From the Pen of Horace Walpole



Walpole’s home, Strawberry Hill



From Horace Walpole to the Miss Berrys.
Berkeley Square, June 8, 1791.
Your No. 34, that was interrupted, and of which the last date was of May 24th, I received on the 6th, and if I could find fault, it would be in the length; for I do not approve of your writing so much in hot weather, for, be it known to you ladies, that from the first of the month, June is not more June at Florence. My hay is crumbling away; and I have ordered it to be cut, as a sure way of bringing rain. I have a selfish reason, too, for remonstrating against long letters. I feel the season advancing, when mine will be piteous short; for what can I tell you from Twickenham in the next three or four months? Scandal from Richmond and Hampton Court, or robberies at my own door? The latter, indeed, are blown already. I went to Strawberry (Hill) on Saturday, to avoid the Birthday [4th June] crowd and squibs and crackers. At six I drove to Lord Stafford’s, where his goods are to be sold by auction; his sister, Lady Anne [Conolly], intending to pull down the house and rebuild it. I returned a quarter before seven; and in the interim between my Gothic gate and Ashe’s Nursery, a gentleman and gentlewoman, in a one-horse chair and in the broad face of the sun, had been robbed by a single highwayman, sans mask. Ashe’s mother and sister stood and saw it; but having
no notion of a robbery at such an hour in the high-road, and before their men had left work, concluded it was an acquaintance of the robber’s. I suppose Lady Cecilia Johnstone will not descend from her bedchamber to the drawing-room without life-guard men.

Madame d’Albany
The Duke of Bedford eclipsed the whole birthday by his clothes, equipage, and servants: six of the latter walked on the side of the coach to keep off the crowd—or to tempt it; for their liveries were worth an argosie. The Prince [of Wales] was gorgeous too: the latter is to give Madame d’Albany (1) a dinner. She has been introduced to Mrs. Fitzherbert. You know I used to call Mrs. Cosway’s concerts Charon’s boat: now, methinks, London is so. I am glad Mrs. C.[osway] is with you; she is pleasing—but surely it is odd to drop a child and her husband and country all in a breath!
I am glad you are disfranchised of the exiles. We have several, I am told, here; but I strictly confine myself to those I knew formerly at Paris, and who all are quartered on Richmond-green. I went to them on Sunday evening, but found them gone to Lord Fitzwilliam’s, the next house to Madame de Boufflers’, to hear his organ; whither I followed them, and returned with them. The Comtesse Emilie played on her harp; then we all united at loto. I went home at twelve, unrobbed; and Lord Fitzwilliam, who asked much after you both, was to set out the next morning for Dublin, though intending to stay there but four days, and be back in three weeks.
. . . . . The Duke of St. Albans has cut down all the brave old trees at Hanworth, and consequently reduced his park to what it issued from—Hounslow-heath: nay, he has hired a meadow next to mine, for the benefit of embarkation; and there lie all the good old corpses of oaks, ashes, and chestnuts, directly before your windows, and blocking up one of my views of the river but so impetuous is the rage for building, that his Grace’s timber will, I trust, not annoy us long. There will soon be one street from London to Brentford; ay, and from London to every village ten miles round! Lord Camden has just let ground at Kentish Town for building fourteen hundred houses—nor do I wonder; London is, I am certain, much fuller than ever I saw it. I have twice this spring been going to stop my coach in Piccadilly, to inquire what was the matter, thinking there was a mob—not at all; it was only passengers. Nor is their any complaint of depopulation from the country: Bath shoots out into new crescents, circuses, and squares every year: Birmingham, Manchester, Hull, and Liverpool would serve any King in Europe for a capital, and would make the Empress of Russia’s mouth water. Of the war with Catherine Slay-Czar I hear not a breath, and thence conjecture it is dozing into peace.
Dulwich College

