Walking the Limehouse Cut – Part 2

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In the first part of my walk along the Limehouse Cut, I started where the Cut once entered the River Thames (blue arrow in the following map), and ended where Morris and Violet Roads cross the Cut (red arrow). In today’s post, I am continuing along the Limehouse Cut to where it meets the River Lea and walking up towards Three Mills Island (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

From here onwards, there are not so many people walking along the tow path. The first part of the walk has been reasonably busy with walkers, joggers and cyclists.

If you do walk the same route, the only thing to watch out for is the occasional cyclist who does not give any warning of their approach, races up behind you, and when you are aware of them coming up behind, the distance is insufficient for both pedestrian and cyclist to safely move to opposite sides of the tow path. One cyclist almost ended up in the water when we both moved to the same side, and the distance between us required an emergency swerve.

This was only a single instance, the majority of cyclists are very considerate of pedestrians.

A short distance along from the Morris and Violet Roads bridge is the bridge that carries the Docklands Light Railway across the Limehouse Cut. As I passed under the bridge, a train passed above:

This is the section of the DLR that runs between Poplar and Stratford, Devons Road station to the north west and Langdon Park station to the south east. It was originally the route of the North London Railway, and on the land to the right of the above photo, there was a complex of engine and carriage sheds with multiple tracks to serve these, and provide a connection with the main railway.

The Limehouse Cut now has a much more industrial / commercial feel to the land alongside the Cut, which probably explains why there are not so many people walking this section than along the earlier part of the walk:

Very few remains of earlier industry survive, however is the metal frame of an earlier building surrounding a new building seen to the left in the following photo. This was originally a furniture factory and what is now a rusty metal frame once extended over the Limehouse Cut to provide a gantry with facilities to load and unload barges on the water:

Further along there is a length of metal piling and concrete infill extending into the water. I cannot find any similar features in earlier maps, and it looks relatively new. No idea of the purpose:

For almost the entire length of the route, the Limehouse Cut has been a straight line. It was built at a time when north of a small area along the river, there was no development, so the original builders dug the Cut through what was rural land.

We are now though approaching the end of the Limehouse Cut and there is a slight curve in the route:

Well signposted:

The towpath changes here and offers two routes. To the right, the footpath runs up to the six lanes of the A12 road, and to the left, and new walkway takes the walking route along the side of Limehouse Cut:

And under the A12:

This walkway was needed when the A12 was enlarged. This section has always been a narrow part of the Cut, and a place where Leonard’s Road crossed, however the routing of the A12 from Stratford down to East India Dock Road (A13) and the Blackwall Tunnel required a new, significantly larger bridge to be built.

There were a good number of ducks along the length of the Limehouse Cut, and after walking under the A12, one of the breeds seen on the water has been painted on the wall of a building to the side of the Cut:

Looking back towards the bridge thar carries the A12, and next to it another bridge for Gillender Street. The original wall of the Cut can be seen on the left:

At the end of the walkway, the water opens up as we approach the River Lea:

I have been using the name River Lea throughout my posts on the Limehouse Cut, although two spellings are used for the river that the Limehouse Cut was built to bypass. Lea and Lee.

The source of the River Lea is in Bedfordshire, to the north of Luton. The river runs through Bedfordshire, Hertfordshire, on the edge of Essex before heading into Greater London.

The name Lea is used from the source to Hertforshire, and from Hertford to the Thames, both Lea and Lee are used.

The Lee comes from the Lee Navigation.

The reason why the Limehouse Cut was built was to bypass the River Lea as it ran to the east of the Isle of Dogs, to provide a more direct route to the City of London, to avoid the bends in the River Lea as it approached the Thames and to avoid the tidal sections of the Lea.

Similiar issues resulted in the construction of the Lee Navigation. This is a canal built on a parallel route to the River Lea, with an aim of smoothing out many of the bends in the Lea, providing additional space for boats, along a route where water levels could be managed. In a number of places the Lee Navigation and River Lea are combined as a single channel.

This is why a look at a map reveals a complex route of parrallel waterways, which often combine.

In the following map, the River Lea runs to the right and the Lee Navigation to the left, as they both pass through, and then head north from Stratford (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

The River Lea had been subject to many previous attempts to manage the use of the river, make improvements and control water extraction. See my post on the New River for where this early 17th century approach for providing water supplies to the growing city met the Lea.

The 1767 River Lee Navigation Act authorised a number of improvements, including the construction of new lengths of canal, and further acts, such as the 1850 Lee Navigation Improvement Act allowed additional construction, including a number of locks along the route.

The parallel running, sometimes combining and both routes serving the same source and destination have resulted in both Lea and Lee being used, however Lea is for the river and Lee is for the Lee Navigation, the fully navigable canal system built over the last few centuries, that provides an easier to use route than the river, and we see this name as we approach the point where Limehouse Cut, Lee Navigation and River Lee combine:

And it is here that we find the Bow Locks:

Bow Locks control access from where the Limehouse Cut meets the River Lea, and Bow Creek, also known as the River Lea which runs down to the River Thames, and is tidal:

In the background of the above photo there is a grey / white bridge. This is a 1930s foot bridge that spans the waterways, and although I was at the end of the Limehouse Cut, I wanted to explore a bit further, so headed over this footbridge:

From the footbridge, we can look over the lock and along Bow Creek / River Lea as it heads towards the Thames. The mud banks on the side show that this stretch of the river is tidal, and demonstrates why the lock is needed. On the right edge of the photo, a small part of the Limehouse Cut can be seen. It is these locks that ensure there is a stable height of water in the Limehouse Cut:

Around 20 years before the completion of the Limehouse Cut, where it joins the River Lea was an area of fields, orchards, gardens and limited housing. In the following extract from Rocque’s map of 1746, you can see the world BROMLEY curving to the left of centre. The Limehouse Cut went through the letter M as it ran from bottom left up to join the River Lea:

To demonstrate the complexity of the River Lea / Lea Navigation, and the associated waterways in the area, the following extract is from Smiths New Plan of London from 1816, and shows the straight line of the Limehouse Cut joining one of the strands of the Lea:

The complexity of this water network can be shown using the same map, but a bit further north in the area surrounding and to the north of Stratford. The names Stratford Marsh and Bow Marshes demonstrate the nature of the surrounding land, and how the Lea river system has had an impact on this area for centuries:

After that slight digression, I am still on the footbridge, and this is the view looking north with the bridge carrying Twelvetrees Crescent across the Lea:

The orange boat moored in the above photo is an old British Gas life boat, which I assume came from either a North Sea gas / oil rig or a ship – and is now performing a very different use.

Walking under Twelvetrees Crescent Bridge, and there is a walkway that once provided access to the gas works just to the east:

Further on is the bridge that carries both the District and the Hammersmith & City lines over the Lea:

Along this stretch of the Lea is a rather isolated but colourful piece of sculpture. I knew it was sculpture as the small blue plaque on the concrete base states “Please do not climb on the sculpture”:

The sculpture is part of “The Line”, and the following is from the project’s website: “The Line is London’s first dedicated public art walk. Connecting three boroughs (Newham, Tower Hamlets and Greenwich) and following the Greenwich Meridian, it runs between Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park and The O2 on Greenwich Peninsula. The Line features an evolving programme of art installations (loans and commissioned works), projects and events, illuminating an inspiring landscape where everyone can explore art, nature and heritage for free.”

The above work is by Rasheed Araeen, who “is renowned for his use of an open cube structure with diagonal support in his sculptural works”.

A map of the route of The Line, and the works along the route, can be found at this link.

Looking across the branch of the Lea that runs to the right of where I am walking, are the old gas holders of the Bromley by Bow gas works:

The 1914 revision of the OS map shows the round circles of the gas holders, and a short distance below is the Bromley Gas Works, who had their own dock leading from the River Lea. A small part of this dock still remains in the middle of an industrial estate which has taken over the land of the gas works:

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

The following photo from Britain from Above shows the Bromley by Bow Gas Works in 1924. The River Lea can be seen running below the gas works buildings, and the dock that served the works can be seen coming of the Lea on the right of the photo, and running into the heart of the works. The gas holders are off to the left of the photo, a short distance from the works:

The Bromley by Bow gas works have a fascinating history and hopefully will be the subject of a future post, but for now I am continuing along the River Lea to my final stop.

In the complex web of waterways, as we approach Three Mills Island, we can see through the trees and bushes that line the river, the Channelsea River, one of the old rivers that ran across Bow. It now runs up to Abbey Road where it disappears into a culvert, and also forms the southern part of the channels that now makes Three Mills Island, an island:

If you go back to the 1746 and 1816 maps, you will see the Channelsea River heading east from the Lea, just below the Mill.

Back looking along the River Lea, and if it was not for the tower blocks in the background, this idyllic view could be deep in the countryside rather than being in east London:

The brick buildings to the right of the above photo are those of the old mill buildings on Three Mills Island, which look glorious as you approach:

Although now an island due to the rivers that surround the site, it has not always been an island as the maps earlier in the post show. The site became an island when a channel along the east of the site was built from the Channelsea River back up to the River Lea.

Mills have been operating here for centuries, making use of the power of the water and tides along the River Lea. The buildings that we see today are mainly 18th century and range from Grade I to Grade II listed:

Back in 1972, the Architects’ Journal featured a lenghty article on the sites in east London that were considered at risk. Bombing, post war industrial and population decline across east London resulted in a range of buildings that were considered at risk of demolition.

I started working through all the sites back in 2017, to see how many had survived. The first post in the series is here. I still have a small number to finish off.

Given what a wonderful set of buildings we see today, it is surprise (or perhaps not given the attitude to many old industrial buildings at the time), that the mill buildings were considered at risk, including what is the world’s largest surviving tidal mill.

At the end of the street in the above photo is 3 Mills Studio, a studio complex built on the site of the Three Mills Distillery, and the studios where Master Chef is filmed.

As with the gas works, the history of this site deserves a dedicated post, which will hopefully appear in the not too distant future.

It is a really interesting walk along the Limehouse Cut from the old entrance to the Thames, up to the River Lea, and along the Lea to Three Mills Island.

Limehouse DLR station is near the start of the walk and Bromley by Bow station is a short walk from the end (walk to the north of the nearby Tesco store, underneath the A12, then south to the station.

The Limehouse Cut was a clever answer to the challenges of 18th century cargo transport from the Lea to the City of London, along with the docks and industry along the Thames from Limehouse to the City.

The Limehouse Cut eliminated the need for a long detour around the Isle of Dogs, the curving southern stretch of the Lea into the Thames, and the tidal challenges of this stretch of river.

Today it provides the route for a fascinating walk.

alondoninheritance.com

There is Something Missing on the Southbank and Resources

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I was going to continue my journey along the Limehouse Cut in today’s post. However, it is the first post of a new month, when I feature a Resources section in the post, looking at resources to help with researching and exploring London, so to keep the post to a reasonable size, I am starting with a different subject.

Also, the problems with the blog that I mentioned a few weeks ago have been reoccurring, with the site occasionally going off line, and also with very slow performance. I hope to be able to bring in some additional technical support to try and get this resolved this coming week, but if the blog and posts disappear for a while, it will be back.

Last weekend I was walking across the footbridge alongside Hungerford Bridge, looking over at the very familiar view towards Waterloo Bridge, the City and along the Southbank, when I noticed that there was something missing:

For those of a certain age, the following clip may offer a clue:

The missing feature is the white, square tower seen in the following photo, behind the right hand yellow crane, covered in scaffolding ready for demolition:

The tower was Kent House / the Southbank Television Centre / the London Studios, the original home of London Weekend Television, and in recent decades of ITV, with much of their national and local output coming from the studios that clustered around the base of the tower.

The building dates from a time when there were two independent TV stations covering London and the surrounding Home Counties. Thames Television broadcast from Monday to Friday, when on Friday evening Thames would handover to London Weekend Television who would broadcast until the following Monday morning.

London Weekend Television (LWT) took over the franchise for providing London’s weekend television service from ATV in 1968, with LWT’s first studios being at Wembley at facilities rented from Rediffusion.

LWT’s intention had been to have their own, purpose built, modern television studios along with space for offices so the company could be located in one place.

A site on the Southbank was available close to the National Theatre, and development of the new studios would continue the westward development of the south bank, and followed the 1944 Abercrombie plan for London which had proposed cultural, offices, residential and open space to replace the old industrial sprawl alongside the river.

The first transmission of TV programmes from the new studios was in 1972, with the site being fully complete two years later.

The tower block was mainly offices, although there was a studio higher up the tower for a number of years, when use was made of the view over London as a backdrop for programmes.

Surrounding the base of the tower were a number of studios used for the production of LWT and wider ITV national output as providing space which other broadcasters could use.

If you have watched almost any ITV live productions, game shows, dramas such as Upstairs, Downstairs, ITV’s World of Sport, BBC shows such as Have I Got News For You, QI, the Graham Norton Show, they were all filmed in the studios at the base of the tower on the Southbank.

The studios were also used by many other production companies and broadcasters.

The tower has been a feature of many of my photos, dating back to the late 1970s. This is a photo from 2017 when it was still occupied by ITV:

This photo from 2022 shows the tower standing in isolation on the Southbank (the Shard is hidden behind the tower):

As the local independent television regions went through a period of change and consolidation, LWT was taken over by Granada in 1994. Carlton Communications had previously won the franchise for the London weekday service from Thames Television, and by 2004 Granada and Carlton merged all their operations which included the many regional operators they had taken over such as LWT, to form ITV as a public limited company.

The studio complex also went through some changes from the South Bank Television Centre to The London Studios.

in 2018, ITV announced that the studios were to be closed allowing the buildings to be demolished to make way for new office and production facilities. ITV’s live broadcasts, mainly their daytime programmes would temporarily move to the old BBC Television Centre at White City as the BBC had moved out with the centre “donut” of offices being converted to apartments, and some of the studios remaining, and available for hire.

Later in the same year, it became clear that ITV would not be returning to any refurbished site, and they would use the studios at White City as a long term resource.

ITV had earlier purchased the freehold of the site from the properties division of the Coal Pension Fund, and I suspect they realised that the site was far more valuable if sold to developers, rather than the costs of refurbished studios and remaining on the South Bank.

The site was sold to Mitsubishi Estate, the Japanese property developer, and owner of a number of buildings across London.

The view as was of the tower and the studios from the Embankment walkway:

The view now that the tower and studios have been demolished:

My first photo of the LWT tower and studio complex was in 1980, from the old walkway that ran alongside Hungerford Bridge:

In the above photo, the tower is towards the back of the complex, with the lower studios surrounding the tower and facing on to the river.

The Embankment wall and walkway was being extended in front of both the LWT studios and the new IBM building which was under construction just to the right of the ITV studios.

A different angle to the above view, further along the walkway, with the studios as the white building, and to the right, the IBM building under construction, a building designed by Denys Lasdun, who had also designed the National Theatre, seen to the right of the photo:

The tower to the left of the above two photos is Kings Reach Tower, formerly the home of IPC Magazines / IPC Media, now extended upwards and known as the Southbank Tower and converted to residential.

There is a bit of a mystery in the above two photos which I will come to later in the post.

