Category: Kristine Hughes

THE WELLINGTON CONNECTION: LORD BRIDGEWATER

Ashridge Lord Bridgewater

From the Journal of Mrs. Arbuthnot – January 23, 1822:    We went to Ashridge (Lord Bridgewater’s in Hertfordshire) to meet the Duke of York and a large shooting party. The house has been totally built by Lord Bridgewater; it is modern Gothic, which I do not admire, but altogether it is certainly very fine; the rooms are magnificent, very finely proportioned and beautifully finished, the staircase is very fine indeed and highly ornamented. . . . The flower gardens and conservatories are beautiful and the whole establishment worthy of a great nobleman and an excellent good man. Lord Bridgewater employs 500 men all the year round upon his estate and makes it a rule never to refuse work to any who apply for it, and he frequently has 800 men in his pay. The shooting was excellent; Lord Londonderry was generally at the head and one day killed 107 head. The Duke of Wellington killed above 80 one of the days. I played whist in the evening with the Duke of York against the Duke of Wellington, whose luck at cards is quite extraordinary. It seems as if his good genius accompanied him in every, the most trivial concerns of life. Lady Bridgewater, one of the mornings, took Lady Londonderry and me all over the work shops where they were carving wood and stone ornaments for the chapel, which is certainly the chef-d’oeuvre of the house.

 

VIDEO WEDNESDAY: HISTORY COLD CASE

Aired on BBC Two, History Cold Case is a series that sees the skeletons of everyday people from across the ages analysed in staggering detail, opening new windows on the history of our forebears by literally revealing the person behind the skeleton.

This is a fabulous series, with each episode bringing the daily lives, times and history surrounding each skeleton to life. Wonderful for history lovers and medical enthusiasts. Many thanks to Jo Manning for bringing this to our attention!

 You’ll find the link to the full playlist here.

More about the series:

The fascinating work of world-renowned Professor Sue Black OBE and her team at the Center for Human Anatomy and Identification at the University of Dundee comes under the spotlight as the team works on answering three big questions from the skeleton.
Who were they? Why did they die? What does their life story tell us that we didn’t know before? Using the full arsenal of modern forensic anthropology, remarkable stories emerge from long forgotten bones, along with the faces of people who haven’t been seen for hundreds of years.
Ipswich Man. An apparently African skeleton, unearthed near a medieval English monastery, pushes Professor Sue Black’s forensics team to its limits.
Mummified Child. This time the team heads back into a dark corner of the 19th century, to a time when corpses were turned into trophies and children were sold by the inch.
Stirling Man. Mysterious skeleton discovered by accident in a series of forgotten rooms in Scotland’s Stirling Castle.
Crossbones Girl. A skeleton unearthed in an archaeological dig in the historic borough of Southwark in London sparks a new cold case when it is found to be covered with disfiguring scars.
The Skeletons of Windy Pits. For decades experts have remained baffled by a jumble of human bones discovered in a unique series of caves on the North York Moors, known as the Windypits.
The York 113. In 2008, construction workers just beyond York’s city walls uncovered 113 bodies in a mass grave.
The Bodies in the Well. When the remains of 17 people – men, women and 11 children, one as young as two years old – were discovered in a dry well shaft in Norwich city centre, the local community were keen for answers about who these people were and what happened to them.
The Woman and Three Babies. In the sleepy commuter town of Baldock in Hertfordshire the History Cold Case team is called in to investigate the discovery of a skeleton dating from around 100AD, buried in a bizarre position, along with the remains of three babies.

LOOSE IN LONDON: KRISTINE MUSES ON MUDLARKING

You may recall a prior post about mudlarking on the River Thames that I wrote a few years ago – you’ll find it here. I had been longing to return to the River again and was chuffed when Victoria said she’d like to take a turn at mudlarking while we were in London.

Victoria and I started out as part of a London Walks mudlarking tour on Sunday morning, with at least thirty other people in our group. The group was so big that the guide and her assistant broke us up into two groups, while she went back and forth relating the history of the Thames, it’s bridges and, incidentally, mud larking. This went on for quite some time before Victoriasidled up and asked me if we were ever going to get the opportunity to actually get our hands dirty, so to speak. After all, we were almost an hour into the walk and we were still on the northern side of the river.

