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Archive for the ‘Stuart period’ Category

Before going into the Painted Hall, Greenwich yesterday, I peered down into part of the old Greenwich Palace which had been rediscovered very recently, a great find. Both Mary I and Elizabeth I were born there, and Henry VIII entered this world in its predecessor, prior to Henry VII’s rebuild. It was known as the Palace of Placentia and was eventually demolished by Charles II, becoming in due course the site for Wren’s Greenwich Hospital.

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But what caught and gladdened my eye was the sight of a pair of bee boles. Before modern beekeeping as we know it was developed in the late 19th Century, domestic honey bees were housed in spirals of straw, hence the common logo for honey which survives today as a universally understood symbol, a bit like how the diagram of a dial telephone also survives. Sometimes you see jars actually in this shape. Here is an example: the Beehive pub in Brentford.

beehive

Like the home of the first of the three little pigs, a house of straw was vulnerable to wind, so beekeepers kept their hives in special alcoves within walls, typically those surrounding a flower garden, for obvious reasons. These are known as bee boles. There are also some fine examples at Fulham Palace (below) which had been bricked over but restored and exposed again in 2015.

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For more on bee boles, there is a bee bole register here. And, writing this piece, I have just discovered the eminent bee and apiary scientist Eva Crane (1912 – 2007), a Londoner.

Please let us know in comments if you know of other London bee boles. Thanks.


Images: M Paterson / London Historians.

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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 …’
______________________________

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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Guildhall: City of London. History Guide Companion by Graham Greenglass and Stephen Dinsdale. Guest review by LH Member Mark Ackerman.  

ghThe authors, both LH members and City of London guides, have produced a detailed and comprehensive book on the central area of the City of London and its seat of governance, Guildhall, oddly never ‘the Guildhall’ when used in this context. The introduction says the work’s aim is to provide ‘a history, a guide and a companion’ and it ticks all those boxes admirably.

It is full of fascinating facts and stories and I’m ashamed to say, as a Londoner born and bred, I was ignorant of many of them, so it also serves as an educational tool for the likes of me.

The oldest part of the building we still see today, the Great Hall of the Guildhall itself, was begun by master mason John Croxtone in 1411 and largely completed by 1430. It was probably the third such building on the site, a central area first used in Saxon times as a ‘folkmoot’ where citizens gathered.

Croxtone designed his hall in the English Perpendicular Gothic style and it is the oldest non-ecclesiastical building in the City of London. It owed its cathedral-like appearance to Croxtone’s own master, Henry Yevele, with whom he had worked previously on the rebuilding of Westminster Hall. A pitched timber roof topped off the stone fabric but the building was not finally completed until 1499 with the addition of turrets. It also contained the Mayor’s Court and Court of Aldermen but it was felt necessary, even before final completion, to include two cells to restrain unruly apprentices.

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15C Guildhall. Artist’s impression.

This was a huge and costly construction project for the early fifteenth century with the guilds putting up the money. However, just as today the City is (and is likely to remain) the international centre for many financial dealings, so its earlier counterpart wanted to demonstrate to its continental rivals that it too was a major commercial capital.

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Post-fire Ogilby and Morgan map of the area, 1677.

The Great Fire of 1666 spared the stone fabric of Guildhall but, as Pepys wrote, ‘the horrid, malicious, bloody flame’ destroyed the roof. A ‘temporary’ flat wooden roof replaced it for the next two hundred years until Sir Horace Jones, Surveyor to the City, began renovation work in 1860. As the favoured style of his day was Gothic revivalism, Jones could get to work on a building which had been overlaid with Baroque and neo-classical elements by Wren and others after the Great Fire and, as the authors have it, he set about ‘re-Gothicising’ the edifice.

005 Porch, Chapel & Blackwell Hall 1820

Porch, chapel and Blackwell Hall, 1820. 

Today, only the old museum and library buildings remain from Jones’s renovation work and Guildhall Yard would have to wait until after the Second World War for the next major rebuild when Giles Gilbert Scott, of the famous architectural dynasty, began the task he had hoped to start before the war when he had advised on renovations to the area. Now the job was a major rebuild including that of the Great Hall itself, badly damaged in a 1940 air raid. It was repaired by October 1954 and welcomed the new Lord Mayor for his banquet the following month.