In 1980 I also took the following photo from the Shell Centre viewing gallery looking down on the LWT tower and studios:

As can be seen in the above photo, the tower is a distance back from the river, with low rise studios between the tower and river. The tower faces onto the street Upper Ground, and this was the view from the street of the base of the tower a couple of years ago, with the first scaffolding that would eventually cover the tower:

A look up at the tower from Upper Ground (personally, I think it was a really well designed and visually pleasing building):

Demolition and development of the site had been delayed due to a large number of objections. Michael Gove approved the proposals at the start of 2024, and the High Court upheld Gove’s decision in December 2024, and the owners of the site then moved quickly to award a £500 million contract to Multiplex to redevelop the site, with demolition of the tower and studios being the first stage.,

A walk along Upper Ground last weekend showed that demolition is now almost complete:

The south west corner of the complex was the only part remaining, and I suspect that by the time you read this, this remaining section will have gone.

In the following photo, the main entrance was underneath the “Thame” lettering. A couple of years ago this was the name Thames Television, as one of the last productions filmed in the building was a recreation of the infamous Bill Grundy interview with the Sex Pistols in December 1976, which had been filmed in a Thames Television studio next to Euston Tower. This was for the 2022 TV mini series on the band.

The remaining section looks almost like the ruins of a medieval castle. When I worked in the area in the late 1990s, it was common to see a queue of audience participants lining up along the base of the left of the building in the following photo, waiting to see what ever was being filmed that evening:

The new development will be very different, and will consist of a 25 storey office building, which will be connected to two further buildings of 14 and 6 storeys.

The space will provide offices and workspace, along with space “tailored to the needs of Lambeth’s emerging creative industries”. There will also be the obligatory open space, cafes, restaurants and a “cultural venue”.

See the page at the following link on the Matrix website (the company responsible for the development) to see an image of what the site will look like after completion, currently planned for 2029:

https://www.multiplex.global/uk/news/construction-starts-at-72-upper-ground-with-appointment-of-multiplex

The image on the above page shows probably the most attractive view of the development, rather than the view looking across the river to the site where the new towers will dominate the area.

The image at the above page does not show the restaurants currently located at Gabriel’s Wharf, so whether these are hidden below the edge of new development, or whether the land will be included in the new development, I do not know.

In many ways, the new development does continue the intentions of the 1944 Abercrombie plan regarding the use of the South Bank. The key issue is the sheer size of the development. If you look along the South Bank there is a reasonably consistent building height from County Hall down to the old IBM building, which has recently been refurbished, and is Grade II listed.

Kent Tower, the tower block of the LWT studios complex was the first tower along this sectionion of the South Bank, and as shown in my 1980s photo, it did stand out. It was though, set back from the river and did not dominate the IBM and National Theatre buildings.

I suspect that the new development will be very different, as will the view from the walkway alongside Hungerford Bridge in 2029.

A Southbank Mystery

I mentioned earlier in the post that there is a mystery in two of my 1980s photos.

Despite looking at these photos a number of times, there is a feature I had not noticed, and I cannot remember it from the time.

There is something on the foreshore at the end of the red arrow:

On a raised platform above the foreshore is a helicopter, the platform looks to be towards the end of Old Barge House Stairs:

I cannot remember ever seeing or hearing about a helicopter here. The location looks rather precarious, and the platform appears to be below the high tide level.

I did wonder if it was a model, but it looks very realistic in these grainy extracts from my film photos.

Whether it was a one off, temporary, or provided a service for some time, again I just do not know, but it is always interesting to discover stuff I did not know.

An even grainer view of the helicopter from a different angle:

The southern side of the river has frequently been used for helicopter services.

The London Heliport at Battersea has been providing a helicopter service since 1959, and in the early 1950s, after the closure of the Festival of Britain, where the Jubilee Gardens is located today was the site of a helicopter service linking central London with Heathrow Airport.

You could check for your flight opposite Waterloo Station, board your helicopter, and be speeding above the traffic to the airport.

I found the following Pathe news film about the helicopter service from the South Bank:

Resources – Britain from Above

Continuing my monthly look at the resources available to research and explore London’s history, and for this month I am looking at the Britain from Above website, which can be found here:

https://britainfromabove.org.uk

Many of the resources I am covering are easy ways to get diverted and spend a whole evening looking at what is on the site, and Britain from Above is another example. There are very many photos covering the early to mid 20th century, not just of London but of the whole country.

The homepage:

The first thing to do is register, which is free. By registering, you are able to go full screen and zoom in to images at much greater detail.

The easiest way to then get started is to enter the name of a location in the Image Ref or Keywords box on the menu bar, and then click search.

This will bring up all photos which fit the search criteria.

To demonstrate, I searched for the Limehouse Cut, the subject of last Sunday’s post, and of the many images available, the following is an example from 1951, which shows the Limehouse Cut, on the left side of the photo, and highlights that this was a very straight canal through former rural land which in the following years had been surrounded by industry and housing. Zooming in allows detail of the industry along the side of the Limehouse Cut to be seen:

Searching for Limehouse Cut also brings up any images with the word Limehouse, and in the same search is this 1928 image of Regent’s Canal Dock. In 1928, the Limehouse Cut still used the original route into the Thames, and by zooming into the photo, this can still be seen, just to the north of the Regent’s Canal Dock (with the later redevelopment of the area, the Limehouse Cut would be diverted into the Regent’s Canal Dock, now known as the Limehouse Basin / Marina):

When searching, there are frequently some unusual photographic finds. In the same Limehouse Cut search is the following image of the Graf Zeppelin in flight over Limehouse in 1931, photographed through the wings of the biplane used by the photographer. The Limehouse Cut can be seen below and to the left of the wing. This must have been a remarkable sight for anyone on the ground at the time:

The archive covers much of the country, for example the following image is of St Mary’s Cathedral, Lincoln in 1921:

Land changes over the decades can be seen. The following image is of the Lighthouse at Happisburgh on the Norfolk coast in 1951. All those building along the edge have since been lost to coastal erosion.

A few years ago, the Happisburgh lighthouse and the nearby Church of St Mary the Virgin, both had open days, when you could climb to the top of bother the lighthouse and the church tower. The following photo from the church tower shows the impact of coastal erosion on this part of the Norfolk coastline:

The Britain from Above archive is a wonderful archive of photos showing London and the rest of the country as it was. The use of photography helps provide an understanding of how places have changed. Aerial photos transforms maps into houses, industry, streets, fields, churches and cathedrals, canals and rivers, the coast, and even lighthouses.

Britain from Above allows reuse of the images, such to very reasonable rules of non-commercial use, no sale, no sub-licensing or use for advertising, making sure the link to the original image is shown and not clipped out of the image, which is really useful for a personal blog such as alondoninheritance.

An image from the site helped with the correct location of one of my father’s photos when I got the original location wrong in a post. Luckily there are readers who know far more about London than I do and provided an indication of the correct location.

An image from Britain from Above helped to confirm. See the post here: https://alondoninheritance.com/the-thames/st-katharines-way-ship-fires-thames/

Britain from Above is a really wonderful resource.

What I Am Reading – The Sun Rising by Anna Whitelock

The Sun Rising – James I and the Dawn of a Global Britain by Anna Whitelock was a speculative buy after seeing the book, which was published this year, on the shelfs of a bookshop.

The book focuses on the reign of James I, the first Stuart king after the Tudor dynasty came to an end with the death of Queen Elizabeth. A critical time in the country’s history as the Queen had not had any children.

What makes this book different is that it is not just an account of James I, but as the subtitle to the book highlights, it is about Great Britain starting to play catch up with other European powers such as the Netherlands, Spain and Portugal, in establishing networks of world trade.

London does feature heavily in the book, not just with accounts of the processions through the City, but also as the place where many of the trading companies were established to further trade with the rest of the world.

The book does cover domestic events, such as the Gunpowder Plot, trying to unify England and Scotland, Protestant – Catholic conflict, and James’ attempts at trying to unify European Christian powers etc. but the clear emphasis is on Britain’s global trade.

There is the Virginia Company of London, trying to establish settlements in the US, the Plantation of Ulster, the Muscovy Company and the East India Company. Trade with the Shah or Persia, early trade with India.

William Adams from Gillingham, and apprenticed in Limehouse features as a key player in attempts to trade with Japan. See my post on Adams, here.

Pocahontas arrived in London from Virginia, and was taken seriously ill near Gravesend at the start of her return journey. She died in 1617 and was buried at Gravesend.

Although the British trading companies focus was trade, not taking land, we see the start of how this would develop with the first African slaves arriving in the Virginia Plantation in 1619 – the start of the triangular slave trade between Britain, Africa, the Caribbean and America.

We also see the failure in the management of the colony at Virginia by the Virginia Company of London leading the the take over of the land and colony by the Crown – again a sign of what would take place across the world in the coming centuries.

What I did not realise was just how far and how extensive, the network of trade was at the start of the 17th century. Attempts to trade in with Persia, India, the far East, to China, Japan and the Spice Islands.

Some of the horrors inflicted on indigenous populations in the name of trade are covered, including the Dutch massacre of thousands of Bandanese people (on one of the Banda Islands, now part of Indonesia and the source of large quantities of nutmeg, mace and cloves).

My fascination with Thames Stairs and the river includes the lives of people who have travelled out from the stairs and the river on journeys across the world, and this book is full of them – ambassadors, traders, explorers, and settlers – it is quite remarkable how extensive these journeys were in the early 1600s.

The book is a really good read, and helps to provide an understanding of how Britain’s early steps in global trade would develop over the following three hundred years, and many of the horrors that went with this expansion.

And at its root was money. King James I for the revenues that trade would bring to the Crown, and the London trading companies, for the profits of trade. It always comes down to money.

alondoninheritance.com

Walking the Limehouse Cut – Part 1

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Thank you so much for ticket purchases of my walks announced last Sunday. They all sold out on the same day. I will be adding a few more dates for these walks in the coming months, and for an update as soon as they are on line, follow me on Evenbrite, here, and I will also announce in the blog.

For today’s post, I am walking along an 18th century engineering and construction innovation that helped transport goods from the counties north of London, into the city, and also served the industry that developed in east London.

The River Lea (Lee is also used, but I will stick with Lea), runs from Bedfordshire, through Hertfordshire, and then through east London to enter the River Thames just to the east of the Isle of Dogs at Bow Creek.

The Lea was used to carry goods, such as grain and malt, from the counties to the north and east of London to the Thames, where barges would turn west and head into the City.

Traffic on the River Lea started to increase considerably during the 18th century, and during this period a number of improvements were made, including locks and cuts, to bypass meanders in the river.

The big problem for those using the Lea to transport goods into the City was the Isle of Dogs. Being to the east, barges and shipping had to navigate around the Isle of Dogs before they could head into the City. This was at a time before the extensive use of steam power and when barges and shipping relied on the wind and tide.

If you look at the following map, the River Lea is highlighted by the green arrow, with the entrance of the river into the Thames shown by the blue arrow. As can be seen, the Isle of Dogs caused a significant addition to the route to head west into the City (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

There had been proposals to cut a channel through the northern part of the Isle of Dogs to provide a direct route, however use of the land for the docks that expanded across the area was a more profitable and efficient use of the land.

The Civil Engineer John Smeaton had been looking at how the River Lea could be improved to make it easier to navigate, and one of his recommendations was to build a channel or cut from the River Lea to the Thames at Limehouse.

This would provide a direct route to the Thames, and would avoid the time consuming journey around the Isle of Dogs.

The River Lee Act, an Act of Parliament, was obtained in 1766 to build the channel, and work swiftly commenced with the new Limehouse Cut opening on the 17th of September, 1770.

Referring back to the above map, the Limehouse Cut is highlighted by the red arrow, and it can be seen to run from the Lea at the upper part of the Cut, down to enter the Thames at Limehouse.

The map today shows the Limehouse Cut running through an area which is heavily built up, however even over 40 years after completion, much of this area was still rural, and in the following extract from the 1816 edition of Smith’s New Plan of London, we can see the Limehouse Cut running from Limehouse up to the River Lea next to Abbey Marsh through mainly empty land, which allowed a very straight channel to be built:

Not that clear in the above map, but the Limehouse Cut ran directly into the Thames, and the original entrance to the river can still be seen today:

The view looking east from where the Limehouse Cut originally entered the Thames, where we see the Thames turning to the right to start its route around the Isle of Dogs:

And looking west in the direction of the City, the Limehouse Cut provided a far more direct route for shipping on the Lea taking their produce and goods to the City:

Whilst the old entrance remains, the Limehouse Cut is now diverted into the Limehouse Basin. If you refer back to the map of the area today, the Limehouse Basin is the area of water just to the left of the lower part of the Limehouse Cut.

The following map shows Limehouse Basin, look just to the right of where the channel from the basin enters the Thames and there is an indent. This is the original entrance to the Limehouse Cut (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

The Limehouse Basin, or originally the Regent’s Canal Dock opened along with the Regent’s Canal in 1820, to form a place where shipping could dock, load and unload whilst transferring their goods between the barges that travelled along the Regent’s Canal.

The two entrances to the river for the Regent’s Canal Dock and the Limehouse Cut were very close together, and for eleven years between 1853 and 1864, the Limehouse Cut was diverted into the Regent’s Canal Dock, however after 1864 the original entrance was back in use, with a new bridge carrying Narrow Street over the canal. It seems that the return to the original route into the Thames was down to the imposition of additional charges and rules by the owners of the Regent’s Canal Dock on the users of the Limehouse Cut, who now had to pass through the dock to reach the Thames.

Use of the original route would last for another 100 years, when the Limehouse Cut was rediverted back into what is now Limehouse Basin, a routing it retains today.

Although blocked up where the original entrance meets Narrow Street, we can follow the old route of the Limehouse Cut in the way the area has been landscaped as part of the redevelopment.

The side of the 1864 bridge that once carried Narrow Street over the Limehouse Cut remains:

The following photo is the view looking north from the bridge which once took Narrow Street over the Limehouse Cut, and a channel of water follows the original route. It was here that a lock was located to control the height and flow of water between the tidal Thames and the Limehouse Cut:

Which then continues after Northey Street:

And in the following photo, I am now at the Limehouse Cut, where it curves to head towards Limehouse Marina. The original route to the Cut is to the left of the photo:

The following photo is looking north along the Limehouse Cut at the start of the walk. The first of many bridges can be seen. This one carrying the DLR over the Cut:

The Limehouse Cut took just 16 months to build, and was the first canal built in London as well as being one of the first across the country.

As can be seen in the maps at the start of the post, the Cut was (and still is) remarkably straight, and it followed a minor geological feature, where there was a slightly higher flood plain to the north west, and slightly lower flood plain to the south east of the Cut, although with so much later construction, this feature is hardly visible today.

The first road bridge we come to is the bridge that carries the Commercial Road over the Cut:

The Commercial Road was built in the first years of the 19th century to connect the expanding docks to the east of the City, with warehouses, business premises and workers in the City and east London.

The Evening Mail on the 24th of August, 1804 was reporting on the build of the Commercial Road (or Grand Commercial Road as it was first called), and highlighted the Limehouse Cut as being one of the obstructions in Limehouse: “At a short distance before it arrives at Limehouse church, the direct communication is impeded; but to prevent, as much as public convenience could admit, any variation, the bridge of the Limehouse Cut is considerably enlarged”.

Although the bridge was enlarged, the Limehouse Cut still narrows as it passes under the bridge.

Along the route there are reminders of the heritage of the Cut, with features once used for mooring ropes:

Passing under the Commercial Road Bridge, and this is the view looking north:

Much of the Limehouse Cut as well as the Limehouse Basin was covered in green weed growth, possibly a result of the hot summer:

The majority of the land along the side of the Limehouse Cut has been converted to either new apartment buildings, or renovation of earlier buildings into apartments.

