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A guest post by LH member Nigel Pickford. This article first appeared in London Historians members’ newsletter from March 2014.

Detailed recording of temperatures, wind speeds, precipitation, and atmospheric pressure only really starts from the 1850s onwards (1). So, if you want to know what the weather was like in London 350 years ago you have just two possible approaches. There is retrospective science in the form of dendroclimatology (2). The limitation of this is that it’s very broad brush. It’s not going to tell you whether it was raining on Sunday, 12 February 1682, for instance, the day that Mr Thynn was gunned down in the street. But this was the level of detail that I needed to know about when writing my new book, Lady Bette and the Murder of Mr Thynn. The alternative is to study the literary and artistic ephemera of the day in the shape of contemporary diaries, letters, travel journals, early broadsheets, ships logs, paintings, astronomical almanacs and so on.

One thing was quickly evident. The winters were a lot colder than they are now. The end of the seventeenth century experienced a sharp spike of chilliness during what was anyway a cool period that had already been going on for several hundred years, a period now known as the little ice age (3). There is plenty of personal anecdote to support this. For a start the River Thames was in the habit of freezing right across, a freak weather occurrence which was quick to be commercially exploited in the form of the famous frost fairs. There was sledging, skating, coach racing, bull baiting, pop up shops, and roasting of oxen, as well as ‘ puppet places and interludes, cooks, tipling and other lewd places’, to quote John Evelyn’s rather coy phrase. (4)

Thomas_Wyke_Thames_frost_fair_500

River Thames Frost Fair, 1683, by Thomas Wyke.

It wasn’t just the frequency of sub-zero temperatures that made the London weather experience very different from what it is today. The ‘Metropolis’, as it had recently come to be called, was also a lot more susceptible to noxious fogs. One tends to associate the trademark London smog with the Victorian period, partly because of the marvellously atmospheric descriptions in Dickens’s novels. But the roots of London’s industrial pollution problems go back to the seventeenth century when smog was probably even more pernicious and ubiquitous than it was in Dickens’s time. John Evelyn’s fascinating little book Fumifugium, published in 1661 (5), describes the effect of the growing use of sea coal on London’s micro climate. He refers to ‘that Hellish and dismall Cloud of Sea Coal’ which caused Londoners ‘to breathe nothing but an impure and thick mist accompanied with a fulginous and filthy vapour’ and which caused the inhabitants to suffer from, ‘Catharrs, Phthisicks, Coughs and Consumptions’. He blamed all the ‘Brewers, Diers, Lime Burners, Salt and Sope Boylers’ who belched forth a ‘cloud of sulphure’ from their ‘sooty jaws’. Evelyn was a founding father of the environmental movement and his suggested solution was to move all the polluting industries to an area East of Greenwich which would be downwind from the main centres of habitation. He was also keen on the idea of planting a ring of sweet smelling trees and shrubs right around the periphery of London, a sort of early green belt. Fumifugium was dedicated to Charles II, who received Evelyn’s ideas with enthusiasm and did nothing about them.

A fascination with daily weather was just as much a preoccupation with seventeenth century Londoners as it is with its modern inhabitants. Food supplies depended on a good harvest, transport was even more vulnerable to the vagaries of climate and, of course, it affected everyone’s general sense of wellbeing. Even the Duke of York (the future James II) typifies that unchanging tendency to moan about the elements when he writes to his niece about not being able to get out for his usual morning walk ‘as for the weather it is the same with you, that it is with us, only it keeps us prisoners, for there is no sturing out farther than the little Parke, the waters being still so much out and the ways so durty, that I have not been able to go further, and this day has been so very rainy that I have not been able to walke abroad at all but a little in the morning early upon the terrasse’. (7)

There may have been no meteorological office but weather forecasting was still a thriving business left largely to the professional astrologers and almanac writers. One of the more interesting and lesser known works in this genre is John Gadbury’s Nauticum astrologicum: or, The astrological seaman…unto which is added a Diary of the weather for XXI years together, exactly observed in London. (8) Gadbury had a client base of merchants and shipowners who need to know whether it was a propitious weather moment to launch a new boat or start on a new voyage. Astrology was very much on the defensive towards the end of the seventeenth century against accusations of being little more than necromancy and Gadbury was anxious to prove to his readers that his work was commensurate with the strictest scientific standards of the age being full of ‘New and Real Observations or Experiments to credit his opinions’.