Sir Giles’s son Richard continued his father’s work in the ’60s and, as the book states, ‘led the way for a contemporary Guildhall Yard and proposed five new construction projects which externally dominate the Guildhall we see today.’ These were an enlarged yard, a new West Wing office complex, a new library and art gallery and the restoration of the crypts below the hall.

The book offers an excellent résumé of the monuments and statuary both outside and within the Great Hall. Of the latter, many are dedicated to obvious heroes such as Nelson, Wellington and Churchill and it is perhaps no surprise to see Pitt the Younger there, our youngest Prime Minster at the age of only 24. Mercury, representing commerce, stands over him but perhaps the Winged Messenger, who also oversaw good fortune, could have kept better watch during Pitt’s lifetime as the alcoholic gambler racked up debts of £40,000 by the time he died. The government eventually paid these off but it is difficult to see that ever happening now as the amount is the equivalent of £3.5 million today.

Another memorial commemorates former Lord Mayor William Beckford, who twice held the post and was MP for the City of London. The son of a Jamaican plantation and slave owner he himself became one of the wealthiest men in the country through these activities. In fact, it was said of him that ‘to see a slave he could not bear….unless it was his own’ and, given the current anti-Colston campaign, one wonders if the activists will next turn their attention to Beckford. Being less prominent, he may be spared.

The banners of the Great Twelve City Guilds hang below the roof of the Great Hall with the Mercers taking pre-eminence as they had provided the most Lord Mayors when the ranking system was decided upon in 1515 after many disagreements, some of which even resulted in fighting and the deaths of guild members. The Merchant Taylors and Skinners were among the most disputatious, fighting over sixth and seventh place, which probably led to the phrase ‘at sixes and sevens’.

The Great Hall was also used for ‘show’ trials such as that of Lady Jane Grey, the Nine Day Queen, who was unwillingly manoeuvred into place by her devious father-in-law, the Duke of Northumberland. She and her husband were executed for high treason in 1554 with the devious duke, who also coerced her into marrying his son in the first place, soon suffering the same fate.

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Guildhall today. Pic: M Paterson.

The book covers the Lord Mayor’s office in detail and relates how little the true story of Richard Whittington, who held the office four times, has in common with his panto counterpart. But as the fable has it, he did indeed marry an Alice, Alice Fitzwarin, and in reality performed many charitable works including the provision of a large public lavatory, flushed by the Thames. His seventeenth century successor, however, Sir Thomas Bloodworth, would live on in infamy. He it was who, when arriving in Pudding Lane to see the start of the conflagration in 1666, said it was not serious and ‘a maid might piss it out’. He also refused to demolish neighbouring buildings to create a firebreak in case he became personally liable. Pepys described seeing him later that night ‘like a man spent, with a hankercher about his neck’ and bemoaning the fact that he had been up all night although he apparently went back to bed after first being called out. He was an object of public vilification ever after, even while continuing to sit as an MP.

Everything you might wish to know about Guildhall and its environs is here, including chapters on the City parish church, St Lawrence Jewry; the Roman Amphitheatre below the art gallery; the City of London Police Museum and public events held in Guildhall Yard such as the Cart Marking Ceremony every July and the Pearly Kings and Queens Harvest Parade in September.

The book has now inspired me to revisit the whole precinct under its expert guidance. It also makes a thoughtful gift for any LH member and for friends and family, and all in good time for the festive season.


GUILDHALL: CITY OF LONDON, A History Guide Companion
Authors: Graham Greenglass and Stephen Dinsdale
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Price: £16.99ISBN: 9781526715418

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A guest post by LH Member Lissa Chapman.

B2002.15It seems significant that so many modern studies of Aphra Behn and her work feature a mask on the cover.  Famous as the first-ever professional woman playwright, Behn was also a novelist, poet, translator – and spy.  And she was adept at suppressing information about herself.