Very little examples of the old industries that once lined the Limehouse Cut remain, in the following photo is an example of part of the industrial heritage of the area:

In the late 19th century, the space in the above photo was occupied by a disinfectant factory. I do not know if the buildings and chimney we see today are part of that business, or from the early 20th century.

I have been trying to build a list of all the businesses that once operated along the Limehouse Cut, but it is one of many projects that is taking time to complete and is only partly done.

Looking to the right of the above photo, and we see the bridge carrying Burdett Road over the Cut. A Lidl is on the left, on space once occupied by a lead works:

Passing under the Burdett Road bridge, and the Limehouse Cut carries on to the north. Walking the Cut highlights just how straight the route taken for the construction was, although the empty fields on either side have long gone.

To walk the Limehouse Cut, the eastern side of the Cut is the best route to take, this provides a continuous walkway from the Limehouse Basin, all the way up to where the Cut joins the River Lea.

The eastern side is marked “towing path” on OS maps, so this was the continuous pathway alongside of the Cut so horses and men could pull barges along the length of the Cut.

It is possible to walk parts of the western side of the Cut, however much of this route is built up to the edge of the water.

Along the footpath, there are more reminders of the heritage of the Cut:

Somewhere to stand and look out over the Cut:

Walking further along the Limehouse Cut, and there is a bit more industry along the western edge. Not the dirty, manufacturing businesses that once occupied the space rather light industrial, storage and distribution etc.

A short distance along and there is a short indent to the Cut named Abbott’s Wharf:

There was an Abbott’s Wharf to the left, however checking the OS maps for 1914 and 1951, and there is no indent at this position. There was an Abbott’s Wharf as a set of large buildings to the left, but the OS maps show a continuous tow path, without any indent, so this is probably part of the recent redevelopment of the area as a new apartment block to the right of the wharf is named Abbott’s Wharf.

A short distance along is the bridge that carries Bow Common Lane (to the west) and Upper North Street (to the east), across the Limehouse Cut:

The Limehouse Cut, along with the Regent’s Canal, helped the considerable industrial development of the area, and industry took up a considerable length of the sides of the Limehouse Cut.

Much of this was dirty, polluting industry, although there were places such as biscuit factories along the route.

In the 1860s, the rector of St. Anne’s Limehouse wrote that “no bargee who fell in had any chance of surviving his ducking in the filthy water”, such was the polluted state of the water.

Despite this claim in the 1860s, and the considerable range of dirty and polluting industries alongside the Cut, in 1877 the Limehouse Board of Works was claiming that the water was in excellent condition. At a meeting looking into a number of local issues, when talking about fever and smallpox:

“Mr. Peachey stated that fever was prevalent in the neighbourhood of the Limehouse Cut. Mr. Potto said that the disease could not be attributed to the Limehouse Cut for the water there was in excellent condition.”

I am not sure though whether Mr. Potto would have been happy to swim in the Cut despite his claim.

The bridge shown in the above photo was a notorious place for the appalling smell from adjacent industries and the bridge acquired the name of Stinkhouse bridge.

Stinkhouse Bridge was mentioned in numerous newspaper reports in the 19th century, including one report in 1844 about a fire at a factory complex next to the bridge. The factory was a pitch, tar and naphtha distillery. Naphtha is a distillation of crude oil, gas, or coal-tar.

There were attempts at cleaning up the root cause of the smells, for example, the following is from the East London Observer in November 1878, reporting on a local council meeting, where:

“The Medical Officer of the North District (Mr. Talbot), reported that in consequence of complaints made to him concerning noxious vapours in the vicinity of ‘Stink House Bridge’, he had carried out a series of systematic observations both as to their existence and their causes. The results of his examination, with the assistance of Inspector Raymond, were that the nuisance was traced to some six factories, and in each case a notice had been served by order of the Sanitary Committee, and a communication sent to the Metropolitan Board about the discharge of ammoniacal liquor into the sewers.”

The notices served do not seem to have had too much impact, as complaints continued for many years.

The name Stinkhouse Bridge continued to be in use for many decades. The last written use in either local or national press was in 1950.

Underneath the bridge, there are raised sets along the towpath. I do not know if they are original, or if they were there to help provide grip for the horses pulling barges along the Cut:

As with the River Thames, the Limehouse Cut was both a playground and a death trap for children.

As industry populated the banks of the Cut, and streets with housing covered the surrounding area, children were drawn to the Cut by the attraction of water, the novelty of the barges both moored and passing along the Cut, and the variety of places to play.

This resulted in the deaths, usually by drowning, of a considerable number of children. Looking through old newspapers, a child’s death is reported almost every year.

For example, two years that are typical:

  • 1936 – A verdict of accidental death was recorded by Dr. R.L. Guthrie at a Shoreditch inquest upon John Brown aged 7, of 72 Coventry Cross Estate, Bow, who was drowned in Limehouse Cut on Saturday
  • 1937 – Dinner Hour Swim which Ended Fatally. A verdict of accidental death was recorded on George Henry Hector, aged 16, employed at Crown Wharf, Thames Street, Limehouse, who was drowned in Limehouse Cut

Fires were frequent along the Limehouse Cut, both in the buildings alongside, and in the barges travelling and moored along the Cut. Buildings were often storing or processing, and barges were transporting, highly inflammable goods.

One such example is from 1935, as reported in the following article;

“Frederick Carpenter, aged 15, of Provident Buildings, Limehouse, played a valuable part in assisting to prevent the spread of an outbreak of fire which involved three barges lying in Limehouse Cut, near Burdett Road, Limehouse.

Several craft were stationed close together, and Carpenter leapt through flames and smoke to loosen moorings so that those which were on fire might be separated from the rest. A crowd on onlookers helped to drag other barges out of the danger area. Of the barges which caught fire two were laden with timber and one with bales of sacks.

Firemen fought for more that an hour to extinguish the blaze.”

The Limehouse Cut is a very different place today:

In the above photo, the Limehouse Cut appears reasonably wide. It does narrow where it passes under bridges, but for much of its length, it is wide enough for barges to be moored either side, and a couple of barges to pass in the centre. This was not how the Cut was originally built.

When the Limehouse Cut was opened in 1770, it was only wide enough to carry a Lea Barge with a standard beam (width) of 13 foot. Very quickly this became a significant problem with the number of barges attempting to travel both ways along the Cut.

A couple of years after opening, passing places started to be built along the length of the Cut, but this was a very limited solution, and to support the expected rapid increase in use of the Cut, in 1773 it was decided that the whole length of the Cut should be widened to allow barges to pass in both direction.

It took some time to widen a working canal, but by 1807 the majority of the Limehouse Cut had been widened to 55 feet. The challenge was with the bridges, and as can still be seen today at a couple of the bridges, the Cut narrows to pass underneath the bridge.

The Limehouse Cut continues to be lined with a much smaller number of barges than when the Cut was in use as a route between the River Lea and the Thames, and the majority today appear to be residential:

The following bridge carries Morris Road (to the south east) and Violet Road (to the north west), over the Limehouse Cut:

There are a range of interesting features here, and it is worth walking up to the bridge to take a look.

Firstly, along the eastern side of the Limehouse Cut is Spratt’s Patent Limited factory, a manufacturer of foods for a wide range of domestic animals, probably best known for their dog foods:

In 1910, Pratt’s Patent were supporting the Cruft’s dog shows, where they were described as “the universal providers to the dog, poultry and caged bird fraternities”.

At a 1910 Kennel Club show at Crystal Palace, Spratt’s Patent provided the food for 3,346 dogs.

Spratt’s Patent was founded by James Spratt, an American electrician who arrived in the UK in the 1850s intending to manufacture and sell lightning conductors.

The story behind the animal foods business is that in east London he saw dogs eating the hard biscuits left from the ships docked in the area. He patented a new dog food which was made by baking wheat-meal which had been mixed with rendered meat and vegetables. 

Whether it was coincidence or not, Charles Cruft, the founder of Cruft’s Dog Shows started off as an employee of Spratt’s Patent, and when Cruft went on to run the dog shows, Spratt’s became a key supplier.

For many years, the company was the largest manufacturer of dog food and dog biscuits in the world, and supplied not just domestic demand, but also the US and Europe, along with exports to many other countries.

They also had premises in Bermondsey and Barking. Their address in Bermondsey was used for advertising featuring Dog Medicines, Poultry Houses, Appliances and Medicines, and via Bermondsey, dog owners could also entrust Spratt’s Patent with their dogs whilst they were on holiday. The dogs were transferred to Mitcham, as in the following from the Kilburn Times in July 1891:

“PETS IN HOLIDAY TIME – our readers, before leaving for their holidays , might entrust their canine friends as boarders to Spratt’s Patent Dog Sanitorium, which is on a healthy site near Mitcham. The kennels are large and spacious, the dogs are groomed and exercised for several hours daily, and are not caged or chained. Write Spratt’s Patent Limited, Bermondsey for all particulars.”

Today the building is mainly residential.

The bridge carrying Morris and Violet Roads over the Limehouse Cut has a new deck, however at the four corners of the bridge, the brick pillars survive:

On one pillar is a plaque that tells that the bridge was built by the Board of Works for the Poplar District, and that it was opened on the 19th of May, 1890.

On the other three pillars there are coats of arms. These seem to be arms of many of the boroughs in London that may have some involvement with the Limehouse Cut.

In the following, the arms of the City of London are on the left, not sure about the arms on the right:

Morris Road is the eastern side of the bridge, towards Poplar, and the arms on this side of the bridge are those of old Poplar Borough Council:

And the third pillar has a collection of arms, which I need to research:

Back down alongside the Limehouse Cut, and the banks along the western side look almost as if they are lining a country canal.

In the next post, I will complete the walk, and reach where the Limehouse Cut meets the River Lea, the Bow Locks, and take a quick look at the Bromley by Bow Gas Works and Three Mills Island.

alondoninheritance.com

Two New Walks – The Strand, Thames Foreshore and Woolwich to the Royal Docks

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It has taken me some time, however I have finally organised some new walks. Two walks that are very different, but both exploring some fascinating London history, with the second walk exploring an area you may not have visited before, and includes a crossing of the Thames on the Woolwich free ferry.

Details for these two new walks are as follows, and all proceeds from my walks cover both the costs of the walk, and the costs of hosting the blog, so your support is much appreciated.

From the Strand to the Old Thames Shoreline – The Transformation of Grand Estates to the Alleys and Lanes of Today

The Strand forms part of an historic route between the City of London and Westminster, and ran along reasonably high, dry ground along the edge of the Thames. The land down from the Strand once formed the northern edge of the river, an edge which has been continuously pushed back, with the 1860s / early 1870s build of the Embankment separating the old shoreline from the river for good.

The area from the Strand to the old Thames Shoreline has been home to the palaces and grounds that belonged to the nobility of the country, one of which can be traced back to the 13th century, and is still marked today, with part of the original estate owned by the King.

There have been grand palaces and gardens, water gates and Thames stairs, slums, poverty, 18th century grand houses and the “Hospital of Henry late King of England of the Savoy”. The land down from the Strand has been threaded with streams, alleys, vaults and tunnels.

Lasting around two hours, this walk will start at Embankment underground station and end at Temple underground station, this walk will explore the area as it is today and find what remains of the long history of this unique place, as well as the people who lived, sheltered and worked here and made this long-lost foreshore to the Thames part of London’s long history.

The walk lasts about 2 hours and meets at Embankment underground station. Final meeting point details will be emailed in the week prior to the walk. Please get in contact if not received.

Click here for dates and booking.

In the Steps of a Woolwich Dock Worker – From the Woolwich Ferry to the Royal Docks

“The appearance of the electric lights at the new docks, seen from any eminence where a full view of the whole sweep can be obtained, is on a clear night very striking and beautiful, especially if a position is chosen from which any of the brilliant sparks are seen reflected in the river. In another sense beyond pleasure to the eye, they are beacons of satisfaction to the people of Woolwich, for they typify better days in store, increase in trade, and reduction of local burdens.”

This was how the Kentish Independent on the 16th of October 1880 described the view from Woolwich following the start of the electrification of the Royal Docks.

It must have been a stunning sight, and the new docks, the largest in the world when completed, were a major source of employment for the inhabitants of Woolwich.

In this walk, we will follow a dockyard worker from Woolwich, cross the river by the Free Ferry, and then explore the history of the Royal Docks, starting with the King George V, then the Royal Albert, and finishing with the Royal Victoria.

Although the docks closed in 1981, we can still see the sheer scale of what was the largest dock complex in the world, by the size of the body of water where ships once arrived and departed, loaded and unloaded travelling across the world to and from London, carrying all manner of goods.

On this walk, we will explore the Free Ferry, the Thames foot tunnel, (a look at the entrances, rather than walk the tunnel – the lifts are usually out of order), the old North Woolwich Station and Pier, Pleasure Gardens, Royal Victoria Gardens, King George V Lock and Dock, the Dock pumping station that still keeps the docks full today, the Royal Albert Dock, London City Airport, some of the impressive buildings that survive from the Royal Docks working life, and how the docks have been, and continue to be redeveloped.

Click here for dates and booking.

Crossing the Thames on the Woolwich ferry, with the Thames Barrier and the Isle of Dogs in the background. The ferry dances around the second ferry as they both cross the river at the same time. The ferry forms part of the walk.

Please note the following about the Royal Docks walk:

  • I will send an email in the week before the walk with final meeting point details. If you do not receive, please get in contact.
  • The walk starts from in front of Woolwich Station on the Elizabeth Line
  • The walk crosses the river using the Woolwich Free Ferry
  • This walk is around 3 hours long and roughly 3 miles in distance
  • The walk finishes at the Royal Albert DLR Station
  • There are two optional extensions, firstly to look at the Queen Victoria Dock and then continuing to London City Airport where there is also a DLR station

If there is sufficient demand, I will be adding more dates, so please check Eventbrite if the current dates do not work for you.

I look forward to seeing you on a walk.

alondoninheritance.com

The Royal Mint – A Controversial Transformation

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Thanks for the feedback to last week’s post where I had used plaque rather than plague. I think I was being a bit too quick with a spelling check. All hopefully now corrected.

I do not usually cover topical issues in the blog, however today’s post looks at a site which could well have a controversial transformation in the coming years, as well as a bit of the history of the site.

This is the tree hidden view of the old Royal Mint building, looking across East Smithfield:

The 1890s book “The Queen’s London” has a much clearer view of the building. I assume the two trees we see in the following image will grow into the two we see today:

The story of the Royal Mint goes back many centuries, and for much of the time, the Royal Mint in London was based within the Tower of London. A suitably secure place for the minting of the nation’s coinage.

By the end of the 18th century, steam power was taking over many industrial processes, and with the country’s growing international commerce, much of it based around the London Docks, the demand for coinage was growing.

The Tower of London was far too small a site to accommodate the new steam technology that could be used for the manufacture of growing amounts of coinage.

In 1798, King George III appointed a committee of the Privy Council to look into the future of the Royal Mint and the committee decided that a new location and building was required. 

The site would, ideally, still be within central London and close to the Tower of London, and also where a sizeable amount of land was available.

One such location was just to the north east of the Tower of London, a site which consisted mainly of a Royal Navy Victualling Yard, along with a number of small side streets, courts, workshops and housing.