NPG D30383; John Gadbury after Unknown artist

John Gadbury, unknown artist. © National Portrait Gallery, London.

Part of the point of the weather diary which extended from November 1668 to December 1689 was to validate his astrological predictions. So, the studious reader can apparently discern from his daily record that ‘the sun in Leo, generally brings along with it, parching hot air; and in Aries dry but lofty winds; in Pisces much moisture.’ or again ‘we have a fall of wet upon every New or Full moon.’ The actual daily entries are more down to earth. On 7 November 1681, for instance, the day of Lady Bette’s sudden flight from London, he notes, ‘close air, great wind East.’ That East wind was all important. It could result in the boat she hoped to escape in being trapped in the river for days if not weeks. She can’t have consulted him.

Notes:

  1. The Meteorology Office was established in 1854 with its main purpose to help predict storm and avoid shipwreck.
  2. The study of tree rings to establish changes of weather pattern.
  3. The little ice age is now thought to have lasted roughly from around 1400 to 1800.
  4. The Diary of John Evelyn, Ed. E.S. de Beer, 6 vols (Oxford 1955).
  5. Quotations are taken from the 1976 reprint published by Rota, Exeter.
  6. This idea was developed in the works of Samuel Hartlib and John Beale, contemporaries of John Evelyn.
  7. Windsor April 30th 1682, from Some Familiar Letters of Charles II and James Duke of York ed. Harold Arthur, Viscount Dillon (1902).
  8. The astrological seaman was thought to have been written in the last decade of the seventeenth century but was not published until 1710. Gadbury died in 1704.

 


Nigel Pickford is an author and historian whose book Lady Bette and the Murder of Mr Thynn was published by Orion Books in 2014. He is also a specialist maritime historian who has made documentaries for Channel 4 and published books with Dorling Kindersley and National Geographic. He is a Member of London Historians.

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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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This article first appeared in London Historians Members’ Newsletter of December 2013.
by Essie Fox

Most of us are fully aware of Queen Victoria’s terrible grief at the time of her husband’s sudden death. We know the story of John Brown, the servant on whom she came to depend. But there is one story, not so well known, regarding the Queen’s affection for an Indian Maharajah who was brought to live in England when deposed from his Punjabi throne at the end of the second Anglo-Sikh War (1848/9).

The Maharajah Duleep Singh was a handsome and glamorous prince whose life was dramatic and filled with intrigue, not to mention a sad and tragic end. He became the ruler of the Punjab when barely more than an infant. But, by the age of 11, he had been removed from his mother’s care and was held at the fort of Futteghar where, influenced by his new British ‘friends’, he converted to Christianity. After that he was brought to England and became very popular at court where Victoria and Albert encouraged the prince’s friendship with their own royal children.

Dalipsingh_winterhalter

Duleep Singh, 1854, by court painter Franz Winterhalter (1805 – 73).

Also brought to England from India was what had been Duleep’s sovereign symbol: the sacred Koh-i-noor diamond, taken as ransom at the time of the Annexation of Lahore. The diamond inspired much interest when exhibited in 1851 at the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, after which it was set as a brooch and worn by Queen Victoria. It was reduced to half its size when Prince Albert had its facets re-cut in an effort to improve the way the diamond reflected the light.

kohinoor before recuttingb

The new design for the Koh-I-Noor, and how it looked pre-cut. From the Illustrated London News.

