion of my walk ‘Civil war connections ‘round St Paul’s and Cheapside’. Like the walk that inspired it, the book is bookended by historical events from the death of Queen Elizabeth to the Restoration. However, as with the walk, it necessarily takes the reader back into the medieval past and forward into the early eighteenth century. As a fellow guide noted, context is important. Similarly, although the book is about London, parts of it step out of London entirely. Namely the chapter describing the evolution of the Trained Bands, the part-time militia, into the London Regiments. After the battles of Edgehill and Turnham Green in the autumn of 1642, London was secured for parliament, politically and militarily. The London Regiments were free to go on campaign. Which they did, to good effect, marching to relieve the Siege of Gloucester in 1643 and buy the embattled parliamentarians a vital breathing space. The royalists were pressing hard and it’s no exaggeration to say the London Regiments saved the day and the parliamentarian war effort.

Returning to London, there was so many stories to tell. The amazing construction of the Lines of Communication, London’s defences, now long dismantled and confined to the history books. The stories of the various City Livery Companies who housed the parliamentarian committees: The Goldsmiths Committee for Compounding Delinquents for instance. This term was originally applied to those who didn’t contribute to the parliamentarian coffers. Later in the war, the Committee expanded its remit and fined captured royalists with property, who ‘compounded’ for release of their estates. The money thus raised helped finance the war-effort. The Guildhall, where the annual elections to Common Council overturned a relatively pro-royalist caucus in December 1641 and voted in parliamentarians. In the wake of this Puritan revolution, it was the City of London that pressed parliament on important matters during the civil war, such as the removal of idolatrous monuments from churches and elsewhere. Possibly the most dramatic example of iconoclasm came in May 1643, when parliament ordered the dismantling of the Cheapside Cross.

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Map showing the Lines of Communication, by George Vertue, 1738.

16156Writing this book was almost like learning to guide again. Every fact was checked several times over, and then rechecked. I am indebted to the curators of British History Online, who kindly gave me permission to quote from various sources, including the Calendar of State Papers, House of Commons Journal, and the House of Lords’ Journal. The City of London generously allowed me to use photos taken in and around Guildhall Yard and the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries very kindly gave permission to use an amusing photo of a bust of Charles I, by a ‘No Smoking’ sign. Charles’ father James was seriously anti-smoking and hiked the tobacco duty by 1,000 percent – although he didn’t mind spending the revenue! Quirky anecdotes like this are bread-and-butter for guides building a walk, but when writing a book, I had to dig a little deeper, look a little further, and work a lot harder. Two or three nights and Saturday in the library, quickly morphed into three to four nights, plus Saturday and Sunday. Fifty thousand words, over eight chapters in nine months. However, with a more than a little help from many friends I got there. The Civil War in London: Voices from the City is published by Pen and Sword.


Robin Rowles is a qualified City of London guide lecturer and a long-standing member of London Historians. 

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This article first appeared in London Historians Members’ Newsletter from January 2014. 
By Hawk Norton. 

‘Tis prophecied in the Revelation, that the Whore of Babylon shall be destroyed with fire and sword and what do you know, but this is the time of her ruin, and that we are the men that must help to pull her down?’
John Rogers, 1657

‘A thing that never was heard of, that so few men should dare and do so much mischief.’
Samuel Pepys, 1661

In 1648, the bloody civil wars, which had caused the deaths of around 250,000 English men and women, seemed to have ended. In December the ‘Long Parliament’ was purged by Colonel Pride and replaced by the ‘Rump Parliament’, enabling the trial and execution of King Charles I. The monarchy, the House of Lords and the Anglican Church were abolished and England became a republic. After a successful campaign in Ireland and the defeats of Scottish Royalists at Dunbar and Charles II at Worcester, by 1651 power lay firmly in the hands of Oliver Cromwell and the other leaders of the 70,000 strong New Model Army.