By the time of her death in 1689, Behn had become something of a celebrity, and was allowed the honour of a grave in the cloisters at Westminster Abbey.  In a 20-year career in the theatre, she had written and had staged nearly 20 plays.  And for a time her work remained popular – for several decades her play The Emperor of the Moon was staged every time a Friday, 13th came round, as theatre managements knew the show would pull in a crowd whatever the date.  But the world changed, and Behn’s work began to be regarded as too coarse to read.  By the nineteenth century she was firmly forgotten:  the Victorians, disliking the Restoration as a period anyway, could not forgive Aphra Behn for having been a woman, and regarded her work as “too coarse to open”.  Even when, in the next century, Virginia Woolf wrote of placing flowers on Behn’s grave, it was as a trailblazer she was to be remembered:  there was no discussion of the quality of her work. In recent years at least some of Aphra Behn’s work has begun to emerge from the shadows.  A number of her plays, most notably The Rover have been staged, and it is generally agreed that her best writing is at least as good as that of her most famous contemporaries;  there have been new editions of her work, two biographies and innumerable articles.

As part of this, at least some of Aphra Behn’s life story has emerged from the shadows.  And it is now clear just what odds she overcame in order to survive at all, let alone to get her work staged and published and to maintain her independence.  Aphra Johnson, born near Canterbury in 1640, was the daughter of a barber and a wet nurse who worked for an aristocratically connected family.   It was probably as a result of this that Aphra was recruited, first as a courier for Royalist plotters during the Commonwealth years, and then as a fully fledged spy.  She was sent first to Surinam, then to the Low Countries, on each occasion to watch and connect with the dissident William Scot.  Aphra, only in her twenties, was a total failure as a spy:  she fell in love with her quarry, who double crossed her, and finally returned to London, badly in debt and with little to show for her mission.  Yet only a few years later, after a short lived marriage to a German merchant, Aphra Behn was established in London as a professional writer – this is the ferocious and misogynist world of the Restoration theatre.

But not all Aphra Behn’s work receives the attention it merits.  Her final play, The Widow Ranter, set in Virginia and featuring not only the reimagined story of a rebellion but satire, music, dance, spectacle, several different love stories and a cross-dressed, drunken, pipe smoking former servant for a heroine, was staged only once, just after its author’s death.  It was published with a defensive preface explaining it had been badly cast, and then laid aside and forgotten.  A couple of years ago Clio’s Company became interested in the play – a reading one afternoon told us it deserved another chance to live on stage.  After Aphra, written by Lissa Chapman and Jay Venn and incorporating scenes from The Widow Ranter as well as new work, is also part of a sequence of productions which will lead up to a full scale production of  in 2020, the 250th anniversary year of the staging of Behn’s first play, The Forc’d Marriage.


After Aphra: The Story of Aphra Behn and “The Widow Ranter” will be performed at the atmospheric. Watermen’s Hall on 23rd October for one night only. A time of writing there are a few places still available.


Editor’s Note
In Our Time on BBC Radio 4 devoted an episode to Aphra Behn in October 2017.

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This guest post by LH member Tracey Hill was first published in London Historians Members’ Newsletter of November 2014.

In the early 1620s Thomas Middleton’s profile in London, both on and off the stage, was at its height. His run of civic employments was consolidated when he was appointed the first paid Chronologer of the City of London on 6th September 1620. The commencement of Middleton’s post as City Chronologer was marked by the publication in 1621 of a series of commissioned civic entertainments that took place between Easter 1620 and Easter 1621, entitled Honorable Entertainments compos’de for the Seruice of this Noble Cittie, comprising ten separate entertainments.

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Thomas Middleton (1580 – 1627)

Although his appointment as City Chronologer was a token of the esteem in which Middleton was held in civic circles, his new role came during a run of bad luck for the City and his initial commissions during the 1620-21 period were all problematic. Honorable Entertainments may, on the face of it, have been a wholly suitable way for the City Chronologer to appear in print, but some of the pieces in this book and in other works in this period have an edgy take on the civic transitions of 1620-21.