It was in the White Room at Buckingham Palace where Duleep and his diamond became reunited – a poignant and symbolic scene when Victoria commissioned Winterhalter, her favourite portrait artist, to make a likeness of the prince in an exotic, idealised work that remains in the Royal Collection today.

One day, while Duleep was posing in his Sikh ceremonial robes the Queen appeared in the White Room too, instructing the prince to close his eyes and hold out his hands – into which she then placed the Koh-i-noor.

No doubt she was only testing the maharajah’s loyalty. And although he had the good sense to hand the stone back into her palms, Duleep admitted to intimates that he had been insulted and was more than tempted to throw the stone out of an open window. He called the Queen Mrs Fagin – the handler of stolen property. He would also have been very much aware of the ancient curse upon the stone – which was that any man who held it would see his line disappear from the light.

Duleep’s line did indeed disappear. He married and had several children, but no grandchildren. And then, in his middle years, when Duleep became disaffected, often asking for the diamond’s return, it could have been that he believed in another well-known prophecy: if the stone was returned to its homeland all foreign invaders would be cast out.

Fearing another Mutiny should Duleep attempt to reclaim his throne, Victoria’s advisors would never consent to giving the diamond back to him. They had the prince followed by British spies and eventually he was exposed as consorting with various dissidents, mainly those Russians and Irishmen with whom he had been making plans to march an army on the Punjab by route of Russia and Afghanistan. Duleep was exiled from England as well as India. He was forced to live out the rest of his life on the European continent, where he died at the age of 55 in a shabby Parisian hotel – but not before Victoria secretly met with pardoned him, and after which she brought her beautiful boy back to be buried in England – despite the maharajah’s wish for his remains to return to his native India.

So, Duleep’s life appeared to be cursed. But Victoria, who still possessed the stone, may well have received its blessings, with the diamond linked to a prophecy that any woman who owned it would then go on to rule the world. She did command an Empire, and became the Empress of India.


Essie Fox’s novel, The Goddess And The Thief features the Maharajah Duleep Singh and the myths surrounding the Koh-i-noor. Her Victorian debut, The Somnambulist, was selected for the Channel 4 Bookclub, and was nominated for the National Book Awards. Her latest book, The Last Days of Leda Grey features the Edwardian world of moving film and was selected as Historical Book of the Month by The Times. It was published in paperback on November 16 2017. Essie blogs as The Virtual Victorian, and her author website has many more details of her novels, with reviews, articles, and upcoming events: www.essiefox.com

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Guest Post.
Fifty years past. The Summer of Love ; Sgt Pepper; homosexuality decriminalised. Momentous events. Ursula Jeffries remembers her time as a young executive in London. 

It is hard to see yourself as part of history but there comes a time….

I was always a south London girl but July 1967 was when I really started to get to know the city. There were few gap years in those days so my graduate traineeship began straight away and I was whisked from the dreaming spires into what was known by the inmates as the tomb of the unknown borrower. The Abbey National headquarters building in Baker Street can still be seen in its imposing nearly art deco glory. Now divided into flats, it was then the ultimate functional commercial building of the sixties straddling the old and the new. Almost the whole of the ground floor was taken up by the computer, below ground were machines devoted to efficient direct mail and deep dark corridors of client files. The public view was mainly a grand banking hall and sight of an elegant lift to the working offices; this was operated by a Hungarian refugee, by all accounts a professor in his time. Visitors often looked for Sherlock Holmes and would get a response to a letter.

abbeybuilding3

The Abbey National Building, Baker Street. Today only the facade survives.

While modern management sought to brand the building society as up to date and swinging with cutting edge advertising campaigns and window displays (Happy National) many of the old guard clung to the old ways especially the logo of a couple holding an umbrella shaped like a roof. Much time was spent on keeping the silhouette of the lady in contemporary style. The length of skirts affected me as well. For the last three years I had been assiduously cutting off the hems of coats and skirts as the mini skirt took over. I literally had nothing to wear in a traditional office except my interview suit and only expensive shops had anything of suitable length. I had to wait until 1968 to afford Carnaby Street. My mother had sorted the problem of my waist length hippy hair by buying me a haircut at Vidal Sassoon and the change was so radical that my own boyfriend didn’t recognise me. I found the formality of the organisation difficult to absorb and I was the first female graduate in this post but they were very welcoming to me despite paying less salary on account of my gender. I had subsidised lunch in the middle management dining room and my own secretary; hierarchies were still firmly embedded.