Spurred on by these events, radical social, political and economic reforms had been proposed by fledgling left wing groups such as the Levellers and the Diggers: the people’s sacrifice in the wars surely merited some reward. In a heated debate with Cromwell at St Mary’s, Putney in 1647, the Leveller, Colonel Thomas Rainsborough had declared: ‘For really I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live, as the greatest he; and therefore, truly, Sir, I think it’s clear that every man that is to live under a government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that government.’ But as a member of the incumbent ruling elite, Cromwell was never going to accede to their revolutionary demands. As these early radical groups were suppressed, one of their number lamented: ‘It seems now, except a man hath a fixed estate in this kingdom he hath no right in this kingdom.’

The period also saw a huge surge in the popularity of radical religious sects. The bible was available to all to be read, interpreted and freely debated and free from the stranglehold of the repressive machinery of the church, the presses poured forth a flood of pamphlets espousing every form of radical religious belief. Many of these sects (and two thirds of preachers in the New Model army) were millenarians, believing in the imminent arrival of the Fifth Monarchy (in succession to the Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, and Roman). As foretold by the Books of Daniel and Revelation, Christ would return to inaugurate a thousand year rule of the saints over an age of peace, prosperity and see an end to priests, lawyers and landlords. This millennium would be followed by the third coming of Christ and the Day of Judgement.

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A plethora of 17C non-conformist sects.

The most radical of these sects were the Fifth Monarchy Men whose leaders’ analysis of the biblical prophecies led them to believe in an imminent final showdown between Christ and the anti-Christ (the pope). Among their most prominent spokesmen were fanatical preachers such as John Rogers, Christopher Feake and Vavasor Powell who regularly delivered lengthy and passionate sermons to capacity congregations at London churches, and pamphleteers, such as William Aspinwall and John Spittlehouse, who carried their beliefs to a wider audience. With Feake declaring that in the millennium there would be ‘no difference betwixt high and low, the greatest and the poorest beggar’, their cause was naturally most popular with the lower orders, many of whom were disappointed and angry at the suppression of the Levellers. However, unlike the Levellers, the Fifth Monarchists had no interest in extending parliamentary franchise, or in democracy at all for that matter, and espousing a dictatorship of the godly which they believed would rapidly spread to cover the whole world, were the ultimate Puritan killjoys.

Strongest in London, at the height of its popularity, supporters of the movement probably numbered around 10,000 countrywide with a far smaller hard core whose fanaticism bordered on lunacy. From the government’s point of view, the most important consideration was the level of support within the now dominant institution in the land: the New Model Army. Their supporters included several men of senior rank such as Major-General Harrison, who had delivered Charles I to Parliament to stand trial and, at Cromwell’s behest, evicted the ‘Rump’.

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Major-General Harrison.

On March 29th, 1652, ‘Mirk Monday’, a solar eclipse, resulted in the country being thrown into total darkness, an extraordinary event which added to many people’s expectations of the fulfilment of the Fifth Monarchists’ prophecies.

At first they had supported Cromwell, especially when he had dismissed the self interested Rump. It was replaced with a new assembly of 140 elders, ‘faithful, fearing God and hating covetousness’, nominated by Independent church congregations throughout the country. Though only holding a minority representation, the Fifth Monarchists welcomed this assembly, believing it able to prepare the Commonwealth for the return and rule of Christ. But the ‘Barebone’s Parliament’, named after one of its most prominent members, Praise-God Bairbon, was plagued by confrontation between the moderate majority and the tireless efforts of the radical minority, led by the Fifth Monarchists, to push for wider and faster reform. The Speaker and forty of the moderates lost their nerve and walked out, returning power to Cromwell.

He and the leaders of the army agreed on a new constitution, the ‘Instrument of Government’, creating a Protectorate under Cromwell as Lord Protector. The Fifth Monarchists were bitterly disappointed and Cromwell, now ‘king in all but name’, had completely lost their trust. Feake described him as ‘the dissemblingest perjured villain in the world’ while Rogers prayed to ‘hasten the time when all absolute power shall be devolved into the hand of Christ; when we shall have no Lord Protector but our Lord Jesus’.