. . . . . This morning I went with Lysons the Reverend to see Dulwich College, founded in 1619 by Alleyn, a player, which I had never seen in my many days. We were received by a smart divine, tre bien poudri, and with black satin breeches—but they are giving new wings and red satin breeches to the good old hostel too, and destroying a gallery with a very rich ceiling; and nothing will remain of ancient but the front, and an hundred mouldy portraits, among apostles, sibyls, and Kings of England. On Sunday I shall settle at Strawberry; and then woe betide you on post-days! I cannot make news without straw. The Johnstones are going to Bath, for the healths of both; so Richmond will be my only staple. Adieu, all three!
1.  Mme. d’Albany was the widow of Prince Charles Edward, who had died in 1788 in Italy. She was presented at Court, and was graciously received by the Queen. She was generally believed to be married to the great Italian tragic poet, Alfieri. Since her husband’s death she had been living in Paris, but had now fled to England for safety.

Riding in Rotten Row – 2011



copyright oldpicture.com

When I was booking my New Year’s Eve trip to England this past January, I searched high and low for a company that offered carriage drives through the London parks, a la New York’s Central Park. There are none. What with the state of London traffic, one can hardly blame them. And no doubt there are at least 37 laws currently on the books against the practice. But what a pity that the City once known for it’s fashionable promenades through the centuries should have let this tradition disappear altogether. Fashionables, fops and fair ladies with fine figures (not to mention splendidly attired servants) are now but distant ghosts. Phaetons have fallen by the wayside and Gunter’s is gone. Oh, the humanity!

However, a very last vestige of London’s equine past can yet be found at Hyde Park Stables, Bathurst Mews, W2, housed in an authentic mews used for stabling horses. Here, at least, not much has changed through the centuries. Although I don’t think they buy their horses from Tattersalls. No matter, the horses and ponies from Hyde Park Stables are well-known for their calm temperament and you’ll be escorted around the five miles of bridleways across Hyde Park so there’s no fear of getting lost.

“There have been horses here continually since 1835, aside from just two years in the Second World War when the building was used for motor vehicles,” says Catherine Brown, manager of Hyde Park Stables. “Mews are not very spacious but we’ve fitted air conditioning and rubber flooring for the horses. . . people are amazed there are still horses in an area like this. They just expect homes.”



Hyde Park Stables London
© Laura Porter, licensed to About.com, Inc.



Cost is about $115 per hour, helmets and boots provided. One drawback, no cantering allowed. A trot is all you’ll be allowed unless you pre-book an hour lesson in order to have your riding skills assessed.

One can only wonder at what Count d’Orsay must be thinking of this turn of events.

The Wellington Connection – Pubs

Today we’re taking a look at some of the many, many, many pubs named after the Hero of Waterloo.

As far as I can make out, the Duke of Wellington was not widely known as a drinking man, so the large number of pubs named in his honour is amazing – almost as many as those named for the Duke of York who, I believe, was a drinking man. And the Marquess of Angelsey, who may not have been a lush, but was certainly a wife stealer – but that’s another story. When in London, I heard tell of a man who has taken up the mission of visiting as many of the Duke of Wellington pubs across England as he can. He’s going to be very old, and very drunk, by the time he’s done. One of the prettiest Duke of Wellingtons I’ve seen is this one, though I’ve not personally visited it. Yet.

They’re in Surrey – check out the website here.

Whilst I haven’t made it my mission, I must admit that I’ve fallen upon, and entered, a few Wellington pubs myself, such as the one in Portobello Road that features this sign

And Brooke and I visited the Wellington at Waterloo south of the River in June, which you can read about in at prior post. If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that I fell upon yet another Wellington pub when in London recently, at the corner of Wellington Street and the Strand. Here’s a bit from that post to refresh your memory –

“took a boat cruise on the River Thames then went to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street for dinner. It was closed until the 29th – and the cab had left. Fleet Street after business hours is desolate, to say the least. What to do? Well, I thought, I’ll just carry on as if I know what the Hell I’m doing. “This way,” I told Greg as I walked purposefully towards the Strand. Please God, I prayed, let there be somewhere’s nice to eat. We passed The George pub – very old, very atmospheric, very closed. Xmas and the Bank Holiday are playing havoc with opening times. Right then, I told myself, keep marching. We fell upon Somerset House and went inside to watch the ice skaters. Then we walked another three blocks up the Strand when, off on the far right corner I saw something promising – lights were on, people were inside and it looked like a pub. It was a pub . . . The Duke of Wellington in Wellington Street. NO, I’m not kidding . . . saved by the Duke. Again. We had a pint in the bar and then went upstairs to the dining room, where we had a fantastic meal (lamb shank pie for me, steak for Greg) and warmed ourselves by the gas fire. The Duke of Wellington – I ask you, what were the odds!?”