Finally, we got across the Thamesand no sooner had we arrived then we lost the tour group. Both tour groups, in fact. The guide had organized us, in two groups, around a set of steps while she told us about something to do with shipping history. Victoria and I had only briefly wandered away and when we turned back, all thirty-something of them had vanished. Considering the size of the two groups, it was uncanny that we could find no sign of any of them. Poof! and they were gone. This did not bode well for our own turns as tour guides in the not too distant future.

“What are we going to do now?” Victoria asked, a tad worried.
“We go mud larking, as planned.”
“But where?”
“Anywhere. There are several sets of stairs on this side of the Thames that lead down the river. If the gate at the top of the steps is unlocked, all we have to do is climb down to the river bank.” I looked over the railings on the Queen’s Walk to the riverbed below. “Look,” I said, pointing at some near distant mud larkers. “They’ve gotten themselves down there, we can, too.”
“Are we allowed? I mean, can we just go down at any point, or is there a designated mud larking spot?”
“Well, no one’s ever stopped me before. If a Peeler with a truncheon comes along and threatens to haul us in as vagrants, we’ll move on. Come on, we’ll go down to the steps that Brooke and I used last time. I know they’re accessible.”

So we walked down to the spot in question and sure enough, the gates were unlocked. Not only that, but there was some sort of Clean Up the River type event going on, so there were several people picking through the sand already. Vicky and I got out our Ziploc bags and climbed down the stairs.
“You want to pick through the stuff at the top here, near the wall and stairs. Everyone typically heads for the waterline first, and they walk right past some good stuff. Here,” I went on, ”take this stick and use it to push the sand aside.”  Within minutes, Vicky was mud larking like a pro, searching for blue and white pottery shards and anything else of interest. I found myself a large, flat shell and used that to dig with.

Here’s a photo of me on the River bank, wearing my now famous fur lined boots. Before long, Victoria and I had drifted apart. Her wanderings took her in one direction, mine in another as we both dug through a few decades, if not centuries, of silt and sand.

I love standing on the river bank with the tide out, exposing bits of Londononly a few people get to see.  It’s a way of communing with London, of getting to the heart of the City I love best. It isn’t glamorous, rather it’s real life at its most rough and ready. At one time, it was home to those who were London’s poorest – the mud larks who combed this stretch of river bank in search of anything of any value that they could turn into coin for a meal or a bed for the night. Just think of all of their stories, the tales that could be told by people who sailed the river, worked the river, whose lives were tied in some way or another to the eternal rhythm, the ebb and flow of the mighty Thames. 

I’ll always remember seeing the opening scenes in one of the Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock Holmes films – the London docks of the 19th century. Never had I seen a movie set that looked so exactly as I had always pictured a place in my mind’s eye. I felt that what I was looking at was 19th century London, magically brought to life on the screen. Imagine my dismay when I later found out that the scenes had actually been shot at Stanley Docks in Liverpool. Here’s a trailer from the film – there’s actually very little of the docks in the clip, but it’s a hoot.

You’ll see from the photos below that it was glorious London day, perfect weather for being outdoors. This is what the riverbank looked like when we were there.

However, this is what I saw in my mind’s eye as I gazed out at the Thames. 

Yes, Victoria, I was picturing a place where everyone was wearing period costume. And sailing in period ships.

Back in the 21st century, Victoria and I had a fabulous time collecting treasures from the River. Pottery shards, pipe stems and bowls, animal bones, driftwood, bits of metal and, most surprisingly, shells. We spent not a few hours treasure hunting before I looked up to see Victoriafurther ahead, waving an arm at me in a universal gesture that meant “get over here.”

“We’ve got to wrap things up,” she said when I’d reached her. “We need to eat something and then make our way over to Clarence House.” We’d booked a tour of Clarence House for four o’clock that afternoon, another place we’d always wanted to see, but which is rarely open to the public.

Reluctantly, I agreed but stopped by the station the Clean Up the Thames group had set up nearby. In addition to the sand sculptures below, they had set up a table manned by River historians and archaeologists who were available to a provide insight into the items people had found that day.