Cromwell’s intelligence service, under John Thurloe, was probably the most effective in Europe and monitoring the activities of subversives included sending agents to attend Fifth Monarchist services to relay the content of their sermons back to the government. Favouring liberty of conscience in religion, Cromwell demonstrated remarkable tolerance towards the Fifth Monarchists but, amid rumours of an imminent armed uprising, he was ultimately left with no alternative but to take action. Army officers such as Major-Generals Harrison and Overton were deprived of their commissions and imprisoned, along with Feake, Rogers and various other preachers, for inciting revolt. Cromwell was prepared to release them on the promise of good behaviour, but was met with defiance so had no option but to prolong their captivity. Deprived of its most prominent leaders and effective orators, support for the sect began to dwindle.

The new Parliament was dissolved within five months, having attempted to limit the powers of the Protector, and rapidly gave way to military rule. A Royalist uprising in March, 1656, though easily quashed, resulted in Cromwell dividing the country into eleven military districts to be controlled by Major-Generals, responsible only to Cromwell and his council, enabling him to exert tighter control and keep a close watch on the, now diverse, opponents to his rule. Most alarming to the Fifth Monarchists were rumours that he was planning to take the title of king.

Feake and Rogers were eventually released from captivity in December, 1656. A manifesto entitled ‘A Standard Set Up’ was published outlining their grievances and the nature of the new form of government they proposed. All ‘civil and honest men’ were promised protection and there would be no fixed salaries for ministers of religion, no tithes, no excise and no taxes at all in peacetime. Impressment of men for the armed forces would be abolished and all soldiers who still retained their ‘simplicity and integrity’ were summoned to break away from ‘the apostate and backsliding army’ and enlist under the banner of the Lord Jesus.

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A typical pamphlet of the Fifth Monarchists.

In Swann Alley off Coleman Street, a congregation of about eighty Fifth Monarchist fanatics under the leadership of Thomas Venner, began to plan an armed insurrection. On the afternoon of April 9th, 1657, they assembled at a house in Shoreditch with the intention of rendezvousing with other Fifth Monarchist groups on Mile End Green at 9.00pm. But loose tongues had alerted Thurloe to the plot and a troop of horse was dispatched to surround the house where twenty of the conspirators were arrested. A search revealed several hampers of arms and ammunition and ten more were discovered at Swann Alley. The rebels who had evaded arrest planned another uprising for the end of the month but again tip-offs led to their capture. Surprisingly, the conspirators were never brought to trial, but Venner and two others were held in the Tower until the end of the Protectorate.

Cromwell died on September 3rd, 1658, the anniversary of his victories at Dunbar and Worcester. Such a coincidence, combined with the ferocious storm that occurred that night, led many to believe that he had sold his soul to the devil in return for absolute power. The Fifth Monarchists had already made plans to mount a coup on his death to be led by Major-Generals Harrison and Lambert. These came to nought and he was peacefully succeeded as Protector by his son, Richard. Lacking the capabilities of his father and the respect of the army, ‘Tumbledown Dick’ was swiftly nudged aside. Against the background of a political vacuum, a bad harvest, rising prices, arrears in soldiers’ pay and rioting in London, it became clear that the best means of avoiding a total breakdown of order would be the restoration of the monarchy.

To enable his restoration, Charles agreed to the ‘Declaration of Breda’, elements of which included a general pardon to all of his subjects apart from those that Parliament should see fit to exempt, religious freedom for all that didn’t threaten the peace of the kingdom, and payment of soldiers’ arrears and their acceptance into the king’s service. The declaration paved the way for the King’s triumphant return to London on May 29th, 1660, his 30th birthday. He was welcomed at Blackheath by the lord mayor and 120,000 of his subjects and escorted to Whitehall Palace.