Here are my personal photos of the pub, which don’t measure up to those above, but you’ll excuse me under the circumstances.

That’s the logo for The Lion King just behind the Duke – the pub is next to the theatre where it’s playing.

You can read a review of the pub here. To prove the point that one can, and often does, literally fall upon pubs named for the Duke of Wellington,  I tripped over yet another whilst Greg and I were on a Rock and Roll walking tour.

As we had to keep up with the tour guide, I didn’t have the opportunity to peek inside.

Which may be just as well, as I’ve come to learn that it’s known for being a gay bar. The Duke of Wellington . . . . . I ask you . . . . couldn’t they have changed the name to something a bit more appropriate?

On Dits from Ramsgate




Ramsgate Sands by Frith 1864

 

From The Letter Bag Lady Elizabeth Stanhope
Whilst on a visit to Ramsgate, Mrs Stanhope and her party were contenting themselves with whatever gaieties the place afforded, and on May 31st, 1807, Marianne Stanhope sent her brother an interesting account of the conditions prevailing there at that date.

Nelson’s Crescent.

Just now I think you would be very miserable here, for the wind is very high and whistles at every corner, the sea is rough and everything looks blowing. The night before last was dreadfully tempestuous, and all yesterday morning was very stormy, but it cleared out, happily for us, in the evening, so that we were able to take a turn on the pier.

That famous pier! The only thing worth seeing, I think, either in or out of Ramsgate, for you must know I have now seen almost all the lions:—that miserable forlorn Mansion, East Cliff, ci-devant Lord Keith’s; the elegant little cake house of Mr Warne, who is going to Russia; the soi-disant cottage of Mr Yarrow, in the romantic vicinity of Pegwell Bay, celebrated, I am told for its fisheries; and last, though certainly not least, the splendid and deserted King’s Gate. The building is very classic and elegant, but surely Tully’s Villa must be a very different thing in the sweet Campagna of Italy, than placed on such a barren cliff. Poor fellow! Could he look out of the Elysian fields (for there, I suppose, we must place him) I think he would not admire the change of situation!

There is a regiment of Irish Dragoons here. The Colonel has just left them to take possession of a large fortune, and another officer has gone to Ireland to give a vote. Both the Irish and Germans have very good bands which often play before our windows etc. this is the only gaiety there is.

I am sure all the pleasure of this place must depend upon the company; when you have society that you like, what spot will not appear pleasant?

We are not too well off in that respect as you will think when I have described our acquaintance.

Our greatest intimate is Lady Jane Pery (1), Lord Limerick’s daughter, who has had so many complaints she is unable to move from her chair, though full of life and spirits. Lady Conyngham (2) is the great lady of the place, a nice, civil old woman. We were at a party at her house where we met all the natives. Her daughter, Miss Burton, is 6 ft. 4 in. in height and ugly in proportion, but very agreeable. To-morrow we are going to a party there where we are to meet everybody, for you must know that even in this small society there is an improper set. Lady Dunmore (3) and her daughters, Lady Virginia Murray, and the married one, Lady Susan Drew (4), sisters to the Duchess of Sussex (5) and Lord and Lady Edward Bentinck (6); their two daughters are visited by very few proper people, but both these houses are the rendez-vous of the officers. Lady Sarah Drew had a ball the other night.

At Lady Conyngham’s, we are to meet all these.