I have marked the area which would become the site of the Royal Mint on the following extract from Rocque’s 1746 map of London, where it can be seen that the Victualling Yard occupied a large amount of the future space of the Royal Mint. The map also shows the size of the future site compared to the Tower of London, the Mint’s original home where only a proportion of the space was available to the Mint:

It took a while to clear the site, plan the new Mint and complete the build, and it was finally complete in 1809, with the Royal Mint moving out of the Tower of London, where it had been since 1279 when a small Mint was first established within the secure walls of the Tower.

The new building was the work of surveyor James Johnson along with his successor Robert Smirke.

The new Royal Mint building, twenty one years after completion, drawn in 1830 © The Trustees of the British Museum. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.):

The main Royal Mint building is Grade II* listed, the white entrance arches and lodge to either side are Grade II listed.

The early 19th century building is the main visible part of the complex (only just visible between the trees), and there is far more to the site as it expanded and adapted to post Royal Mint use over the years.

Looking through the railings, we can get a slightly better view:

I have a bit of a thing about the placement of some trees in London. Whilst I certainly believe that many more trees are needed across the city, there are some where they obscure the original view intended by the architects of a building. The Royal Mint building is a prime example, another is the Royal Festival Hall where the trees on the walkway in front of the building obscure the view of the Royal Festival Hall from across the river (see this post).

The Royal Mint was at Tower Hill until the Mint started to move out of the Tower Hill location in the late 1960s. Production of new decimal coinage along with a growing business producing coinage for other countries required a larger site, and in 1968, Queen Elizabeth II opened the new Royal Mint works at Llantrisant, South Wales, and the last coin was produced at Tower Hill in 1975.

Not everyone was happy to see the Royal Mint leave London, for example an H.J. Arlett of Peckham wrote to the London Evening News on the 1st of September, 1967:

“The business of producing coinage by the Royal Mint has now expanded to such an extent that it is proposed to move to a larger site in Glamorganshire. Why?

Why not keep this Chief Department appropriately enough in our Capital City? Subsidiary departments can always be opened in other areas should the need arise. Why should the defacement of this interesting capital of ours be allowed to continue and prove to the detriment of overseas visitors and our places of interest.

Which of our landmarks will be next, the Bank of England, the Royal Exchange, the Mansion House? How long before the Tower of London becomes another tower of Blackpool.

Let us keep our capital a centre of interest, not just blocks of offices.”

Questions about London’s purpose and future have probably been asked for as long as London has been the Capital City of the country.

Since the Royal Mint left the building, it has had a number of uses, including office space and I remember that a number of tech start-ups were based there in the late 1990s early 2000.

The controversial transformation I alluded to at the start of the post is the future use of the old Royal Mint site, with China planning that the whole site will become their new Embassy complex, having purchased the site in 2018 for £255 million.

The site is a considerable size of 2.10 hectares or over 5 acres. It comprises the original building that faces on to Tower Hill, as well as a complex of 1980s buildings onwards that were built around the site as it was used for office space. There is also the Grade II listed Seaman’s Registry, designed by James Johnson and built in 1805 as staff accommodation for the Royal Mint.

The site also contains some preserved remains of a Cistercian Abbey, the St. Mary of Graces monastery which date from the 14th century (which also illustrates how many religious establishments there once were in London, as just to the south, where St. Katherine Dock is now located, was the St. Katherine Hospital and Church, founded in the 12th century by Matilda, Countess of Boulogne, the wife of King Stephen who reigned from 1135 to 1154).

There is also a 14th century Black Death burial ground, many other archaeological remains as well as remains from the Royal Navy Victualling yard which occupied the site prior to the Royal Mint.

The overall scope of the site is shown in the map below where I have marked the planning application boundaries with the red line. The square indentation along the northern boundary is a BT telephone exchange. When three letter codes were used as part of the telephone number, this exchange was ROY for ROYal, due to the exchange’s location next to the Royal Mint.

The telephone exchange is apparently due to cease all operations in 2033 and to be empty the same year. Its future use will be interesting given the location of the building as being almost part of the proposed Chinese Embassy estate:

To add to the importance of the site, it is within the Tower of London Conservation Area and is also
within the boundary of the Tower of London UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The proposed embassy would not only be the largest embassy complex in the UK, but would also be China’s largest embassy in Europe, as well as being around 20% larger than their embassy in the US.

The proposed plans for the embassy complex include some very limited public access, as well as a small area for historical information and interpretation displays and exhibits.

The planning application has been turned down by Tower Hamlets Council, and the current status is that the application has been called in by the Government and is now under review by Angela Ryaner who oversees planning matters in her role as housing secretary.

The latest from early August is that Angela Raynor has asked the Chinese to explain why parts of the building plans are greyed out and marked “redacted for security reasons”.

The Grade II listed entrance arch and lodge:

There are very valid views on whether the site should be used as an embassy for China, and also why China needs such a large complex for their London embassy, but I also think that the future use of the building shows the lack of ambition (and money) that we have as a country, for the use and redevelopment of such an important site, at a very key location.

The clustering effect of the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, St, Katherine Docks and the old Royal Mint buildings would make the site ideal for redevelopment for cultural / historical use, even with the redevelopment of some of the buildings at the rear of the estate as residential to help fund, it would preserve the listed James Johnson and Robert Smirke building and the Seaman’s Registry for public use.

It would also have been aa brilliant location for the Museum of London (although the Smithfield site is equally good), and perhaps this shows the challenge of a City where too many historic sites such as Smithfield Market, the old Customs House in Lower Thame Street etc. are looking for a future use, and in reality is an embassy so very different to the site being redeveloped with apartment blocks and hotels, which would probably be the alternative.

This was part of the original intention for the site after client funds of two real estate investment companies had purchased the site from the Crown Estate in 2010, and who then received planning permission for new retail and leisure accommodation, 1.8 acres of landscaped public space, and a large amount of high specification office space.

The owners received an unsolicited offer from China in 2018, and it was probably too good an offer to refuse.

View looking along Mansell Street, the north western boundary to the site, with part of the brick Seaman’s Registry building visible along with 1980s additions:

The high brick wall seen in the above photo still surrounds much of the site, and was there to prevent access to a place where large amounts of coinage, gold and silver were being stored and processed.

Despite the walls intended to keep people out, much of the reported theft was by employees, and the following from the London Dailey Chronicle in November 1912 is typical of the small amounts of theft by employees of the Mint:

“THEFT FROM THE ROYAL MINT. A sad story of the downfall of a trusted employee at the Royal Mint was told at the Thames Police court yesterday, when Charles James, aged 55, a foreman packer, was sent for trial on a charge of stealing silver coins to the value of over £36.

James, it was said, had been 29 years at the Mint, and next year would have been entitled to retire on a pension. His salary was £2 a week, with 6s. extra for searching suspected persons.

He was seen by a packer to plunge his hand several times into bags of worn silver coins which were being emptied, and £36 3s 6d was found in his pockets. When accused James said, ‘I must have been mad’. He was stated to have recently been ill, and to have borne an excellent character. Bail was allowed.”

The following photo is along Royal Mint Street, along the northern boundary of the complex, and the tall brick building where the wall ends is the old Telephone Exchange:

The GR cypher on the arms on the building indicate that it was built in the reign of King George V, between 1910 and 1936:

The Royal Mint at Tower Hill was used for many other related purposes, not just for the production of coinage.

Go back to the end of the 18th century, and Britain was a country with a growing trade with the rest of the world. One of the problems with trade was knowing what you were actually buying from a producer in another country. France had only just started to use the metric system at the end of the 18th century, and the rest of the world used a number of different, localised systems.

In 1819, the Government tried to take the lead in establishing the relationship between weights and measures of different countries, and this work was to be done at the Royal Mint on Tower Hill. From the Morning Herald on the 6th of February 1819:

“The commercial world will learn with satisfaction that a plan has been commenced, under the auspices of the British Government, for determining the relative contents of the weights and measures of all trading countries. This important object is to be accomplished by procuring from abroad correct copies of Foreign standards, and comparing them with those of England at his Majesty’s Mint. Such a comparison, which could be effected only at a moment of universal peace, has never been attempted on a plan sufficiently general or systematic; and hence the errors and corrections which abound in Foreign tables of weights and measures, even in works of the highest authority.

In order, therefore to remedy and inconvenience so perplexing in commerce, Viscount Castlereagh, has, by recommendation of the Board of Trade, issued a circular directing all the British Consulates abroad to send home copies of the principal standards used within their respective consulates, verified by the proper authorities, and accompanied by explanatory papers and other documents relative to the subject. The dispatches and packages transmitted are deposited at the Royal Mint, where the standards are to be forthwith compared.”

Looking along East Smithfield, the street that forms the southern boundary to the Royal Mint estate, part of the upper floor of the James Johnson and Robert Smirke building can just be seen:

As well as the metals used for day to day coinage, the Royal Mint was responsible for measuring the quality of, and the production of gold and silver coins.

All coinage minted at the Royal Mint was sent to the Bank of England for distribution, and the Royal Mint issued an annual report on the quantity of types of coins and metals that they had produced, as well as coins that had been returned to the Royal Mint as worn or withdrawn. In the 1903 report, the Royal Mint stated that they had produced in the previous two years:

These numbers may not look large by today’s standards, however using the Bank of England inflation calculator, £7,993,701 as the total for 1902, would today be £851,292,858 (although this is not an easy comparison, as the value of different metals such as Gold have changed in a different way to inflation).

The report also includes details of the significant amounts of gold and silver that were being brought into the country as well as being exported.

There were complex rules for those involved with the smelting of precious metals such as Gold at the Royal Mint. These once included not allowing workers out of their work place for the entirety of their shift, and only releasing them to go home when the amount of gold had been checked against that at the start of the shift, with the worker then being issued with a certificate releasing them from their day’s work.

Whilst today Gold coins are not in common usage, they are still produced at the Royal Mint’s south Wales facility, although this is mainly for investment and collecting purposes.

You can today buy a quarter ounce Britannia Gold bullion coin (999.9 fine gold) for £680. The Royal Mint also produces Gold bullion bars, however if you sell, these are subject to Capital Gains Tax, whilst Gold Bullion coins are exempt from CGT due to their classification as legal British currency, although the £680 Britannia Gold bullion coin has a denomination of £25, so I doubt you will get one of these in your change, the value today being aligned with the metal of the coin rather than the denomination.

The view looking east along East Smithfield, the tall building on the left of the street is part of the Royal Mint estate, and is planned to be demolished, and replaced by a new building that runs along the eastern side of the estate:

Although a large site, the growth of the Royal Mint has raised questions about the location over many years. In 1881 there was the possibility of moving to a site on the Thames embankment, which had been completed in the previous decades. This proposal was turned down by the Select Committee on the London City Lands Bill who determined that the existing site and buildings were more than sufficient for the demands likely to made on the Royal Mint, with a few alterations made to the existing buildings.

To the east of the Royal Mint is the appropriately named Royal Mint Estate:

There are concerns about the impact of the embassy development on the Royal Mint estate, privacy, security, the potential impact of any demonstrations against the embassy etc.

In the above estate plan, Cartwright Street is the street along the right hand edge. There is a narrow row of flats along the right of this street, and then the existing buildings of the Royal Mint estate loom large, buildings that will be replaced by those of the Chinese Embassy.

The Royal Mint tells us a number of stories.

The move to south Wales after several hundreds of years in London was about the need for more space and the city being less of an attractive site for industrial processes. There was probably also a financial factor with the new site being cheaper, and less expensive than an update to the London site.

The Royal Mint continues to operate in south Wales, however the centuries of growth is now probably followed by decline with the growing reduction in the use of cash, and today the Royal Mint is now building on the demand for gold, a metal whose price has risen considerably over the last few years.

The future story of the Royal Mint, Tower Hill site also tells the story of changing global politics, the rise of China, and the decisions that the Government makes on the future of the site will show how we respond to changing global politics and how we make use of key, landmark historical sites in the city.

It will be interesting to see the decision making in the coming months and the eventual outcome for this historic site.

alondoninheritance.com

Tindals Burying Ground (Bunhill Fields)

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Tindals Burying Ground was the original name of the Bunhill Fields Burial Ground, which today can be found between City Road and Bunhill Row.

The following extract from Rocque’s 1746 map of London shows Tindals Burying Ground:

The original name of the burying ground follows the setting aside of an area of land as a cemetery during the plague year of 1665.

Despite the pressure on space to bury the many thousands of victims of the plague, for whatever reason, the cemetery was not used, and in 1666 a Mr. Tindal took on a lease of the land, enclosed it with a brick wall, and opened the space as a cemetery for the use of Dissenters.

A wider view of the 1746 map, with the burying ground circled:

Old Street is running left to right along the top of the map, Royal Row, now City Road, runs to the east of the burying ground and Brown Street runs to the west. The name Brown Street has now been replaced by the extension of Bunhill Row along the western edge of the burying ground.

The use of the name Tindals Burying Ground was not confined to Rocque’s map, but was also in common use across multiple newspaper reports covering events in and around the burying ground, for example, from the Stamford Mercury on the 11th of February, 1768:

“On Saturday night last about ten o’clock, Mr. Hewitt, Watchmaker, in Moorfields, was attacked near Tindal’s Burying ground, by three footpads, who knocked him down, then robbed him of £32 and a dial plate, and beat him so terribly that his life is despaired of.”

Tindal’s Burying Ground was originally described as a place where Dissenters could be buried, and other terms such as Nonconformists were used to describe those within the cemetery. It was also described as the “Campo Santo of Nonconformity” as well as the “cemetery of Puritan England”.

These terms all described someone who did not conform with the governance and teaching of the established church – the Church of England. The 1662 Act of Uniformity defined the way that prayers, teachings, rites and ceromonies should be performed within the Church of England, and the 1662 date of this act explains why there was a need for a noncoformist burial ground four years later in 1666.

I cannot find out whether Mr. Tindal was a nonconformist, but it would perhaps make sense if he was.

The dead who would not have been welcome in a normal Church of England burial ground were buried at Tindal’s, for example in the following account of the burial of an executed criminal in 1760:

“Wednesday Evening, between Five and Six, the Body of Robert Tilling, the Coachman, who was executed on Monday last, for robbing his Master, was conveyed in a Hearse, attended by one Mourning Coach, to Tindal’s Burying Ground in Bunhill Fields, and there interred. The Rev. Mr. Whitefield attended the Corpse, and made a long Oration upon the Occasion, amidst the greatest Concourse of People that ever assembled in that Place; it is thought more than 20,000. The Corpse had been previously exposed in Mr. Whitefield’s Tabernacle near the Burying Ground.”

Robert Tilling was a nonconformist. After being taken from Newgate, he was hung at Tyburn on the 28th of April, 1760, along with four others convicted of burglary. In the report of his execution, he “made a long Speech, or rather Sermon at the Gallows, in the Methodist style”.

The origin of the name Bunhill Fields is interesting, and probably somewhat obscure. Most references talk about the name coming from the earlier name of Bone Hill, and that the site was used for informal burials and also for the 1549 dumping of 1,000 cart loads of bones from the charnel house of St Paul’s Cathedral.

The story of the dumping of bones is that there were so many, and after the following accumulation of the City’s dirt on top of the bones, a significant mound developed, on which some windmills were constructed.