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Charles II’s triumphant return to London.

Charles soon sought vengeance on the fifty-nine regicides who had signed his father’s death warrant. These included two Fifth Monarchists, Harrison and John Carew, who were arrested, tried at the Old Bailey and sentenced to death. Samuel Pepys recorded in his diary on October 13th, 1660: ‘I went out to Charing Cross, to see Major-General Harrison hanged, drawn and quartered; which was done there, he looked as cheerful as any man could do in that condition. He was presently cut down, and his head and heart shown to the people, at which there was great shouts of joy. It is said, that he said that he was sure to come shortly at the right hand of Christ to judge them that had now judged him; and that his wife do expect his coming again. Thus it was my chance to see the King beheaded in White Hall, and to see the first blood shed in revenge for the King at Charing Cross.’

John Rogers had fled to Holland before the Restoration, but Thomas Venner and his co-conspirators had been released, in an act of clemency by Richard Cromwell, in February, 1659. They had immediately resumed their Fifth Monarchist activities, still using Swann Alley as their base and now the Restoration stirred them to plan a second uprising. They produced a pamphlet entitled ‘A Door of Hope or A Call and Declaration for the gathering together of the first ripe Fruits unto the Standard of our Lord KING JESUS’. This was similar to their previous manifesto but embellished with references to the new king, describing him as ‘a profest enemy, a rebel and traytor to Christ’ and warning of the danger of England being conquered by ‘Popery’.

Warned of an imminent rebellion, the Government arrested several suspects and began conducting searches. Aware that the net was closing, on the following Sunday, January 6th, Venner assembled his supporters at the meeting-house in Swann Alley and told them that the time of the Fifth Monarchy had arrived. That evening Venner led about sixty well armed men down Cheapside shouting ‘King Jesus, and the heads upon the gate!’ (in reference to the exhibited heads of the executed regicides). They broke into St. Paul’s intending to use the cathedral as a fortress and posted sentries at the doors. When one of them demanded of a passer-by who he was for and received the reply, ‘King Charles’, the sentry declared that he was for King Jesus and shot him dead.

Receiving news of the disturbance, the City authorities sent a company of the trained bands to suppress it but the ferocity of the rebels’ resistance quickly drove them back. Venner now marched his men through the City to Bishopsgate from where they crossed Moorfields, marched along Chiswell Street, and re-entered the City at Cripplegate. Rumours of the imminent arrival of a troop of horse caused them to retreat to Beech Lane where, encountering further opposition, they marched north to Hampstead and eventually took shelter for the night in Ken Wood, Highgate, a locality that had long held support for their cause.

On Wednesday January 9th, Venner led about fifty men back to the City, unopposed. Arriving at the Compter Prison on the north side of Poultry they demanded the release of the prisoners but by now the alarm had been raised and they found themselves confronted by another detachment of trained bands. These were repulsed but the arrival of reinforcements forced a retreat along Bishopsgate Street and into Cheapside where they met up with another group of insurgents that had set out from near London Bridge ‘well-accoutred both for musquets, blunderbusses, carbines and halberds, with buff-coats and helmets, both back and brest being thus completely armed’. Turning into Wood Street a furious fight ensued with two more companies of trained bands until the arrival of a detachment of Life Guards forced the rebels to make a fighting retreat towards Cripplegate. By now, two of their leaders had been killed and Venner himself was seriously wounded and they broke up into small groups to attempt an escape. By the time 1,200 further reinforcements arrived from Whitehall they had already been overpowered.

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One of the Fifth Monarchists’ leaders, Thomas Venner.