Outside, the noisy, dirty streets were familiar to me. Red buses, telephone and post boxes, commercial traffic. Although much of the war damage had been dealt with the place was grimy, not helped by the massive level of cigarette smoking indoors and out. Nobody thought twice about it and the beleaguered nonsmokers didn’t complain much. I soon took a room in a shared flat which was affordable and near Baker Street – I could walk to work alongside Regents Park if I chose. I felt very safe as I started to get to get to know the different villages of London and there was an air of change for the better, unthreatening and fun. The only problem being that there was far too much to do.

On the South Bank the Festival Hall floated by the river representing British design and the modern London to come. The cafeteria was a great meeting point, snug between the bridges, ugly Hungerford and elegant Waterloo, and the promise of the Festival of Britain still hovered in the air as the riverside developments continued. The Old Vic had evolved from a Shakespeare rep to an embryonic National Theatre. Anyone lucky enough to be working and to have connections to the arts was privileged to be witness to a confident flowering of culture. I missed seeing Jimi Hendrix and Ray Charles but I did get to see Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. I didn’t have time or money for a television although I did have my Dansette record player. Back in the suburbs life was changing at a slower pace but pop music was a shared revolution and although views varied as to its ‘suitability’ it was absorbed much more than hippy culture was ever going to be.

london-summer-of-love

And what became of the hippies? On a hot summer afternoon we came out of the Curzon where we had watched Blowup. A commotion in Hyde Park attracted us and we found ourselves in the midst of hundreds of flower children dancing, ringing bells and floating in a fragrant mist. Music thumped in the distance and a poet declaimed from the top of a step ladder to anyone still in a state to listen. Free marijuana was the message; the demonstration was very gentle as were the police that we saw. One could trace their many influences but on that day it just felt like a dream – and you only had to breathe in to feel part of it!

hydepark67

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A guest post by LH Member Roger Williams. 

Review:  The History of the Port of London — the Vast Emporium of All Nations
By Peter Stone

51FqDHqHplL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_It is flattering when a publisher asks out of the blue if you would care to write a book. That’s what happened to London Historian member Peter Stone, when his posts about the city on his The History of London website caught the eye of Pen & Sword History Press.

The subject he chose was the port of London because, he says, as a Londoner born in the East End, he wanted to know more about it, and there were few comprehensive books on the subject. The result is The History of the Port of London — the Vast Emporium of All Nations, a 250-page book with 16 photographs, half a dozen prints and a dozen clear, specially-drawn maps that tell the story of the port from Roman Londinium to DP World London Gateway.

Medieval London is particularly well researched. This was a time when wine was the biggest import, and the Vintners Company established a 400-year monopoly. Trade was wrapped up in rules and regulations, even stipulating where foreigners could stay ashore. In the early 12th Century crews of foreign ships, when approaching London Bridge, we learn, were required to sing the Kirie Eleison to show they were not pagan pirates.

Elizabethan times saw a great expansion is shipping. Legal quays were established along the City’s foreshore, which held a monopoly on the landing of imports for 250 years. Suffrance wharfs on the south bank were later added to handle the increased volume of cargo brought mainly by charter companies like the East India Company that held monopolies on trade in great swathes of the world.

The first wet dock was in Rotherhithe. Howland Wet Dock was initially designed to shelter ships en route to London, but it also served the whaling fleets, whose messy business was kept away from the city. By 1800 an estimated 8,500 vessels could be seen between six miles below London Bridge and two miles above it. Import and export docks were sorely needed and they developed with great rapidity –– London, West India, East India, St Katharine’s, the Surrey Docks complex and the Royal Docks. An aerial photograph from 1957 shows their enormous extent.