If you go back to the larger extract from Rocque’s 1746 map, and look to the right of the Artillery Ground there is a couple of streets with names of Windmill Hill and Windmill Hill Row, so there must be some truth in the existence of windmills.

As usual, there are several variations of the name as well as stories of the area. There are a number of references that use the name Bonhill. In 1887, members of the East London Antiquarian Society were given a tour of the burying ground, where they were told that “The name was perhaps derived from Bon-Hill, a great tumulus which at one time stood on the Fen outside the City and marked an ancient British burying place, hence the name Bon-hill or Bone-hill fields.”

The City of London Conservation Management Plan states that in 1000 AD there were the “First corpses interred at Bunhill in Saxon times”.

The author Daniel Defoe in his “Journal of the Plague Year” implies that there may have been plague burials in Bunhill Fields, however that does not seem to be the case, and he was probably referring to the purchase of the burying ground which was later taken over by Tindal.

Bunhill Fields occupied a far wider area than just the burying ground, and earlier maps do show some hills spread across the fields.

As usual, there are many variations of names and stories, and it is impossible to be 100% certain of the truth of many of these. The fields were outside the walls of the City, for centuries much of the area was marshland, hence the name Moor Fields.

The entrance to Bunhill Burying Ground from City Road:

Gravestone to William Blake and his wife Catherine:

William Blake had some very complex religious views, and views of the roles of good and evil, human nature, sexuality etc. which were very different to those held by the established Church, hence his burial at Bunhill Fields.

The gravestone states “Near bye lie the remains of”, as Blake’s grave was the subject of damage over the years, as well as bomb damage in Bunhill Fields during the last war, so the exact location of his grave was lost.

Nearby there is a memorial slab which was installed in 2018 by the Blake Society following work by Portuguese couple Carol and Luís Garrido, who claimed they had identified the location of his grave:

Monument to the author Daniel Defoe (which dates from 1870):

As recorded on the monument, Daniel Defoe was the author of Robinson Crusoe. The date of his birth, 1661, shows that he was very much too young to remember, let alone to write a first hand account of the plague in his Journal of the Plague Year, which in reality he used the accounts and experiences of others to write the journal.

There are a couple of graves at Bunhill Fields which seem to have been the focus of attention over many years. The first is from the 1920s series of books Wonderful London, where the grave of Dame Mary Page is shown:

The focus of interest is not the front of the monument, but the reverse, where it is stated that Mary Page “In 67 months she was tapd 66 times. Had taken away 240 gallons of water without ever repining her case or ever fearing the operation”.

The front of the grave states that she was the “Relict of Sir Gregory Page Bart. She departed this life March 4 1728 in the 56 year of her age”.

Dame Mary Page was the wife of Sir Gregory Page. He owned a brewery in Wapping and was a Whig politician. He was also involved with the East India Company, including a period when he was a director of the company and this was the source of much of his wealth. He died in 1720 and was buried in Greenwich.

I cannot find any record of Mary’s religion, and it is strange that she was not buried with her husband. To have been buried in Bunhill Fields, she probably held some form of nonconformist views.

The rear of the monument today:

Bunhill Fields as a site is Grade I listed , and many of the individual graves are also listed, including the following grave of Joseph Watts, which is Grade II listed as: ” It is a well-preserved early-C19 chest tomb with still-legible inscriptions and high-quality relief carving”:

The land originally within Tindal’s Burying Ground is believed to have been extended in 1700 and again in 1788, such was the need for a site for nonconformist burials.

Following Tindal’s original lease, it remained a privately owned and managed burying ground until 1778, when it was brought into public management by the City of London.

Along with many other church yards and burying grounds in the mid-19th century, Bunhill Fields was closed for burials in 1854.

The King and Du Pont family monument which is Grade II listed:

The listing states that “It is a prominent and striking monument in an austere Neoclassical style, its polygonal form – derived ultimately from the Hellenistic-era Tower of the Winds in Athens – reflecting the late-C18 fashion for ancient Greek motifs”.

The vault beneath the plinth on which the monument stands holds a number of members of the King and Du Pont families from the late 18th century.

There is an interesting contradiction in attitudes during the 18th century (and indeed in later centuries), between those who were viewed as religious and displaying a range of admired personality traits and those who cost the state money.

Two different examples, both from the same newspaper on the 13th of December, 1754:

“Thursday evening was interred in Bunhill Burying Ground, the body of Mrs. Hannah Peirce, relict of that excellent Divine, Mr. James Peirce of Exeter. The Sweetness of her Temper, the exemplariness of her Behaviour, in every Religion and Condition, breathed a Spirit of a Religion, which is cheerful, patient, meek, and benevolent: Her whole Life was delightfully instructive, and in her 79th Year, she expired with remarkable Calmness and Composure”.

Meanwhile, on the same page as the above, there was an account of another who had just died, but this was very different where the person who had died was summed up by the amount they had cost the inhabitants of the parish:

“On Tuesday died Diana Nicholas, one of the Poor belonging to St. Nicolas Acorns in Lombard Street. In the Year 1691 she was found an Infant in a Basket in that Parish and taken care of: When she grew up she proved an Idiot, and forty years ago was got with Child, and, being unable to make known by whom, brought a further Charge on the Parish: So that it appears by the Accounts she has cost the Inhabitants near £20 per annum for sixty three Years”.

Two very different views of two deaths, where one was described with a range of perfect attitudes and character traits, whilst the other was down to simply how much they had cost the parish over their life.

Another of the graves that seems to be regularly featured when looking at Bunhill Fields is that of John Bunyan:

John Bunyan’s monument from the 1890’s book “The Queen’s London”:

John Bunyan was born near Bedford, and served with the Parliamentary forces during the English Civil War. He originally followed the Church of England, attending services in his local parish church.

A chance meeting in Bedford resulted in Bunyan joining the Bedford Meeting, a nonconformist group.

Bunyan took his nonconformist views and preaching seriously, to the extent that he served many years in prison, And it was during one of his spells in prison that he wrote his best known work “A Pilgrims Progress”.

His writing became more widely known after his death, and in the 18th century there were multiple editions of A Pilgrims Progress published, including cheap editions, and editions published in regular instalments.

The book was described as an allegorical writing, describing the journey of Christian from his home, the City of Destruction, to the Celestial City, which has been described as either Heaven or the Holy Land. There were also references to the Celestial City being London, and Christian’s Journey being Bunyan’s journey from Bedford to London.

The grave apparently belonged to one John Strudwick , in whose house in Snow Hill, Bunyan had died in 1688:

The gravestone of Thomas Rosewell. The gravestone is listed, not because of the gravestone (which I think is a later addition or replacement, rather as to who it commemorates, as the listing states *It commemorates a prominent late-C17 Dissenting minister, remembered for his infamous treason trial in 1684*:

The story of Thomas Roswell is one of religious persecution. He was born in Bath and arrived in London in 1645 where he trained as a silk weaver.

London in the middle of the 17th century must have been a hotbed of religious and political divide and conspiracy. Not just with the Civil War, but with the established Church, Catholicism and the many nonconformist groups.

Soon after his arrival in London, Roswell came into contact with the Presbyterians, which led him to train as a nonconformist minister. He became a private tutor and also served as a rector in parishes in Somerset and Wiltshire.

The years following the restoration of the Monarchy and Charles II were a time of persecution of nonconformists, and Roswell was forced out from his parishes in 1662, even though he was a firm Royalist.

Persecution continued and in 1684 he was put on trial for high treason, accused of speaking seditious sentiments during a sermon.

The judge at his trial was Lord Chief Justice, George Jeffreys, also known as the Hanging Judge due to the high number of defendants who were found guilty, resulting in Jeffreys passing the death sentence.

Roswell was also found guilty, and sentenced to death, however there was a significant public outcry and early the following year he received a Royal Pardon.

A look across Bunhill Fields:

An Act of Parliamnet obtained by the City of London in 1867 preserved Bunhill Fields as an open space, and in 1869, the grounds were open to the public.

The burying grounds were not spared during the Second World War, and they suffered serious bomb damage, and post war there has been a continual series of restorations of both the grounds and the gravestones and memorials, enabling the listed memorials to be removed from the heritage at risk register.

Bunhill Fields was also the location for an anti-aircraft gun which probably did not help with maintaining the condition of the site.

The walls and railings surrounding Bunhill Burying Grounds are Grade II listed and date from multiple periods from the late 18th century through to the late 19th century, along with later repairs and renovations.

Apart from a few monuments and graves, the majority are within an area surrounded by railings. It is possible to gain access to graves within this area by asking an attendant.

I have only touched on a very, very small number of the graves at Bunhill.

According to City of London records, there are 2,300 memorials within the burying grounds, and there are believed to be around 123,000 burials.

Each tells the story of those involved in nonconformist and dissenting religious traditions, and many, including that of Thomas Roswell show the risks that having a different belief to the established Church could entail.

And the burying ground now commonly known as Bunhill Fields, almost certainly owes its existence to Mr. Tindal who took a lease on the land in 1665 / 1666, enclosed the ground and opened the burying ground.

alondoninheritance.com

Soho Pubs – Part 4 and Resources

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For today’s post, a look at five more Soho pubs, and my monthly feature on one of the resources available if you are interested in delving into the history of the city, as well as my latest read.

The Shakespeare’s Head – Great Marlborough Street

The Shakespeare’s Head is on the corner of Great Marlborough Street and Foubert’s Place, and is a perfect example of the flamboyant architecture of many Soho pubs. Taller than the buildings on either side, and looking out across a junction, the pub cannot help but attract attention, which must have been the intention of the original architect.

The pub claims to have been on the site since 1735 when a Thomas and John Shakespeare were the original owners, and who gave their family name to the pub. They apparently claimed that they were distant relatives of William Shakespeare, but how much truth there is in the story, and just how distant a relative is impossible to tell.

The Shakespeare’s Head makes full use of the name in the decoration across the building with the pub sign showing an illustration of Shakespeare, and in a false windows on the first floor corner of the building, there is a life size bust of Shakespeare looking down on the streets below, and the thousands of people who visit Soho on a daily basis.

The bust of Shakespeare’s has a hand missing, the result of a World War II bomb landing nearby.

The street naming for the pub’s location is a bit confusing, as by the street signs on the sides of the pub it is on the corner of Great Marlborough Street and Foubert’s Place, however on the opposite side of the street which is Great Marlborough Street on the pub, is a name sign for Carnaby Street, so the street to the right of the pub in the photo appears to have two names.

The Great Marlborough Street sign is old whilst the Carnaby Street sign is new, and as the junction where the pub is located sits at the northern end of Carnaby Street, I suspect the extended use of this name is to capitalise on the recent history of Carnaby Street. The pub uses Great Marlborough Street as an address.

There is not much to be found on the history of the pub, and there are very few references to the pub in a newspaper search, which is probably a good thing as most newspaper reports are usually about some form of crime involving a pub. The current building seems to date from the 1920s.

Whatever the truth or distance of the Shakespeare connection, the good thing with the Shakespeare’s Head is the wonderful design of the building in an era of rather bland city architecture, and long may Shakespeare look out from his first floor window.

The Blue Posts – Kingly Street

Another large corner pub with an individual design, and the second pub with the name Blue Posts to be found in Soho.

The pub was originally called the Two Blue Posts and at the time of the pub’s opening in 1728, Kingly Street was King Street.

I mentioned in the description to the previous pub that there were very few newspaper mentions of the pub, as they were nearly always connected with some form of crime, and the first mention I can find of the Blue Posts is a really strange story that highlights the 19th century attitude to mental health, and the type of violent crime to be found on the streets (although this is an unusual example). The following is from the 21st of June 1871, under the title “TAMING LUNATICS”:

“Robert Hodgson, an attendant at the Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum, was charged yesterday, at the Middlesex Sessions, with violently assaulting a man named Richard Walker. It appeared from the evidence that the prisoner, at twelve o’clock on the night of the 9th of June, seized hold of the prosecutor in the Golden Lion, Wardour Street, saying ‘I know you, you are the man I want to see, your name is John Taylor’. The prisoner then seized him by the collar, pulled him into the street, opened his waistcoat, and took a box of cigar-lights from him. A crowd collected, and then the prisoner pulled him through several streets to the Blue Posts, King Street, and having made him take off his clothes, struck him several times with his fist saying ‘That is the way we tame lunatics’. The prisoner then took him to the Bricklayers Arms in King Street and in front of the bar he hit the prosecutor several times times under the jaw with his fist, made him bite his tongue, and pulled him by the beard, saying he was an escaped lunatic.”

The “prisoner” did eventually leave the other man alone, who then went to the police who found and arrested the prisoner.

During the trial, the counsel for the prosecution “suggested that lunacy was infectious, and had spread from the inmates of Colney Hatch to one of their keepers”. The judge delayed sentencing until he had spoken with the authorities at Colney Hatch.

Although the Blue Posts only has a brief appearance in the above account, these stories do help illustrate what life was like around these pubs, and shows how mental health was viewed, even someone as educated for the time as a legal counsel suggesting that lunacy was infectious.

The article also shows how human nature has not really changed. Where the article states that “a crowd collected”, and if the same thing happened in Soho today, a crowd would also collect, but these days they would all be filming the event on mobile phones.

The White Horse – Newburgh Street

Like many pubs in the area, the White Horse claims to be on the site of an original building dating back to the development of Soho in the early 18th century. The pub also claims that the galloping white horse was the sign of the House of Hanover that dates from the accession of George I in 1714, and that the use of the name and sign by inns of the time was a sign of their support of the new Royal House.

London’s pubs were once the meeting place for hundreds of clubs and societies, often societies that you would not have connected with the location of a pub, and for a number of years in the 1960s, the White Horse was the meeting place for the Royal George Angling Society, a long standing society who took their name from the first pub that they used for meetings.

This illustrates how pubs were far more embedded in society and everyday life in the past. They were not just a place for drinking, they were also a place for societies and clubs to meet. Individual pubs often had their own sports clubs, which added to their use as a place where communities would get together.

The White Horse also plays up to the stereotype of London policing in previous decades, where in a 1966 review of the pub in the Tatler, it is described as a “Quiet yet busy, little tavern. The landlord, a former detective, is helpful and genial, and attracts a wide cross section of drinkers. Among them are the sleekly dressed impressive looking policemen one finds stationed at West End Central in nearby Savile Row. An interesting pub, with interesting people.”

I bet is was an interesting pub with interesting people.

The current building dates from the 1930s, when it was rebuilt in an art-deco style.

The Red Lion – Kingly Street

Despite being a late 19th century build, the Red Lion looks as if has adopted the architectural style of earlier centuries. Like many pubs in Soho, there has been a pub here since the early 18th century.

As well as the clubs and societies mentioned with the White Horse, the Red Lion also shows how pubs were embedded in communities as they also were a place where inquests were held. In July 1833, it was reported that:

“SUDDEN DEATH OF DR TWEEDIE – On Monday an inquest was held at the Red Lion, King Street, on the body of Dr Tweedie aged 63. On Saturday night, Dr Tweedie, hearing that the kitchen chimney of his house in Southampton Row was on fire, ran down the stairs, and having procured two pails of water, with the assistance of another gentleman, extinguished it. The deceased then went up stairs, but had scarcely reached the landing, when he fell down, and was heard to groan heavily. The gentlemen immediately put him in a chair, but life appeared to have gone. In about two minutes, Mr Keeling, surgeon, Little Ormond Street, arrived and administered everything by which reanimation could be brought about, but without the desired effect. Verdict – ‘Death by the visitation of God”.