The second entertainment in the collection marked the termination of William Cockayne’s mayoralty on the day before the Haberdasher Francis Jones’s inauguration in 1620. However, in contrast to the usual joy at the arrival of a new Lord Mayor, this unprecedented ‘sad Pageant’ represents the end of Cockayne’s term of office as a funeral where ‘all seem to mourne’. It seems the very year has died: there is a ‘Last Will and Testament of 1620’, where Cockayne’s unnamed ‘Successor’ is bequeathed ‘all my good wishes, paines, labours and reformations’. The piece concludes with an ‘epitaph’ bemoaning the end of ‘a Yeare of goodness, and a Yeare of right’. As well as reminding Jones (in a move that will come back badly on the City, as we’ll see) of the ‘bounty fayre’ he will expected to provide as Lord Mayor, the first entertainment of Jones’s term is addressed primarily to the Haberdashers’ Company. Of Jones himself, Middleton simply states, with a distinct absence of enthusiasm, ‘I presume his goodness will requite’ the generosity of his Company. Any ‘honour’ that pertains to Jones in this work is merely ‘borrowed’ from the Haberdashers.

Eight of the ten entertainments in this collection were presented at Jones’s house. The lack of confidence in Jones signalled in Honorable Entertainments was more than borne out by events. The christmas entertainment evokes Jones’s house as ‘Bounties pallace/ Where euery Cup ha’s his full Ballace’, where ‘sparkling Liquors’ abound and where ‘Cellar, Hall [and] Larder’ are ‘Iouiall’ and ‘blithe’. Despite Middleton’s citation of ‘th’Abundant welcome yon’d Kind Lord affords’, as it turned out, Jones could not afford it and absconded just before his term of office expired. The keen seventeenth-century letter writer John Chamberlain recorded that ‘the night before he should have accompanied his successor to Westminster [Jones] did sgombrare [clear out], conveying all of worth out of his house, and he and his wife into some secret corner of the country’. Contrary to usual practice Jones was ‘excused’ due to an alleged ‘sudden infirmity’ when his successor took his mayoral oath at Westminster in 1621.

The Recorder of London Sir Heneage Finch was responsible for this public negotiation of Jones’s flit. There may be a deliberate irony in his ambiguous remarks in the same speech that Jones had ‘willingly’ laid down the burden of office and that Jones ‘cannot give a greater testimony of him[self] than his meane estimation of him selfe’. In pointed contrast, his successor Edward Barkham’s ‘greate bounty and hospitallity … feastes and entertainments’ were highlighted at the equivalent ceremony in 1621. On passing on the mayoralty to Peter Proby in October 1622 Barkham was given a testimonial by Finch which stated that, unlike his predecessor, he had performed the role with ‘dilligence from the first [day] of the [mayoral] yeare to the last’.

These words of praise notwithstanding, Barkham’s rise to the City’s highest office had not been straightforward either. To take the office he had to ‘translate’ from the Leathersellers’ Company to one of the Great Twelve. Thus the backdrop to the 1621 mayoral inauguration was no more auspicious than the termination of his predecessor. Barkham’s process of translation to the Drapers began with an approach to the Company in July 1621. The request was rebuffed for some months: there were prolonged negotiations and the matter was only resolved on the intervention of the Privy Council.

Barkham’s putative membership was discussed by the Drapers’ Court four times in July 1621. For a while the Company were adamant that they were would not accept him and agreed to convey to the Court of Aldermen their ‘absolute denyall’ of Barkham’s admission, demonstrating the strength of feeling against this enforced admission. Later in July the Company remained intransigent, reiterating ‘the denyall of the generality of this Companie in acceptinge of Mr Alderman Barkeham’. In their fourth meeting there was only one item on the agenda. They were ‘altogether unwilling and unable’ to accept the financial charge consequent on having another mayoral inauguration to support. However, their position had shifted: they were no longer refusing entry to Barkham per se (the phrase ‘absolute denyall’ no longer features), but rather asking the Court of Aldermen to excuse them the costs. The final discussion took place in August, within weeks of the election of the new Lord Mayor on Michaelmas Day. Once more the Drapers wished to be excused the costs of the ‘triumphes’, adding the argument that they were trying to avoid any complaints and any ‘disgrace’ to the City. Indeed, they protested against the cost to the end, but in the face of the forces against them the Company had finally to capitulate, and Barkham–by then ‘Maior elect’–was duly admitted to the membership by translation from the Leathersellers in the nick of time in early October 1621.

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Coat of arms of the Drapers’ Company.