I showed them the bones I had found and their best guess was that they had probably come from a dog. 
My pottery shards were fairly self explanatory.
The pipe stems and pipe bowl I’d found were a different story. The archaeologists actually had a book with them containing photos of pipes from all periods and going by the shape and size of my pipe, they were able to tell me that mine was early 18th century. The photo above doesn’t do justice to the pipe bowl, it has a very elaborate design carved into the bowl. The expert was much taken with it and told me that it had to have belonged to someone of means. These pipes were meant to be disposable. One bought one already filled with tobacco, smoked it and chucked it away, many times into the River. They weren’t typically the sort of item one spent time carving designs into. He was quite impressed with my find and I was dead chuffed.
Perhaps my most interesting find was this tooth. I’m holding it upside down so that you can see the three rather large roots. The consensus is that it had probably come from a horse. 
Victoria’s treasures were much prettier and are pictured above: shells, clay pipe stem, blue-and-white shards, tile pieces.
You’ll find the black and white River photos above and many more period photos of all areas of London and London life on my Pinterest board, Old London. 

More Loose in London Coming Soon!

AND FROM ELSEWHERE AROUND THE WEB . . . . . . . .

Spitalfields Life – A New Home for Old Family Photographs
Risky Regencies – From Ice to Ice Cream
The Chirugeon’s Apprentice – 19th Century Safety Coffins
English Buildings – Savile Row, London
Laurie Benson’s Cozy Drawing Room – Mourning Pictures: An Expression of Grief in Georgian England
Reading the Pastt – A review of The Downstairs Maid by Rosie Clarke
English Historical Fiction Authors – The Importance of Horse Gaits in the Past

LOOSE IN LONDON: WHAT KRISTINE SAW AT HIGHGATE CEMETERY

Victoria and I had finally arrived at Highgate Cemetery. It was a glorious afternoon – warm, sun shiny and the Cemetery was practically deserted. We were able to stroll the lanes and explore the East Cemetery all on our lonesomes. Save for the occasional birdsong, the air was still, quiet and the graves themselves were quite beautiful.

Victoria and I strolled in companionable silence, she a bit ahead of me as I threaded my way past crosses and angels, stopping to read some of the gravestones. At one time, all of these people were the light of someone’s life – a cherished spouse, a beloved child, a much missed grandparent, a favourite sibling or one’s closest friend. They were mourned, tears were shed over their loss and their graves were no doubt tended faithfully. Now, one hundred years on at least, they were nothing but forgotten bones in a cemetery, albeit resting beneath impressive monuments. It is said that no one is truly gone as long as there is someone, one person, who continues to remember them. I doubted there were many resting here who still had someone to remember them in 2014.

Meandering down the path, I was brought up short by one of the next graves I encountered. 

“Vicky!”
“Hmmm?”
“Look what I found.”
“What is it?” she asked, coming to stand at my side. She read the gravestone and then looked at me. “Trust you to find a connection to Artie at Highgate. Who’s Michael?”
“Who’s Viscount Dangan?” I asked in return. 
“Is it a family title?”
“Earl Cowley, Marquess of Douro, Lord Mornington . . . . . Viscount Wellesley I know. Dangan I do not.”
“Maybe it’s not even our Wellesleys.” 
“Has to be. How many other Wellesley families can there be? And how many who produced a viscount?” I looked at the stone again. “He was only six when he died.” 
Further research once I got home revealed that Michael would have been the Duke’s grand nephew, a descendant of his brother Henry and one of Henry’s children whom the Duke and Kitty helped to raise. He died of leukemia. ***

Eventually, Victoria and I made our way to the West Cemetery in order to join the 3 p.m. tour group. Once we were gathered, our tour guide gave us a brief history of the Cemetery, which opened in 1839. As we gathered in the large inner courtyard, our guide painted a vivid picture of the Cemetery as a thriving business concern – the courtyard would have been filled with hearses, carriages and male mourners as upwards of forty funerals a day were carried out on a typical day. Services had to be timed to the minute, as well as the arrival and departure of the attendant retinues, in order for everything to have run smoothly. You can read the Wikipedia entry on the Cemetery here.