The Red Lion also served another common purpose of a pub, that of a mailing address, an example being in November 1835, when “a respectable young woman was looking for a situation as a Barmaid in a Wine Vault of respectable Public house”.

The Glass Blower –  Glasshouse Street

The name “Glass Blower” is relatively recent, as the pub was originally an early example of a type of 19th century drinking establishment called a Bodega. The South London Press on the 2nd of November 1872 explained the concept behind the Bodega:

“Since the ‘Bodega’ first startled London as a word of strange sound and unknown significance, it has rapidly asserted itself in public favour. Yes, it has over-stepped its original limits, and, taking the metropolis in sections, appears likely to bring the whole of it under conquest. But then even the Capital of the country may be taken by such an enemy with advantage rather than the reverse. The ‘Bodega’ means – but what matters to its meaning in Spain? In London it means a place where you can buy the best wines in glass or in bottle at the lowest remunerative prices. The ‘Bodega’ experiment has been tried so successfully in Glasshouse-street that Messrs. Lavery and Co. have now taken 13 Oxford Street to open on the same principle, and a very pleasant little inauguration dinner was given there on Saturday night, which gave infinite satisfaction to all present.”

The article brushes over the Spanish meaning of the word Bodega, but in Spain it is used for a winery, wine cellar, wine store etc. generally where wine is concerned, and its use in London in 1872 must have seemed rather exotic.

So the Glass Blower pub was the site where the Bodega was first introduced to London as the article confirms that this was where the Bodega experiment was successfully tried.

In July 1904, the Tatler had an article describing how actors would cluster at specific types of establishment, and described: “The ‘Bodegas’ are the most popularly patronised of these”.

Although a name for a type of establishment, Bodega was also the name of the company that owned and ran these places, the Bodega Company Limited. It is perhaps an early example of a company / brand that establishes a similar type of venue across multiple locations – a type of bar / restaurant which is all too common to find across the streets of London today.

Not quite the same, but today, many of the pubs in Soho are Greene King pubs, including the Glass Blower, the Blue Posts and the Shakespeare’s Head just from today’s post. They do have an individual look and feel, and to be honest, with the rate of pub closures today, I am happy for any company who keeps London pubs open.

I cannot find out exactly when the Bodega in Glasshouse Street changed to the Glass Blower, however it was still operating as the Bodega in 1958, when on the 1st of August the Bodega had placed an advert in the Middlesex Independent for a Barmaid.

The Glass Blower is now a very prominent corner pub that always seems to be doing well when I have visited.

A quick run through of five more Soho pubs, and now my monthly feature on one of the resources that I use to help research London’s history if you are interested in delving into more detail.

Resources – Historical Directories of England & Wales

If you have ever wanted to find where a business was based in a London street, or walk through a street to discover the people and companies that were based in the street, then there is a wonderful resource that can help. The Historical Directories of England and Wales, hosted by the University of Leicester, and they have been published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 UK Licence, which makes the content available to use under the terms of the licence.

It is not just London which is covered. There are trade and local directories for much of the country.

The link to access this resource is: https://leicester.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/p16445coll4

where you will be met with the following screen:

For the purposes of the blog, I am interested in London, and when you click on the entry for London you are presented with a list of directories and filters for the periods covered:

As with the mapping available at the National Library of Scotland featured in my last resources post, these directories are a way in which a quick search can turn into a full evening of exploring London’s streets. An example of the level of detail available is shown in the following example.

As the last Soho pub in the above post was in Glasshouse Street, I searched for Glasshouse Street in the Post Office London Directory for 1895, and here is a detailed list from the directory of who occupied the street 130 years ago:

And to confirm the details for the Glass Blower pub, at number 42 we can see Bodega Co. (The) limited, George Courtney sec. Initially many of these establishments were named with the full company name, but as with the Glass Blower, after a while they just became known at the Bodega.

The listing also shows where the street in focus intersects with other streets (for example in the above – “here is Air Street”). This is really useful to help with referencing streets numbers from the directory with street numbers of today where streets have been renumbered, or individual plots consolidated. For places badly damaged during the last war (such as the City of London), this addition of where other streets joined is really useful as it helps locate the lanes, alleys, courts and indeed streets, which after bomb damage, were not rebuilt post war and have been lost completely.

These directories are a wonmderful resource provided by the University of Leicester, and help provide another layer of understanding to the history of the city’s streets.

What I Am Reading – The Dream Factory by Daniel Swift

The recreation of the Globe at Bankside has probably resulted in the Globe being the most famous of the early London playhouses, even if the current incarnation of the Globe is not quite at the location of the original.

The Bankside area also had the Bear and the Rose playhouses, although the Bear was mainly for bear baiting with plays as a side line.

Before all of these was a playhouse in Shoreditch, created by James Burbage in 1576, and this, the first commercial playhouse in London, is the focus of Daniel Swift’s book, along with the story of how Elizabethan Theatre began to flourish, with Shakespeare weaving through the story.

The book is very readable, and does, as the sub-title states, tells the story of “London’s First Playhouse and the Making of William Shakespeare” (who would go on to lend his name to a pub in Soho – a tenuous link with the rest of today’s post).

The book is published by Yale University Press, who have a good selection of books on London’s history and architecture. They also publish the Pevsner Architectural Guides and the recent editions of the Survey of London, numbers of which I have purchased over the years.

A recommended read if you are interested in the story of the first playhouse in London, along with London generally at this significant time.

alondoninheritance.com

Sloane Square, the Bloody Bridge and King’s Private Road

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Two tickets have just become available for my walk on Sunday the 17th of August: Wapping – A Seething Mass of Misery. For details and tickets click here.

Sloane Square is a relatively recent development in London’s long history, but the square is typical of how London’s squares have developed, from fields and tracks, to being enclosed and lined with terrace houses and small shops, then large buildings with hotels, restaurants and department stores.

The following photo of Sloane Square is from the book, the “Queen’s London”, which shows London at the end of the 19th century, and the photo is of the square in the 1890s:

Slightly over 40 years later, the first part of the new Peter Jones department store was built, so within 40 years, architectural styles in Sloane Square changed from the above late Victorian photo to the 1930s building that we see on the western side of the square today:

Peter Jones was the son of a Welsh hat maker. He moved to London in 1867, and unlike many of his fellow countrymen who were involved in the dairy trade, Peter Jones opened a shop in 1871 in Chelsea, having gained retail experience in the first four years of his time in the city.

His first shop was in Draycott Avenue, but within a few years he had moved to King’s Road, where the street meets the western side of Sloane Square, and after buying up more property to form a large plot, his expanded red-brick department store was a major, successful retail enterprise serving the prosperous area around Sloane Square.

When the store was run by Peter Jones, it was very successful, however after his death in 1905, another successful retailer, John Lewis, was determined to buy the store to help with his London expansion, resulting in his purchase of the store, along with the adjacent buildings owned by Peter Jones, in December 1905.

I believe that the early decades of John Lewis ownership was the only time that the company owned a London pub. This was the Star and Garter, on the corner of King’s Road and Sloane Square, and whilst in the early years the Peter Jones store was making a loss, the pub was making a considerable profit.

(Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland)

In the above OS map from the late 1890s, I have outlined the Star and Garter in a red oval. The Peter Jones store is the large block to the left of the pub.

Today, the Peter Jones store occupies the entire block, with the new building covering much of the space with the exception of an area from the north west corner, and along part of the northern side of the block.

The following photo shows the Peter Jones store curving from Sloane Square and down along King’s Road. The Star and Garter was where the curved corner of the building is today:

The building today is Grade II* listed. It was designed by William Crabtree, To maximise the amount of glass along the façade of the buildings, the external wall is not load bearing, and can therefore be of glass, with an almost continuous run of glass along the ground floor to maximise display space.

It must have been an impressive building when it first opened, so very different to the majority of architecture in the surrounding area in the 1930s.

As the name implies, there is a central square within Sloane Square:

Sloane Square is named after Sir Hans Sloane, land owner and Lord of the Manor of Chelsea.

The square was laid out in 1771 when the fields of what had been a very rural area, were enclosed, and building started soon after, with houses built around the square under the direction of architect and builder, Henry Holland.

During the later part of the 19th century, and early 20th century, the original houses around the square were gradually demolished and consolidated into larger plots of land, with the large buildings we see today built along the four side of the square.

Typical of these changes was the construction of what is now the Sloane Square Hotel, with the red brick building being built in two phases between 1895 and 1898:

Part of the title to this week’s post is the “Bloody Bridge”, and this name tells some of the story of the area before Sloane Square was developed.

The following photo shows the north east corner of Sloane Square:

At this corner, Sloane Square leads off in to Cliveden Place, and a short way along, on the right is the following name plaque:

The plaque is on the wall behind the man with the white shirt, just above the bonnet of the white car in the following photo:

Blandel Bridge House is named after a bridge over the lost River Westbourne, a bridge that was once more commonly called the Bloody Bridge.

We can see the location and name in a couple of old maps, for example in Rocque’s 1746 map, showing the area before Sloane Square:

I have circled the name and location of the Bloody Bridge, and we can see the River Westbourne running through fields, then crossing under the bridge, before heading south.

The future location of Sloane Square is just to the left of the bridge.

Also, look at the length of the road that runs over the Bloody Bridge. It is called “The King’s Private Road”. Today, to the left it is King’s Road (which retains the original name, but drops the “private”), and to the right it is Cliveden Place and Eaton Gate / Square, although this part of the road has been much straightened out as the area was developed.

The road was named the King’s Private Road as it was, a private road for the King. This had been a footpath across the fields until King Charles II transformed the footpath into a road suitable for carriages, to form part of a route between Westminster and Hampton Court.

In 1731, copper tokens or tickets were issued to those who were allowed the privilege of travelling along the King’s Private Road. These tokens had “The King’s Private Road” on one side, and on the other an image of the Crown, along with the letters G.R. as at that time, George II was on the throne.

It would continue to be a private road all the way to 1830, when it was opened up as a general road, with no tokens or permissions being required.

The Bloody Bridge was still marked on maps in the early 19th century, as this extract from Smiths New Plan of London, published in 1816 shows:

In the above 1816 map, we can see that the Westbourne is on the edge of new development which is centred around Sloane Square.

How did it get the name Bloody Bridge? The official name seems to have been Blandel Bridge, as the name plaque in the previous photo still records today. The name Bloody Bridge seems to have a been a popular renaming of the bridge given the amount of murders and robberies that took place in the area. The name seems to have been first used in the mid 16th century, at the time of Elizabeth I, however with such a local name, and the distance of time, it is impossible to be sure when the name was first used.

Despite being the King’s private road, serious crime at the Bloody Bridge continued into the 18th century, with a couple of examples, first from 1748, when “four gentlemen coming from Chelsea, the King’s Road, in a coach were attacked near the Bloody Bridge by two highwaymen. They all getting out of their coach and drawing their swords, the highwaymen made off without their booty.”

And from 1753, when on the 17th of September, “Mr. Crouch, cook to the Earl of Harrington, who was attacked about nine o’clock at night by two villains, and, on making resistance, fired two pistols at him; and though he wounded one of them, yet having overpowered him, they took his watch and money, and then stabbed him with a knife, and beat him with their pistols till he was dead”.

The road must have been so dangerous, that in 1715, the local inhabitants petitioned the Government to organise patrols along the road from Chelsea to St. James’s.

Many 19th century reports, state that the Bloody Bridge name was because of the crime in the area, and that it was also a corruption of the name Blandel Bridge, so if that is correct, and Bloody Bridge was first used in the mid 16th century, Blandel Bridge was a name that must have already been in use, and therefore an older name for the bridge.

It is good that that the name of the bridge survives as the name of the building, near the site of the bridge, and the River Westbourne, which is now carried in the sewers beneath the streets, although it does sort of make an appearance, as the sewer which the Westbourne became, is today carried across the platforms of Sloane Square station:

Prior to the development of the area, the fields were once markets gardens, sheep and cattle grazing etc. and it seems that those who worked these fields and gardens were given access to the King’s Private Road, however in the time of George I (1714 to 1727), the overly zealous King’s Surveyor attempted to restrict local workers access to the road. With the support of Sir Hans Sloane, who pointed out to the Treasury that farmers and gardeners of the area had since “time out of mind” been the owners and occupiers of the land bordering the King’s private way and had been accustomed to use it for “egress and regress” to their lands, carrying their ploughs along it and conveying their crops to market.

The king relented, and allowed locals to have access, and it seems that around this time the old wooden bridge over the Westbourne was replaced with a stone bridge, but as shown in the above maps, the Bloody Bridge name continued to be in use.

Sloane Square station, through which the Westbourne runs todays, was built by the Metropolitan District Railway Company, and opened in 1868.

In the following image from Britain from Above, we can see the curved roof over the station platforms running down from the centre of image, above which we can see Sloane Square:

The image is dated 1928, so the original buildings that occupy the site of the 1930s Peter Jones building can be seen at the top of the square.,

From the station, head a little to the right along the lower edge of Sloane Square to the corner where a street runs to the right, and the old Bloody Bridge was located just off Sloane Square along this street.

Returning to Sloane Square, and in the central square is the Grade II listed Venus Fountain dating from 1953, and by Gilbert Ledward R.A.

The base of the fountain has a relief depicting Charles II and Nell Gwynn seated by the Thames. The relief shows Charles II picking fruit from a tree, while his mistress Nell Gwynn fans herself. The relief also includes Cupid who is ready with two arrows, and there are swans along the Thames.

Gilbert Ledward’s view apparently was that it was rather appropriate to show the king and his mistress at a place where they must have travelled along several times, along his private road.

The central square also includes a Grade II listed war memorial, unveiled on the 24th of October, 1920:

The Historic England record for the war memorial states that the architect is unknown, and newspaper reports of the unveiling also do not mention the name of the architect, however they do state that it was London’s first war cross, and was swiftly followed by one in Hackney. The early 1920s were a time when hundreds of war memorials were being unveiled across London and the rest of the country.

There are a number of plaques set among the paving slabs around the war memorial, including a plaque to Captain Julian Gribble who was awarded a Victoria Cross. His plaque is part of the “London VC Pavement Project”, a 2013 initiative by the Government to honour VC recipients:

Captain Julian Gribble was leading D Company of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, when in March 1918 he was ordered to hold the crest of Harmies Ridge until further orders, while troops on either side withdrew.

His Company was soon surrounded, but they continued fighting and he was “last seen emptying his revolver into enemy troops at a range of only 10 to 12 feet.”

D Company’s stand allowed the troops on either side to withdraw, and Captain Gribble did survive this last battle. He was badly concussed by a wound to the head, and was taken to a German hospital for prisoners of war at Hameln. He was soon though removed to a prisoner of war camp at Carlsruhe, where conditions were not good.

He learned that he had received the VC in July 1918. His health though deteriorated, and he was suffering from double pneumonia. Before he could be repatriated after the end of the war, he died on the 25th of November, 1918, just hours before the camp was evacuated, at the age of 21

He was buried on a hilltop at Mayence Cemetery.

It is good to put a face to the names of those recorded on war memorials, and this is Captain Julian Gribble (source, IWM Collection, Image: IWM (HU 115450)

The Imperial War Museum Collection also includes a couple of photos of Sloane Square.

The first shows temporary buildings set up for the YMCA in the central square during the First World War (source, IWM Collection, Image: IWM (Q 28737):

For some strange reason, I do love shops with awnings over the pavement.