Close scrutiny of that year’s mayoral Show, The sunne in Aries, reveals clues about the considerable strain and prolonged debate of Barkham’s translation. A number of times in the text the word ‘costly’ is employed, which, although conventional, in this context could be seen to gesture towards the Drapers’ concerns about the expense of the inauguration. The relationship between the new Lord Mayor and his Company–in particular, their role in funding the Show–is central to the valedictory speech given at the very end of the Show in a way that could be a veiled commentary on the circumstances.

This speech is intended as a ‘noble Demonstation of [Barkham’s] worthy Fraternities Affection’. The Drapers’ ‘Loue’ for Barkham is likened to the sun breaking through after ‘a great Ecclipse’. It is certainly possible to interpret the now past ‘eclipse’ to the furore over Barkham’s enforced translation. The Drapers’ affection, Fame declares, ‘is showne/ With a Content past Expectation … A Care that ha’s [sic] beene comely, and a Cost/ That ha’s beene Decent’ (my emphasis). The Show itself is said to ‘clearly’ demonstrate how ‘great’ the Drapers’ love is, and the ‘Cost’ is (finally) ‘requited’ by Barkham’s accession to the mayoralty. Middleton’s text strives to incorporate Barkham into the Company, to remind him of the expense they have been put to and attempts to smooth over the recent controversy about their reluctance to pay for the very event that is taking place.

However, references to Barkham are relatively scant and recent holders of civic office are compared unfavourably to their predecessors. Whereas past Drapers were ‘Colledge Founders’, ‘Temple-Beautifiers’ and ‘Erecters … of Granaries for the Poore’, now these granaries are ‘conuerted to some Rich mens Store’. Naturally, there is no suggestion that Barkham is one of those avaricious men but a poor light is cast upon the current civic oligarchy. There is also an oblique reference to Barkham’s unusual route to the mayoralty. Sir Richard Pipe, Lord Mayor in 1578, is mentioned solely because ‘being Free of the Leathersellers, [he] was also from them translated to the Ancient and Honorable Society of Drapers’. Pipe’s translation was a precedent that legitimated Barkham’s troubled move to the Drapers, but given the strong opposition the latter had generated, one wonders why Middleton thought it necessary to mention translation from the Leathersellers at all.

Ultimately, the Drapers had had to accept Barkham and the City had to put the controversy behind it and move on. All the same, Recorder Finch’s speech when Barkham took his oath at Westminster strikes a sterner note than usual. ‘Magistrates are not sett in Authority for their owne sakes’, Finch proclaimed, ‘but for the people’. The office of Lord Mayor, he emphasised, involved ‘a number of cares’ which ‘cannot [be] putt off with [the Lord Mayor’s] clothes now layed under his pillow’, and those who take on high office ought to ‘consider well the weight of government’.

Translation to one of the Great Twelve livery companies, as we have seen, was indeed a more serious business than donning a new suit of clothes. By 1622, however, the crisis was but a memory and Recorder Finch’s speech at the Exchequer when Peter Proby took his oath celebrates Barkham retrospectively for his acts of civic altruism such as endowing a new water conduit. This presentation of Barkham as a man of good deeds features elsewhere too. During his year of office Barkham played an important role in the building of a new church on the site of of what had been the priory church of the Holy Trinity, Aldgate. The building of the church, the 1633 edition of John Stow’s The Survey of London relates,

‘proceeded on with good and prosperous successe, to the no meane honour and commendation of the Lord Maior then being, Sir Edward Barkham by name, the Court of Aldermen, and state of this famous City, by whose good meanes it is made a very beautifull and comely Parish Church’.

Barkham ‘himselfe undertooke, and effected at his owne charge’ the ‘maine and great East light in the Chancell’, and his contribution was commemorated, appropriately enough, in a verse placed in the chancel of the church:

Barkham the Worthie,
whose immortall name,
Marble’s too weake to hold,
for this workes fame.
He never ceast
in industrie and care,
From ruines to
redeeme this House of Praier.