With quotations from Pepys to Millicent Rose, the book is good on social history, on the lives of all those involved in the docks that by 1900 supported 20,000 full-time jobs and half as many casual ones. Ben Tillett, the unions and the everyday lives of dock workers are evoked, and the role of the Port of London Authority fully explained. There is the development of the villages from the City to the Isle of Dogs, from the time when Stepney was a village with a dock at Ratcliffe to today, when everything has slipped way down the river. But Tilbury, it is heartening to read, is still active, exporting engines from Ford at a rate of two vessels a day and importing a quarter of a million vehicles a year. Petroleum, steel, timber and sugar are still important imports, while DP World London Gateway, which covers an area twice the size of the City of London, can handle the largest vessels in the world,

The story of London’s ports is the story of the city, and, with a final chapter that looks to the future, Peter Stone has given the port of London a fulsome and highly readable biography.


The History of the Port of London — the Vast Emporium of All Nations
by Peter Stone is published by Pen & Sword History with a cover price of £19.99.


Review by Roger Williams. His latest book is ‘Whitebait and the Thames Fisheries’, Bristol Book Publishing, £7

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Hairposter49 years ago this very evening, the stage musical HAIR opened at the Shaftesbury Theatre, heralding the dawn of the Age of Aquarius, whatever that was. A troupe of hirsute performers led initially by Oliver Tobias and including Richard O’Brien and Tim Curry (yes, the seeds of Rocky Horror) delighted London audiences for the next five years until the theatre roof literally came down.

The previous era –  the Age of Stage Censorship – had ended the previous day with the Theatres Act 1968. This new law extinguished the considerable and centuries-old powers of the Lord Chamberlain to curtail all sweary bits, nudy bits and politically subversive bits from the theatres of the nation.

As the title suggests, the Lord Chamberlain is a Royal official. Originally, the approval or otherwise of new productions fell to the Master of the Revels, a powerful and lucrative royal sinecure. His physical office between 1578 and 1607 was based at St John’s Gate in Clerkenwell. Whenever I visit there, I always imagine the work of Shakespeare and his great contemporaries  having their first airing in front of the Master or his officials.

This situation pertained (not forgetting, of course, outright suppression during the Commonwealth) until 1737. Robert Walpole happened to be the Master of the Revels at that time. Weary of anti-government satire by the likes of Henry Fielding, Walpole put censorship on a statutory footing with his Licensing Act 1737, giving the responsibility of stage censorship directly to the Lord Chamberlain. Under the Act, the Lord Chamberlain could suppress any performance without recourse of appeal. The measures were softened with slight modifications in 1788 and 1843, but essentially our public entertainment remained thus bridled for over 200 years.


Interesting article on HAIR and contemporary theatre censorship here.
Complete 1968 HAIR soundtrack on YouTube here (terrific!).

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After Helen Szamuely passed away earlier this year, I thought I’d published everything she’d done for us, but I was wrong. This piece was from LH Members’ newsletter of October 2013. 

by Helen Szamuely

Everyone who likes mooching round second hand bookshops, print shops, shops with theatre programmes and knick-knacks knows Cecil Court, the alleyway that runs between Charing Cross Road and St Martin’s Lane. It has been there, apparently, since the seventeenth century but only since the second half of the eighteenth in its present state and it has been the centre of the second hand book trade for decades.

Some time ago I noticed that apart from the tablet on No. 9 that tells us of the child Mozart staying there with his parents on their visit to London in 1764 others have appeared on some houses that tell us about the various film companies and related businesses that existed in Cecil Court during the first flowering of British cinema between 1894 and 1914. Near the Charing Cross end of the alleyway there is a green plaque, which explains that it was known as Flicker Alley (though this name is rarely if at all mentioned in histories of the silent film) and was home to offices by British film pioneers like Cecil Hepworth and James Williamson as well as international companies like Gaumont, Nordisk and Vitagraph. Other plaques, blue this time, are on the various buildings where these companies were.