The second shows Flying Officer Harold Lackland Bevan buying flowers for his bride to be from a flower seller in Sloane Square in March 1943 (source, IWM Collection Image: IWM (D 12864):

Looking back from the war memorial to the west of the square, with Peter Jones in the distance:

There are two more listed buildings around Sloane Square. The first is the Grade II Royal Court:

The Royal Court theatre owes its existence to a small theatre in nearby Lower George Street. The current building on the eastern side of Sloane Square was opened on the 24th of September, 1888 as the New Court Theatre, and was designed by Walter Emden and Bertie Crewe.

The Royal Court was the first theatre in London to stage a suffragette themed production, when in April 1907 “A play has been successfully produced at the Court Theatre, Sloane Square, in which a suffragette heroine and 50 suffragettes as supernumeraries demonstrated with the enthusiastic support of the audience”.

The theatre closed in 1932, and the building served as a cinema between 1935 and 1940, and then suffered some bomb damage.

The interior of the theatre was reconstructed after the war and the theatre reopened in 1952.

Strangely, the history of theatre on the theatre’s web site starts in May 1956, when John Osborne’s “Look Back in Anger” opened at the theatre. The only mention of anything prior to 1956 appears to be the state of the drains in the early 1900s, and the creaking of the seats in 1906. 

The interior of the theatre has been refurbished and upgraded a number of times, but the façade facing onto Sloane Square looks much as it did when the original theatre opened in 1888.

In the above photo, the entrance to Sloane Square station is on the ground floor of the new block immediately to the right of the theatre. The original station building having been demolished many years ago. Had it survived, it may well have also been listed.

The other listed structure is not a building, but a “Pair of K6 Telephone Kiosks outside the Royal Court Theatre“:

The telephone kiosks are Grade II listed, with the listing stating that they are “Telephone kiosks. Type K6. Designed 1935 by Giles Gilbert Scott. Made by various contractors. Cast iron. Square kiosk with domed roof. Unperforated crowns to top panels and margin glazing to windows and door.”

There are no payphones in either of the kiosks, and the sign on the door states that “This kiosk is protected for future generations”, along with a web link to where you can adopt a kiosk, and from there, there is another link to where you can purchase a K6 telephone kiosk for a starting price of £3,200 plus VAT and delivery.

It is interesting that both the telephone kiosks and the Royal Court Theatre are equally Grade II listed.

View looking across to the central square from the south west corner of Sloane Square:

Sloane Square has given the term “Sloane Ranger” to the English language, a term that describes an upper middle class, or upper class person, usually young and financially well off, and who have a similar approach to fashion and life.

Prior to the marriage of Sarah Ferguson and Prince Andrew, there were many newspapers descriptions of the bride as follows:

“Miss Sarah Ferguson comes from that well-heeled, rather old fashioned slice of young society known as Sloane Rangers.

Sloane girls’ hallmarks are pearls, Liberty frocks, sensible shoes and cashmere sweaters, their spiritual home the Sloane Square area of London. They speak in cut-glass accents and signify agreement by a drawn out ‘Okay, yah’.

Sloane Rangers may work in the City, but their roots are in the huntin’ and shootin’ countryside where they attend hunt balls and show jumping trials. On such occasions they brush with royalty.

Lady Diana Spencer was the definitive Sloane.”

According to the Sunday Express on the 7th of March 1993, Sloane Rangers were in shock over rumours of the closure of Peter Jones, their mecca on a Saturday morning for a wax jacket and pearls.

The origin of the term Sloane Ranger seems to be in the mid 1970s, and appears to have been used first in print in an article in Harpers & Queen in October 1975 by Peter York.

However there are other candidates for the origin of the phrase including Martina Margetts, a Harpers sub-editor, or it could be Fiona Macpherson, also a Harpers editor. There is also a claim that journalist Julian Kilgour used the term Sloane Ranger to describe his wife, in November 1974.

Whatever the source of the term, it does describe a certain social set, once based around Sloane Square. I am not sure what Sir Hans Sloane would have thought of his surname being put to such use.

The southern side of Sloane Square:

The northern side of Sloane Square:

Sloane Square again shows how much history you can find in a small part of London.

And if you walk along the King’s Road of today, it is so named just because Charles II, and the kings that followed until the 19th century, wanted their own private route from St. James’s Palace and Westminster to Hampton Court, and the Bloody Bridge shows how dangerous and violent parts of London once were.

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Hicks’s Hall – The Original Middlesex Sessions House

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Two tickets remaining for my walk “The South Bank – Marsh, Industry, Culture and the Festival of Britain” on Sunday the 31st August. Click here for details and booking.

Charterhouse Street runs along the northern edge of Smithfield Market. St. John Street is one of the streets that turns off north from Charterhouse Street, and from the junction, we can look up St. John Street, to the point where the street widens out, and there is a tree in the centre:

We can see the way St. John Street widens out for a short distance in the following map extract  (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

The following photo shows this relatively large area of open space, with the widened street passing either side of a central tree and bike racks:

I mentioned in the post on Blackfriars a couple of weeks ago how streets often retain the outline of what was there many years ago, and so it is with this space in St. John Street:

As it was in this space that Hicks’s Hall was built, and in Rocque’s 1746 map of London, we can see the building in the middle of the space, opposite Peter’s Lane and St. John’s Lane, showing that Hicks’s Hall was where the tree and bike rack are located today:

Hicks’s Hall was the first, dedicated Middlesex Sessions House. A place where a court sat, and criminal trials took place.

Hicks’s Hall was built in 1612 by Sir Baptist Hicks, a rich silk merchant, who lived in Soper Lane in the City, as well as having a house in Kensington.

There was a need for a dedicated Sessions House, as prior to the construction of Hicks’s Hall, Middlesex magistrates had used a number of local Inns, places which were not ideal to carry out a trial and to dispense justice.

An account of the opening of Hicks’s Hall reads: “Sir Baptist Hicks, Knight, one of the justices of the county builded a very stately Session House of brick and stone, with all offices thereunto belonging, at his own proper charge, and upon Wednesday, the 13th of January, this year, 1612, by which time this house was fully furnished, there assembled twenty-six justices of the county, being the first day of their meeting in that place, where they were all feasted by Sir Baptist Hicks, and then they all with one consent, gave it a proper name, and called it Hicks’s Hall, after the name of the founder, who then freely gave the house to them and their successors for ever. until this time, the Justices of Middlesex held their usual meeting in a common inn, called the Castle (Smithfield Bars).”

Numerous trials of many different types of criminal cases were held at Hicks’s Hall, and just a brief search of newspaper records reveals hundreds of reports. The following are a small example as crimes also illustrate life in the city. They are all from the 50 years from 1700 to 1750:

  • 24th January, 1723 – This Day, Mr. Ogden was tried at Hicks’s Hall for Cursing the King, which was plainly proved, but some of the evidence disposed that he was very much in Drink, and that he was esteemed a person very much effected to His Majesty, and often drank his Health. The Jury, after a short stay, brought him in Guilty
  • 21st October, 1727 – Two Men who had been convicted at Hicks’s Hall of a Misdemeanour in assaulting the Countess of Winchester in her Coach at Chelsea, with intent to Rob, and were sentenced to be whipt from Westminster Hall Gate to the end of Cabbage Lane in Petty France for the same (the sentence was not carried out as there appears to be a problem with the way the trial was carried out).
  • 15th April, 1730 – On Thursday at the Sessions at Hicks’s Hall, a Soldier having made Oath directly contrary to what he had sworn before, was taken into custody, and a Bill of Indictment for Perjury ordered to be brought against him
  • 24th May, 1733 – On Thursday at Hicks’s Hall, one Dwyer an Irishmen, and a Serjeant in the French Army, was convicted on several Indictments, for seducing Men to list themselves in the Service of the King of France; the Fact was proved very plain upon him, and the Court upon an Indictment sentenced him to pay a Fine of 1s and to suffer one year’s Imprisonment, and upon further Indictment a Fine of £50 and to find Sureties for his good behaviour for five years
  • 21st December, 1734 – Yesterday eight Butchers, who exposed to Sale on the Lord’s Day quantities of Beef and Mutton in a Place called Cow-Cross, near Smithfield, were by the Court of Justices at Hicks’s Hall fined 13s, 4d each, and some of them for a second offence, £1, 6s, 8d and were severely reprimanded by the Justices for such vile practices, and acquainted, that if they ever did so again, the Punishment would be more severe
  • 13th July, 1745 – Last Tuesday three Master Barbers were committed to Clerkenwell Bridewell by the Justices at Hicks’s Hall, for exercising their trades on the Lord’s Day and refusing to pay the fine

Hicks’s Hall from Old and New London. The print is recorded as being of the hall in 1750:

Thousands of cases were tried at Hicks’s Hall, and these were mainly of local crimes, however Hicks’s Hall was also used for trials of national importance and notoriety, for example when Hicks’s Hall played a prominent part in the actions of King Charles II against those who were responsible for the death of his father, King Charles I.

The trial of twenty nine of these Regicides (the Commissioners who had signed the warrant for the King’s execution, or who had a major part in his trial or execution) commenced at Hicks’s Hall on Tuesday the 9th of October 1669, and ended at the Old Bailey on Friday the 19th of October 1660.

Just ten days, including a weekend, which was not long for the trial of 29 people who were charged with crimes that carried some of the most extreme punishments, however I suspect there was little doubt as to the outcome.

The full account of the trial was published in a book which recorded the details of the trial, exchanges between prosecution and those charged, words of the Judge, background to the trial, a brief biography of those charged etc.

The long Preface to the books make an interesting read. It provides a whole range of justifications as to why the crimes committed by the Regicides were against the unity of the country, Christian religious principles, and the preface also tries to explain how those accused could have found themselves in such a position.

The following couple of paragraphs from the Preface are perhaps just as relevant today, as it was then:

“But let us examine a little into this Mystery of Enthusiasm and see by what means People arrive to this high Degree of Infatuation, and what are the several Steps which they take towards it.

The main Foundation of it is, no doubt, a large Stock of Pride, and a singular Fondness, which Men are apt to have for their own Sentiments and Opinions. Nothing is more common than for Men of this Spirit to run into Parties and Factions, and struggle hard for Superiority.”

To set the scene, the book also has a “Summary of the Dark Proceedings of the CABAL at Westminster, preparatory to the Murder of His Late Sacred Majesty, taken out of their own Journal-Book”.

The trial commenced at Hicks’s Hall on Tuesday the 9th of October 1660. The Court was directed by a large number of the great and the good, those who supported the restored Monarchy, including the Lord Mayor of the City of London, the Lord Chancellor of England, the Lord Treasurer of England, Dukes, Earls, Knights, Baronets and Justices.

A jury of 21 was sworn in consisting of Baronets, Knights, Esquires and Gentlemen.

To open the trail at Hicks’s Hall, the Lord Chief Baron, the head of His Majesty’s High Court of Exchequer spoke to the Jury.

Much of his speech was about the position of the King. That the Law Books describe the King as “the Lieutenant of God”, that the “King is immediate from God and hath no superior”, and that “If the King is immediate under God, he derives his authority from no body else; if the King has an Imperial Power, if the King ne Head of the Commonwealth, Head of the Body Politick, of the Body Politick owes him Obedience, truly I think it is an undenied consequence he must needs be Superior over them”.

Basically, although this was a trial, there could only be one outcome, and that those involved in the execution of King Charles I were automatically guilty, as only God was superior to the King.

The book also includes a brief biography of all those on trial. These are fascinating as they show the contempt in which the regicides were held. Below is a sample from the biographies from four of those on trial:

  • Colonel Thomas Harrison was the Son of a Butcher or Grasier at Newcastle-under-line in Staffordshire. After he had been educated in some Grammar Learning, he was placed with a Hulk, or Hulker, an Attorney in Clifford’s Inn, and when out of his Time became a kind of Petty-fogger. But finding little Profit arise from that, he took Arms for Parliament at the Breaking-out of Rebellious War, and by his Enthusiastical Preaching, and great Pretence to Piety, he so far recommended himself to the deluded Army, that he was advanced from one Post to another till he became a Major. He was Cromwell’s great Friend and Confident in all his Designs
  • Col. Adrian Scroop was descended of a Good family in Buckinghamshire. He was a great Puritan, and Stickler against Episcopacy, which made him take Arms against the King. Though he was no Parliament Man, yet he was drawn in, as he pretended by Oliver Cromwell, to be One in the Black List for Trying the King.
  • Mr. John Carew was born in Cornwell, of a very ancient family there, but had the Misfortune to be educated in Factious Principles, and was, like Harrison, a Fifth Monarchy Man, as appears in his trial. This made him an utter Enemy, not only to the King, but to all Government as a single Person, so that Oliver’s Usurpation was as hateful to him as the Royal Sovereignty, which he had destroyed
  • Gregory Clement is hardly worth mentioning. He was at first a Merchant, but failing in that, he sought to thrive by a New Trade in Bishops Lands, wherein he got a considerable Estate. He was turned out of the Rump-Parliament for lying with his Maid at Greenwich, but was taken in again when they were restored after Oliver’s Interruption. His guilty Conscience, and his Ignorance, would not suffer him to make any Plea at the Bar, or any Speech or Prayer at the Gallows

Poor old Gregory Clement seems to have been singled out for special contempt.

John Carew was considered especially dangerous as he was described as a Fifth Monarchy Man. Fifth Monarchists were a non-conformist religious sect that believed the killing of King Charles I marked the end of the fourth monarchy (the rule by kings), and would herald in the fifth monarchy when rule would be by Saints and by those “saved”, and would lead to the Second Coming.

The above four examples of those on trial were all found guilty and were all executed along with other Regicides during three very bloody days at Charing Cross::

  • Colonel Thomas Harrison was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 13th of October, 1660
  • Col. Adrian Scroop was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 17th of October, 1660
  • Mr. John Carew was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 15th of October, 1660
  • Gregory Clement was hanged, drawn and quartered at Charing Cross on the 17th of October, 1660

Others on trial at Hicks’s Hall and then at the old Bailey had a mix of sentences ranging from execution, life imprisonment down to a limited term of imprisonment.

Hicks’s Hall is also shown in William Morgan’s 1682 Map of London:

But why was there an open space in St. John Street allowing Hicks’s Hall to be built in 1612?

I suspect to answer that question, we need to go much further back in history, to the founding of the Priory of the Order of St John of Jerusalem in 1144 when 10 acres of land was granted to Jordan de Bricet in Clerkenwell. The following map from my post on the Priory and St. John’s Gate shows the boundary of the Priory.

The green oval is around the location of the space where Hicks’s Hall was built, and the blue rectangle is where a southern gatehouse was believed to have been built at the main entrance to the overall Priory complex. Research and excavations by the Museum of London Archaeology Service found mentions of tenements and possible evidence of a timber gatehouse at the site  (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

So if there was a gatehouse here, there would probably have been some degree of open space in front of the gatehouse, and this would have been where Hicks’s Hall was built centuries later, and is still a wider open space in the street today, with a tree in the centre.

Looking back at the location of Hicks’s Hall, and the possible location of a Gatehouse to the Priory of the Order of St John of Jerusalem is to the right of the tree:

Hicks’s Hall was used as a Session House until the late 1789s. By which time it was in a very poor state, was a bit on the small side for the work being conducted in the building, and the location of the building in the middle of St. John Street was not ideal, given the increase in traffic along the street since the building had originally been constructed.