There are several contemporary accounts of the uprising. The differences between them, particularly in the estimates of the numbers involved, clearly demonstrate the level of chaos and confusion it had caused. Pepys wrote in his diary on January 10th: ‘These Fanatiques that have routed all the train-bands that they met with, put the king’s life-guards to the run, killed about twenty men, broke through the City-gates twice; and all this in the day time, when all the City was in armes; are not in all above 31. Whereas we did believe them (because they were seen up and down in every place almost in the City, and had been in Highgate two or three days, and in several other places) to be at least 500. A thing that never was heard of, that so few men should dare and do so much mischief.’

On January 17th, Venner and another nineteen prisoners pleaded not guilty to charges of murder and high treason at Justice Hall in the Old Bailey. Four were acquitted by the jury but the others were found guilty and sentenced to death. On January 19th, Venner and Roger Hodgkin were drawn on a sledge by two companies of trained bands from Newgate Prison to Swann Alley where, having warned the crowd of the approaching time ‘when other judgement would be’, they were hanged, drawn and quartered. As with the regicides, parts of their bodies were displayed on the City gates and their heads mounted on poles on London Bridge. The other condemned men were hanged at various locations in the city and other leading Fifth Monarchists, though having taken no part in the uprising, were rounded up and imprisoned.

Despite these severe punishments and a Royal proclamation banning all unauthorised public meetings, pockets of Fifth Monarchist activity continued for some time, particularly in south east London. But the restoration of the monarchy had also brought the restoration of the Anglican church. The bishops were back, and all members of clergy were required to swear allegiance to the new state church and take an oath of non-resistance. The Five Mile Act barred dissenting ministers from living within five miles of a town. The Bishop of London, declared that ‘Those who will not be governed as men, by reason and persuasion, shall be governed as beasts, by power and force.’

The popularity of fanatical religous sects rapidly declined and though there would be sporadic rumours of further Fifth Monarchist uprisings for several years to come, beset by informers and agents provocateurs, the movement gradually disintegrated, its leaders either executed, dying in captivity, or going to ground. The best demonstration of the extent of their decline is surely the lack of any attempt to utilise the Great Fire of 1666, a year bearing the number of the Beast, as a rallying point for their cause. Yet in 1671, when a cow broke into New Palace Yard, Westminster, amidst the chaos, the cry went up that ‘the Fifth Monarchy Men were up and come to cut the throats of the lawyers’, and in 1684, 5,000 mourners attended the funeral of one of their leaders.

The Fifth Monarchists were very much a product of their time: a period of great turbulence and enormous destruction accompanied by unprecedented religious freedom in an age of superstition. Their biggest problem was that the dour fanaticism with which they pursued their cause, not only lost them the support of many who might otherwise have been attracted to their millenarian doctrine, but also left their leadership totally bereft of the political credibility necessary to achieve anything without the divine intervention which they undoubtedly expected. With the restoration of the monarchy, the general feeling in London must surely have been that if Christ wasn’t going to return at least the King had, and after years of suffering, soul searching and uncertainty, it was time to fall back in line and to lighten up and live a little.


All images used in the above article are scanned from the author’s private collection.

Hawk Norton is a collector of antiquarian and second-hand books, all of which are about London and its history. His remarkable library comprises over 4,000 titles dating back 400 years. All are now for sale at well under market prices. For a price list, email Hawk at hawk@btinternet.com

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in our time

I am a massive fan of Melvyn Bragg’s In Our Time, BBC Radio 4 most Thursdays at 9am. There are various ways you can search it, but as a service to our readers, here is a list of the London-related ones.

Aphra Behn
Annie Besant
Athelstan

Thomas Becket
Bedlam
The Black Death
The Bluestockings
The Book of Common Prayer
Boudica
Robert Boyle
Brunel
Fanny Burney

Caxton and the Printing Press
Chaucer

Mrs Dalloway
The Death of Elizabeth I
Dickens
The Domesday Book

The East India Company
Englishness
The Enlightenment in Britain

Michael Faraday
The [Great] Fire of London
Foxe’s Book of Martyrs

The Gin Craze
The Great Exhibition of 1851

William Hazlitt
Octavia Hill
Holbein at the Tudor Court
Robert Hooke

[Samuel] Johnson

London

Marlowe
Milton

The Novel

Titus Oates and His ‘Popish Plot’