Flicker_Alley500

Flicker_Alley 02_500

27 Cecil Court, where one can find Stephen Poole Fine Books, has three plaques though two are clearly for one company as it evolved. One tells us that Gaumont had an office here from 1904 – 1906 having expanded from 25 Cecil Court (now Goldsboro Books, specialists in signed first editions but also a shop that from time to time has a stall of second-hand paperbacks outside it, many of which are detective stories and all at a reasonable price). After Gaumont, the building was taken over by James Williamson and Co that turned into Williamson, Dressler and Co. in 1908, staying in Cecil Court for another year. James Williamson was a chemist in Brighton where he started film manufacture, moving to London later. In 1901 his made what must have been an exciting and sensational film about the Boxer Rebellion, Attack on a China Mission. According to the Stage Year Book for 1908, the previous year saw two very popular films from this company: a drama entitled Just in Time and a comedy, Bobby’s Birthday.

On 13 Cecil Court where Motion Books is to be found now the plaque says that in 1914 it was the home of Quo Vadis Film Company, described as a Cinema Services and Rental Agency.

18 Cecil Court, where Peter Ellis Bookseller is now, also has two plaques. One is for Nordisk Film Company, a UK representative for a Danish film studio that traded at this address from 1908 to 1910 and was responsible for a very successful film in the first of those years: The Lion Hunt. Where there are films there are cinemas and where there are cinemas there are chocolates. The same address accommodated the Theatre Chocolate Company in 1911.

There were other companies in Cecil Court in that period, and probably there will be more plaques up soon. Hepworth Manufacturing Company was at 15 – 17 Cecil Court (Motor Books and Travis & Emery Music Bookshop) for some years. It had been established by Cecil Hepworth in 1899 and manufactured such essential objects as arc lamps and provided printing and developing, all under the special trade mark of Hepwire. They also made films, the most popular of which was Dumb Sagacity in 1907, the year in which the comedy That Fatal Sneeze came out.

The Cinematograph Syndicate was at 23 Cecil Court (now part of Goldsboro Books). They manufactured films and other supplies but also made their own films like The Gamekeeper’s Dog and Tommy’s Box of Tools. Hepworth also made a number of films about cars, which in those days meant films about car disasters. 1900 saw the ominously titled How it Feels to be Run Over and Explosion of a Motor Car.

cecil_hepworth500
Cecil Hepworth (1874 – 1953)

At the other end of the alleyway, at 3 – 5 Cecil Court (partly Storey’s Ltd now) was the New Bioscope Trading Company, which had been established in 1904. It made and hired films and was the manufacturer of the “Dreadnought” Bioscope.

While Cecil Court was not the only place where film companies and related businesses moved in the early years of the twentieth century (there were some in Charing Cross Road and even in Soho), this was clearly a magnet for many of them both British and foreign. The British film industry was buoyant for a number of years. However the film historian Ian Christie says in The Last Machine:
“In 1914 The Times reported that only 2 per cent of the million feet of film sold for exhibition in London each week was home-produced. The writing was already on the wall: having been a leading exporter from 1896 to 1907, Britain could now be the first country to have gained and lost a film industry in a little over twenty years.” (p. 135)

The dates on the plaques confirm this: most of the companies seem to have left Flicker Alley by 1908. Professor Christie speculates about the reason for this collapse and suggests that the British film industry, successful though it was for two decades, lacked support both from business with bankers and financiers remaining sceptical and from the intelligentsia, even writers who could be described as prophets of modernity and whose works were filmed at the time, like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, H. G. Wells, Rudyard Kipling or G. B. Shaw. Not so in other countries, says Mr Christie, where the financial and intellectual importance of the cinema was perceived very early on. Not till the thirties did Britain recover ground in film-making.

 

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