The West Cemetery had a different feel to it from the East side – wilder, more imperfect, more tumble down, more macabre in a Hammer Studios way. In fact, it occurred to me that most of the cemeteries depicted on film had perhaps been modeled after the East Cemetery. Nothing could have been more perfect. Sunlight filtered through the branches overhead and our tour group followed the leader through the stillness as we took in the surrounding graves and monuments, the silence broken only by his commentary on what we were seeing and the history of funeral architecture. 

Here, in the exclusive Egyptian Avenue, crypts were sold for the highest prices. Mourners coming to pay their respects often brought picnic lunches and erected tables within the crypts of their loved ones. Today, the plaques bearing the names of the departed are moss covered and the doors locked behind cobwebs that have been spun over the decades.

The Circle of Lebanon, above, is another of the exclusive section of crypts at the Cemetery. It was here that our guide took a detour and led us into an underground burial chamber. Once inside, there was almost no daylight, thus most of the photos I took did not come out well. Here’s one of mine below.

And here’s one taken in better light that I swiped off the internet so that you’d have a better idea of the space we were in. As I said, we were nearly in the pitch dark, surrounded on all sides by sealed crypts. As you can see in the photo below, there are sky lights in the ceiling, but by 2014 the vegetation had grown over them, dimming the space further. It was so dark that I had to step in close to peer at the stones that were marking the individual graves.

So you can imagine my surprise, nay shock, when I leaned down to read the lower stones only to be met by this sight.

Thank God the lid was still intact.

Perhaps one of my favourite graves is that of Tom Sayers, above. The grave stone, with the image of his faithful dog, a Mastiff named Lion, draped over his coffin as chief mourner is reminiscent of another of my favourite works of art, “The Old Shepherd’s Chief Mourner,” by Edwin Landseer.

Our group stood around the grave appreciating the poignancy of it all until our guide asked if any of us knew who Tom Sayer was. No one spoke up and for a time I considered whether or not I should answer. It seemed that either Victoria or I had been the only ones to know the answer to several of our guides previous questions. Victoria had been the only one among us to know who the lesbian author Radclyffe Hall was, which delighted our guide.  I was loathe to have the Americans once again provide the answer to his question. However, when it became apparent that no one else in the group was going to volunteer, I said, “A boxer. The best bare knuckle fighter in Victorian England.”

The guide’s eyes widened, “Yes! And it’s not too far a stretch that an American should know the answer to that question, is it?”

“Not if you know the story,” I answered. And so he began to relate the story of Sayers’s career to our group. You can read all about it here.

Sayers died in 1865 and huge crowds, made up of many of London’s rabble rousers and fight enthusiasts, followed his funeral cortege to Highgate Cemetery on the day of his burial. As the Morning Post of 16 Nov. 1865 put it:  The scene was “…an exhibition for which irredeemable blackguardism, brutal levity and barbaric ferocity, we are sure the like never disgraced the hallowed precincts of that most hallowed of spots – an English graveyard.” 

On our way towards the exit near the end of our tour, Victoria called me over to see something she’d found in the underbrush.  

A single, perfect wild strawberry to remind us that life goes on.

______________________________________________________

You’ll find the Highgate Cemetery website here, which is full of information of interest, including lists of other notable graves and the history of the Cemetery. Do also check out the site of The Friends of Highgate Cemetery – these are the people who volunteer their time as guides and who are at the forefront of restoration and upkeep for the Cemetery.

*** From Wikipedia: Earl Cowley is a title in the Peerage of the United Kingdom. It was created in 1857 for the diplomat Henry Wellesley, 2nd Baron Cowley. He was Ambassador to France from 1852 to 1867. He was made Viscount Dangan, of Dangan in the County of Meath, at the same time as he was given the earldom. This title is also in the Peerage of the United Kingdom. Lord Cowley was the eldest son of Henry Wellesley, 1st Baron Cowley, who like his son served as Ambassador to France. In 1828 he was created Baron Cowley, of Wellesley in the County of Somerset, in the Peerage of the United Kingdom. A member of the prominent Wellesley family, Cowley was the fifth and youngest son of Garret Wellesley, 1st Earl of Mornington, and the younger brother of Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, and Richard Wellesley, 1st Marquess Wellesley.