The Peasants’ Revolt
Pocahontas
[Alexander] Pope
The Putney Debates

The Restoration
The Royal Society

The Scriblerus Club
Seventeenth Century Print Culture
The  South Sea Bubble
Suffragism

The Trial of Charles I
The Tudor State

Utilitarianism

Oscar Wilde
Mary Wollstonecraft


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DSC09938b_200Next week the remains of the Temple of Mithras will be open to public view once again. Unloved and open to the elements for almost fifty years, the development of its original site by the financial information giant Bloomberg presented an excellent opportunity to give this highly significant Roman building the type of home it deserves. Bloomberg, Museum of London Archaeology (MOLA) and other partners have enthusiastically and painstakingly carried out a project which unearthed by far the largest number of ancient Roman artifacts from a single British site. The quality and variety of them are truly staggering. The survival of many of the perishable objects – typically wood and leather – is thanks to the muddy conditions in the vicinity of the lost river Walbrook. The most significant object of the dig must surely be a tablet from circa 53AD which mentions “Londinium”, the oldest known reference of this name.

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There were Mithraeums in most urban centres of the Roman Empire. Its symbol was Mithras killing a bull with a knife.

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This tablet is inscribed with the earliest known use of the word Londinium.

As someone whose degree strongly featured ancient Rome and who has visited the Eternal City many times over past decades, I’ve always been a bit sniffy about what I considered the paucity of London’s surviving Roman remains. With the best will in the world, there can be no comparison. The bits of Roman wall near the Tower and the ribbon along London Wall combined with the Roman bath house in Lower Thames Street hardly set the pulse racing. Perhaps that’s just me. But with this new development to add to the Roman amphitheatre installation beneath Guildhall Yard – only discovered in the 1990s – that has all changed very significantly indeed, I think.

Londinium was, after all, the beginning of this most historical of cities. Suddenly, with the addition of the London Mithraeum, we have, I feel, a truly weighty and credible Roman London collection for all visitors to enjoy and Londoners to be proud of.

We must thank and congratulate Bloomberg for not just paying lipservice to our heritage but for embracing it and wholeheartedly backing this project. An example for all businesses and developers to follow.


Find out more and book your free places at the London Mithraeum.

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by Dr Helen Szamuely

Alexander_Konstantinovich_Benckendorff225Ten men are buried in the Crypt of Westminster Cathedral, which can be visited by special permission: nine cardinals and one “civilian” the last Imperial Russian Ambassador, Count Alexander Konstantinovich Benckendorff (1849 – 1917), who had taken up his ambassadorial position in 1902 and held it to his death. As it happens he was the great nephew of the Countess, later Princess Lieven, wife of the nineteenth century Russian ambassador, whose own diplomatic activity is generally better known than her husband’s. Count Alexander was, unusually for a Russian official even of Baltic background, a Roman Catholic, having been brought up by his German mother Princess Louise de Croy. Through his own and his wife’s eminent Russian family the Shuvalovs, he was related to most of the Russian and a good part of European aristocracy. On the one hand this made life and career relatively smooth, on the other hand, it became a tragedy as public opinion hardened just before the First World War and during it. To take one example, the German ambassador to London in the summer of 1914, Prince Lichnowsky, the son of Countess Marie de Croy, was Benckendorff’s first cousin. The drive towards the war and Lichnowsky’s enforced departure (as a matter of fact, he opposed German policy) was a personal tragedy for these two men.

Benckendorff remains a divisive figure in Russian historiography, just as he was a divisive figure in his lifetime. He has been accused on not knowing any Russian, which is not true, and of being more anxious to promote the British point of view in Russia than the Russian in Britain, which has some basis in truth. His first languages were French and German but he did speak Russian and wrote to his children in that language. Diplomatic correspondence across the Russian corps was, in any case, conducted in French.