Somewhat ironically given the strong resistance to his translation, Barkham’s membership of the Drapers is highlighted in this monument; indeed, he is even linked to one of the City’s most esteemed figures, the first Lord Mayor of London, Henry Fitz-Alwin. The verse concludes:

This Cities first Lord Maior
lies buried here,
Fitz-Alwine,
of the Drapers Company,
And the Lord Maior,
whose fame now shines so cleere,
Barkham,
is of the same Society.

fitz-alwyn
Henry Fitz-Alwin, commemorated on Holborn Viaduct.



Long-standing London Historians Member, Prof Tracey Hill is Head of English and Cultural Studies at Bath Spa University. Her research expertise is in the cultural history of early modern London, with a particular focus on civic pageantry. She is the author of Pageantry and Power: a cultural history of the early modern Lord Mayor’s Show (Manchester University Press 2010) and Anthony Munday and Civic Culture (Manchester University Press 2004) as well as of a number of articles and chapters in books.


A longer version of this article – “Ever obedient in his Studies”: Thomas Middleton and the Cityc1621′,  – appeared in The London Journal,42:2 (2017).

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16156Book review by LH Member George Goodwin.
The Civil War in London by Robin Rowles
Pen & Sword, £12.99 152pp

As a reviewer it is well to declare an interest. Robin Rowles is both an active member of London Historians and a highly-qualified guide with a love of London’s history that easily communicates itself in conversation, as it did to me when we talked some months ago about the Civil War in London both as a topic in itself and as the subject of this book. So I can be forgiven for approaching the book with rose-tinted glasses.

Robin takes a somewhat old-fashioned approach and the book is none the worse for that. He is impeccable in the way that he credits his sources and the views of his fellow historians, and he ensures that those with only a limited understanding of the causes of the English Civil War have these background factors explained. He then tackles his subject thematically. I have one quibble with the structure of the book, addressed to its editor rather than its author, which is that it might have been better to have had some part of the penultimate chapter ‘London’s brave boys: the trained bands and the defence of London’ as the opening salvo.

There may not have been any fighting in London itself, but that was partly due to the impressive defensive measures taken by the City of London’s Common Council and to the role of the Trained Bands in repulsing the King’s army at the Battle of Turnham Green, then some miles to the west of the twin cities of Westminster and London. As Robin points out, the London units and their extremely effective commander Philip Skippon also played an exceptionally important role in the wider Civil War.

As to the meat of the book, Robin has a real insight into how the City was able to take on much of the machinery of national administration, with its networks of committees in some ways akin to those that would operate in Paris during the French Revolution. Their taking on this role being natural, due to the City’s long-established institutions and the ability of its governing Common Council to give overall direction.

The centuries-old financial importance of the City of London to the Monarchy was symbolised by the longstanding pre-coronation tradition of the monarch being escorted to the Tower through the City gates by the scarlet-clad Mayor and Aldermen of London. With a detailed knowledge of its Livery Companies, Robin shows how the Parliamentarians were able to utilise the City’s long-established means of financing the monarchy in order to back its citizen enemies. He also demonstrates how this change of loyalty had been made a great deal easier through King Charles’s assault on the City’s privileges during the ‘Eleven Years’ Tyranny’ not least through the Crown’s confiscation of the City’s Ulster plantation.

There are some intriguing details in the book to demonstrate that the City was far from universally solid in its support of Parliament, showing that some moderate Royalists were elected as Mayors during the mid-1640s before Charles’ resumption of hostilities in 1648 cut the ground from their feet, that is before Parliament was itself superseded by the army, with Skippon later becoming Cromwell’s Major General for the London area. The exceptional importance of religion in directing men towards either King or Parliament is affirmed and the means by which the Committee for Demolition of Monuments of Superstition and Idolatry set about their task are well described. Women also have their moments: not least the 1643 march on Parliament by City women, with their demonstration against wartime taxation and higher food prices being met not by the MPs, who were taking cover inside, but by Dragoons, with the fatal consequences persuading seven peers to desert to the King.

Above all, the book takes you through the streets of the City and is good preparation for accompanying Robin on one of his London Civil War walks, which he lists with those on Sherlock Holmes and others on http://www.strollintime.co.uk/walks.htm


George Goodwin FRHistS is the author of Benjamin Franklin in London: The British Life of America’s Founding Father.

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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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