Hicks’s Hall had been an important building in London, for as well as being a place where criminal cases were tried, it was also one of the places in the city from where distances were measured, and Hicks’s Hall was the measuring point for many places to the north of the city.

There is an interesting story from 1773 which shows how Hicks’s Hall was an important landmark, and also a staggering example of endurance and long distance travel.

On Monday the 29th of November 1773, Mr Foster Powell set off from Hicks’s Hall to deliver a letter to a Mr. Clarke, a watchmaker in York. Rather than travel on a horse, Foster Powell walked the entire route, including the return.

Staring at Hicks’s Hall, on the first day he covered the 88 miles to Stamford, on the second the 72 miles to Doncaster. On day three, Wednesday he set off from Doncaster and arrived in York in the afternoon where he delivered the letter. He then went to the Golden Anchor for some refreshment and an hour and a half of sleep, then later the same afternoon he set off for the return journey.

He reached Hicks’s Hall on the Saturday at four in the morning, having covered 394 miles in slightly over 5 days.

Foster Powell was known for his long distance walks, and it was reported that on many of these, locals would try and keep up with him on the route, but no one could for anything more than a couple of minutes. Off his other walks, one was a bet that he could not walk from London to Canterbury and back within 24 hours. He manged the return journey in 23 hours, 53 minutes, winning a bet of 100 Guineas.

At some point in the 1780s, Hicks’s Hall was demolished. It was because of the state of repair, size and location, and also because a new Middlesex Sessions House had recently been completed, and to find this building we need to take St. John’s Lane, the street opposite the location of Hicks’s Hall.

Walk down this street, and through St. John’s Gate:

Turn left on reaching Clerkenwell Road, and a short distance along, the following building can be seen on the northern side of the street:

The building is the Grade II* listed Old Sessions House, and a walk up from Clerkenwell Road to Clerkenwell Green provides a view of the front of the building. A far more impressive and substantial building than its predecessor, Hicks’s Hall, appears to have been:

Following my post on Archway last week, where the Arms of the old county of Middlesex can still be seen on the bridge, the Arms can also be seen on the pediment above the columns at the front of the Middlesex Sessions House:

Although the Sessions House at Clerkenwell Green was a completely new building, for some years after the transfer to the new building, it was also known as Hicks’s Hall, as this image from 1805 shows by the title of the print:

Credit: London Museum. Used under Creative Commons Licence CC BY-NC 4.0

The use of the name Hicks’s Hall for the new Middlesex Sessions House seems to have been common until the late 1840s, with the last newspaper report I could find of a trial using the name Hicks’s Hall being in 1848.

Many reports from the time recorded that the new building included a “fine Jacobean chimney piece” from the old Hicks’s Hall. The following inscription was apparently on the chimney piece: “Sir Baptist Hicks of Kensington in the county of Middlesex, knight, one of the justices of the peace of this county of Middlesex of his worthy disposition and at his own proper charge built this session house in the year of our Lord 1612 and gave it to the justices of the peace of this county and their successors for the sessions house for ever, 1618”.

The new building is Grade II* listed, and I can find no reference to the chimney piece in the listing.

I find it strange that, although the space occupied by the original Hicks’s Hall remains, I could not find any plaque recording that the building once stood in St. John Street.

Given that it was the first dedicated Sessions House for the County of Middlesex, that it was a place where lots of trials took place, and where many of those involved in the execution of King Charles I started the trials that would lead to executions and life imprisonment for many, the site of Hicks’s Hall must deserve some form of site record.

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Highgate Archway – Two Bridges and a Tunnel

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Highgate Archway, or just Archway as it is now more commonly known, carries Hornsey Lane over the A1, Archway Road, one of the major routes connecting London with the rest of the country. The A1 starts at the roundabout at the old Museum of London site, alongside London Wall, and ends in Edinburgh, and at 410 miles in length, it is the longest, numbered road in the country.

The Archway bridge looking north:

And looking south. a view which shows how the road descends in height as it heads towards the Archway pub and Archway underground station – the bridge has given its name to a small part of north London:

The land either side of the bridge carrying Hornsey Lane over the A1 is, according to the Ordnance Survey map, around 100m above sea level, so standing on the southern side of the bridge, we can see the A1 heading towards the junction around the Archway Tavern, with a good view of the towers of the City in the distance, with the Shard to the right:

The Highgate Archway has a fascinating history.

Firstly, the location of the bridge, which I have marked with the black arrow in the following map extract,, which shows the location of the bridge within north London (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

The following map is a more detailed view of the location of the bridge. It is carrying the yellow road (Hornsey Lane) over the dark pink (never sure what that colour really is) road running from bottom to top, this is Archway Road, the A1 (map © OpenStreetMap contributors):

Follow Hornsey Lane to the left, and it joins Highgate Hill. opposite Waterlow Park, and Highgate Hill is the reason why the Highgate Archway was built.

Early in the 19th century, Highgate Hill was one of the main routes running north from the city. It was a steep hill, in a variable condition, and at the top, Highgate Hill, as its name suggests, ran through the village of Highgate.

Traffic levels were increasing, and a need to bypass Highgate was seen as the best approach of addressing the challenges of the hill, avoiding Highgate village, and supporting increasing traffic volumes.

The following extract from the excellent Topographic Map website shows why the new route was needed, and why the location for the Highgate Archway was chosen:

The orange and red are increasing height, and the greens and blues are descending hights.

The orange, red and pink to the left of centre is the location of Highgate. Highgate Hill runs up this increasing height.

Highgate Archway is marked with the black arrow. Archway Road runs to the east of Highgate, cutting across the lower land height, and where Hornsey Lane runs to Highgate, it is along a short, high spur of land which follows Hornsey Lane. The Highgate Archway bridge was needed to carry Hornsey Lane as Archway Road cut through this short, high spur of land.

At the beginning of the 19th century, much of the land was still fields, so building the new road to the east, avoided Highgate Village, reduced the height and rate of ascent of the road, cut through the short amount of high ground and provided a much wider road to carry increasing levels of traffic.

The following extract from Rocque’s map of 1746, shows the area in the mid 18th century. Highgate village is to the left, with Highgate Hill running up to Highgate from Upper Holloway.

I have marked with the arrow where the bridge is located today, with Hornsey Lane having already been in existence for some centuries. The red dashed line shows the route of the new road, Archway Road, from the current location of the Archway Tavern (at the bottom of the line), up to the point where today it meets Shepherds Hill / Jackson’s Lane:

The Highgate Archway bridge that we see today, is the third of the three plans for carrying Hornsey Lane over Archway Road. The first was a failure, the second worked reasonably well, and the third has lasted well over a century.

A bill was before Parliament in early 1810 for the construction of a new road and a tunnel taking the new road under Hornsey Lane.

The proposal for a tunnel came from the mining engineer Robert Vazie. This consisted of new approach roads and a tunnel with a total length of around 2,000 yards of which 211 yards was in the tunnel. A company was formed to deliver the new road and tunnel, with the ability to raise capital of £40,000 and to borrow up to £20,000.

The capital and borrowing was to be repaid by a toll charged to use the new road. Tolls of 6 pennies for a horse and vehicle, 3 pennies for a horse, 2 for a donkey and 1 penny for someone on foot.

Robert Vazie already had some difficult experience with constructing tunnels, as he was the first to work on a Rotherhithe tunnel, when in 1805 he started construction of a tunnel underneath the river – the Thames Archway Tunnel. Two years later, Vazie had not made that much progress. Sand and quicksand were making it very difficult to build a stable shaft and then tunnel out towards the river. The Directors of the Thames Archway Tunnel brought in the Cornish mining engineer Richard Trevithick, who made far more progress than Vazie, but continued to experience problems with quicksand and the river bursting through into the tunnel, to such an extent that the project had to be abandoned, and the Rotherhithe Tunnel had to wait for the Brunel father and son to build a tunnel between the north and south banks of the Thames.

Vazie’s Highgate Tunnel project also came to grief. The following is from the London Morning Chronicle on the 29th of January, 1812:

“THE TUNNEL – Between four and five o’clock on Monday morning, the Highgate Tunnel fell in with a tremendous crash, and the labour of several months, was in a few minutes, converted into a heap of ruins. Some of the workmen, who were coming to resume their daily labour, describe the noise that preceded it like that of distant thunder. It was the Crown Arch, near Horney Lane, that first gave way, and the lane, in consequence, fell some feet deep, and instantly became unpassable. The houses in the vicinity felt the fall like the shock of an earthquake. The number of persons whom the fineness of the weather attracted on Sunday to inspect the works, were not less than 800. How providential that the fall was reserved for a moment when no person was on the spot, to suffer by an accident, which has reduced this Herculean task to a heap of ruins.”

The collapse of the tunnel seems to have been caused by an economical approach in the materials used to line the tunnel, as on the 22nd of April, 1812, the following article appeared in the London Chronicle:

“The falling in of the Highgate Archway, which had been anticipated by the workmen for nearly a fortnight previous to the catastrophe, is considered to have originated in too economical a regard to the quantity of bricks used in the arch, and the quality of the cement uniting them. This accident, though a partial evil, will be evidently a public advantage, since it is now wisely determined by the proprietors to reduce their tenebrious tunnel to an arch of about 30 feet in length, which will be under and will support Hornsey Lane.”

The tunnel had many detractors, some had concerns with the proposal for a tunnel, other had concerns about the economic impact that the tunnel would have on the trade in Highgate, particularly for the inns that lines the road through Highgate, and attracted business from coaches, and travellers along the route.

Such were these concerns, that a comic opera was put on at the Lyceum Theatre, with the title “Highgate Tunnel or The Secret Arch”, which included a general battle between the Victuallers of Highgate and the Tunneleers. There was a sub-plot of an intrigue between Jerry Grout, described as a “bricklayer, lover and tunneleer”, and Patty Larkins, the daughter of the landlord of the Horns on Highgate Hill.

Following the collapse of the tunnel, plans were quickly revised, additional capital was raised by the company, and the architect John Nash was brought in to design a bridge rather than a tunnel, and to supervise the works.

Nash’s design was modelled on a Roman aqueduct, with two tiers of arches, and constructed of stone. The following photo from “The Queen’s London”, shows Highgate Archway as designed by John Nash:

When open, Archway Road was a toll road, however initially the amount of tolls collected were only just about enough to cover the maintenance of the bridge and road, but with increasing traffic volumes, tolls increased, but the action that allowed all the shareholders and loans to be fully repaid, was the sale of land alongside Archway Road for building. This land had originally been part of the purchase of land for the project, but its sale solved the profitability problem.

The road was freed from tolls on the 30th of April, 1876 when all debts had bee repaired, and the road and bridge were vested with the parishes of Hornsey and Islington.

Whilst Nash’s bridge was a success unlike the earlier tunnel, it had problems as traffic increased ober the 19th century. The central arch was only 18 feet wide, and acted as a choke point on the Archway Road. There were also plans for a tramway along the Archway Road, and a widening of the road and the bridge was essential for trams to run.

In the early 1890s, the London County Council Improvements Committee called for proposals for a replacement bridge along with widening of the Archway Road.

Then as now, there were discussions about cost, and finally the cost for the new bridge was shared between the Ecclesiastical Commissioners (£1,000) as they were freeholders of Highgate Woods, and owned nearby estates of land, Middlesex County Council and Hornsey Local Board (each to cover a quarter of the costs) and the London County Council would cover the rest of the costs, which were estimated at £28,000.

The Middlesex Coat of Arms remain on the bridge today as a reminder of the old county that part funded the structure:

The design of the new bridge was down to Sir Alexander Binnie, the engineer to London County Council.

The bridge had to accommodate five major water mains of the New River Company, who had a reservoir right next to the western side of the bridge, as well as gas mains of the Gas Light and Coke Company.

The plan of the new bridge from the London County Council book “History of London Street Improvements” (1898):

The design was selected in 1896, the contract for construction was signed with Charles Wall of Lots Road, Chelsea on the 13th of July, 1897.

Nash’s earlier bridge was demolished by the end of 1897, and work began on the new bridge in the following year., with the bridge being officially opened in July 1900.

Although the bridge did not open until 1900, and work commenced in 1897, the bridge displays the date 1897, to recognise Queen Victoria ‘s Diamond Jubilee of that year:

There was no formal opening of the new bridge. On the 28th of July 1900, Princess Louise (the sixth child of Queen Victoria) was unveiling a statue in Waterlow Park, and “on her return from the park, the Princess Louise was driven over the new Highgate Archway, and was enthusiastically received by the large crowds which had assembled along the line of the route. Without any formality beyond that of the royal drive across it, Highgate Archway was thrown open to the public on Saturday.”

The view looking across the bridge from the east, towards Highgate:

The cutting providing the route nortth for Archway Road, and the bridge carrying Hornsea Lane across Archway Road has been a success, in bypassing Highgate, and providing additiona road capacity.

Sadly though, for almost the whole time that the new bridge has been in place, it has been a place where people have tragically committed suicide by jumping to the road below.

There are frequent news paper reports over the decades of the bridge’s existence of suicides, and the Office for National Statistics has a record of deaths from the bridge over the last few years, with two between 2008 and 2012, and three between 2013 and 2017.

In 2018, plans were finalised for fencing around the sides of the bridge to try and prevent suicides. The above photo shows this fencing lining the two sides of the bridge, and the following photo shows the fencing looking south, with the towers of the City in the distance:

Other plans were put forward for fencing that blended in with the overall structure, but the solution we see today was installed.

Looking from the northern side of the bridge:

And to the east along Hornsey Lane:

I mentioned earlier that the new bridge had to accommodate a number of large water mains as the bridge was adjacent to a reservoir of the New River Company.

This was a logical place to locate a reservoir as height for the storage of treated water provides back pressure to distribute water to consumers. The water starved grass of the reservoir can be seen in the following photo looking west from the bridge towards Highgate. The road is wet, as the day of my visit to Archway coincided with the only bit of rain in several weeks:

The lamps to the side of the bridge were modelled on those on the Embankment:

It is not just the bridge which is high, the approach of Archway Road to the bridge is also high, and walking back towards Archway underground station, St. Paul’s Cathedral came into view (it is hidden by trees from the bridge), and I looked to be almost at the same level as the dome:

The higher ground behind the cathedral looks to be around Beckenham and Bromley, and illustrates how central London is at a low point, along the river, with high ground to north and south.

At the southern end of Archway Road is the 1888 Archway Tavern:

An earlier version of the Archway Tavern, with John Nash’s Highgate Archway to the right is shown in the following print, from Old and New London and is dated 1825. A rural scene that is hard to imagine today.

fIn the above print, the little hut to the right of the print is where tolls were taken for those using the new route.

It is interesting to compare prints with photos to see how realistic prints were.

If you compare the above print with the photo of John Nash’s bridge from the Queen’s London, earlier in the post. you will see that the road leading up to the bridge has a slope upwards in the photo, whereas in the above print, it looks like a flat stroll up to the bridge.

The Highgate Archway was an early bypass, taking traffic away from Highgate Hill and the village of Highgate.

The original plan for a tunnel was a failure. The double layered bridge by John Nash worked well for much of the 19th century, but as traffic volumes grew and the tram network was extended, the central arch was far too narrow, resulting in a replacement bridge designed by Sir Alexander Binnie. and which opened in 1900. This is the bridge we see today, the last of three plans to cross this busy road.

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