Having grown up in Europe, he was anxious to become a Russian landowner and acquired an estate in Sosnovka, spending every summer there with his family until 1914. His sons were sent to Russia to finish their education. The younger, Petr, joined the army fought in the Russo-Japanese war, re-enlisted in 1914 and was killed in 1915. The older, Constantine, went into the navy and survived not only the First World War but the Revolution, civil war and a stint in the Red Navy. In 1922 he married the harpist Maria Korchinska and in 1923 they came to England. As he said in his memoirs, Half a Life, they could not have known that they would never see their homeland again. Their sister, married Jasper Nicholas Ridley. Both marriages produced fairly eminent offspring.

Count Benckendorff was obsessed with the need for an Anglo-Russian Agreement and pursued this policy (backed by the French ambassador to London, Paul Cambon, often beyond his instructions from the Imperisal government. His friendship with the Empress Maria Fyodorovna gave him a special entrée to the British court and allowed him to communicate directly with King Edward VII, something that the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs found frustrating as they felt that Benckendorff was ready to accept any British policy whether it was directly good for Russia or not.

The need for that agreement, in his view, was based on three main reasons: he feared Russia falling under German domination, he thought that only an Anglo-Russian agreement would stabilize the situation and keep peace between the two countries in Asia and Europe and, he hoped that it would promote liberal, Western ideas in Russia. One can argue whether the Anglo-Russian Accord of 1907, Count Benckendorff’s cherished plan for which he worked so hard contributed to the move towards the First World War or not but that is where Europe ended up much to his discontent. Not only were his hopes dashed but, to a great extent, the war was a personal tragedy for him, his family, his entire circle.

By the end of 1916 the news coming out of Russia disturbed Count Benckendorff even more. The war was becoming vrey unpopular, there were disturbances, revolutionary activity, shortages. Would Russia be able to continue fighting? Would she collapse under pressure? These questions clouded his last weeks. An early victim of the Spanish influenza that was to devastate Europe and the world, Count Alexander Benckendorff died in early 1917 and caused a diplomatic furore after his death. He had worshipped in Westminster Cathedral and had requested that he should be buried there. His reuqest was reinforced by the Tsar, Nicholas II, but rejected by the Cathedral, who pointed out that only cardinals are buried in the Cathedral’s crypt. The Count’s Requiem in the Cathedral was attended by member of both Royal families but the question of the burial was finally solved by Kind Edward Vii intervening with Cardinal Bourne. He pointed out that Russia, Britain’s staunch ally was having many difficulties and needed support. An agreement to bury Count Benckendorff in the Cathedral crypt would be such support; permission was granted.

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Final resting place: the crypt beneath Westminster Cathedral.

Nathalie Ridley, the Count’s daughter, commissioned Eric Gill to carve a memorial slab,which was installed in 1939 and can still be seen. In simple elegant writing it says in English and Latin, the latter provided by Mgr Ronald Knox:

 

Count Alexander Philip Constantine Ludovic Benckendorff,
Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotenitary
from the Emperor of Russia to the Court of St James.
August 1 1849 – January 11 1917.
May he rest in peace.

The new Russian government has an ambivalent attitude to the country’s history, both Imperial and Soviet. Nevertheless, the Russian Embassy now holds a Diplomats’ Day on February 10 and wreaths are laid on the graves of all ambassadors and chargés d’affaires who happen to be buried in Britain. A ceremony in Westminster Cathedral crypt ends with red, white and blue flowers decorating the gravestone of Count Alexander Konstantinovich Benckendorff, last Imperial Russian Amanssador and the only non-cardinal buried in the crypt of Westminster Cathedral.


This article was published in London Historians Members’ newsletter April 2017, less than two days before the author passed away in Charing Cross Hospital on 5 April. We shall publish other articles by Dr Szamuely about London-based Russians during the coming weeks. 

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