Miss Bentinck (7) is a great beauty; there has been a long affair between her and Hay Drummond, which is at last broke off by the lady. She had been sent to the Duke of Rutland’s to be out of his way. Drummond contrived to introduce himself to the servants as her maid’s beau, by which means he slept in the house and was able to walk with her before breakfast and late at night. At last her brother, who was shooting one morning early, and knew Drummond by sight well, found them out and gave the alarm. The Duke sent Miss Bentinck home directly, and they were to be married in September, but lo! she has changed her mind.

1 Cecil-Jane, sixth daughter of the 2nd Baron Glentworth, who was created Viscount and Earl of Limerick in 1803. She married, in 1828, Count John Leopold Ferdinand Casimir de la Feld, a Count of the Holy Roman Empire.

2 Francis Pierrepont-Burton, 2nd Baron Conyngham, who, on inheriting the titles and estates of his uncle, assumed the surname and arms of Conyngham, married, in 1750, the eldest daughter of the Right Hon. Nathaniel Clements, and sister of Robert, Earl of Leitrim. She died in 1814.

3 Lady Charlotte Stewart, daughter of Alexander, 6th Earl of Galloway, married, in 1759, John, 4th Earl of Dunmore.

4 Susan, third daughter of the 4th Earl of Dunmore, married, first, in 1788, Joseph Tharpe, Esq. of Chippenham, Cambridge; secondly, John Drew, Esq.; and thirdly, in 1809, the Rev. A. E. Douglas.

5 Augusta, second daughter of 4th Earl of Dunmore, married, at Rome, the 4th of April 1793, Prince Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex, and was re-married to H.R.H. the following December at St George’s Church, Hanover Square.

6 Edward Charles, second son of William, 2nd Duke of Portland, and Lady Margaret Cavendish Harley, only daughter and heir of Edward, 2nd Earl of Oxford. Lord Edward Bentinck married Elizabeth, eldest daughter of Richard Cumberland, Esq., and had one son and three daughters. He died in 1819.

7 The three Miss Bentincks were: Harriet, married, 1809, Sir William Mordaunt Sturt Milner, Bart.; Elizabeth, married, 1812, Captain Henry Wyndham; and Charlotte married Major Robert Garrett.

The Darker Side of London History – Captain Coram and the Foundling Hospital – Part Two

From Memoranda; or, Chronicles of the Foundling Hospital by John Brownlow (1847)
“. . . . the difficulty which presented itself paramount to all others, related to the manner in which so great a number of children was to be reared. In the first year of this indiscriminate admission, the number received was 3,296; in the second year, 4,085; in the third, 4,229; and during less than ten months of the fourth year (after which the system of indiscriminate reception was abolished), 3,324. Thus, in this short period, no less than 14,934 infants were cast on the compassionate protection of the public! It necessarily became a question how the lives of this army of infants could be best preserved; and the Governors, not being able to settle this point among themselves, addressed certain queries to the College of Physicians, which were promptly answered, by recommending a course of treatment consonant to nature and common sense! Children, deprived as these were of their natural aliment, required more than usual watchfulness; and although, on a small scale, the providing a given number of healthy wet-nurses, as substitutes for the mothers of infants, would have been an easy task, yet, when they arrived in numbers so considerable, the Governors found that the object they had in view must necessarily fail from its very magnitude.
“It has been truly said, that the frail tenure by which an infant holds its life, will not allow of a remitted attention even for a few hours: who, therefore, will be surprised, after hearing under what circumstances most of these poor children were left at the Hospital gate, that, instead of being a protection to the living, the institution became, as it were, a charnel-house for the dead! It is a notorious fact, that many of the infants received at the gate, did not live to be carried into the wards of the building; and from the impossibility of procuring a sufficient number of proper nurses, the emaciated and diseased state in which many of these children were brought to the Hospital, and the malconduct of some of those to whose care they were committed (notwithstanding these nurses were under the superintendence of certain ladies—sisters of charity), the deaths amongst them were so frequent, that of the 14,934 received, only 4,400 lived to be apprenticed out, being a mortality of more than seventy per cent.”



James II shilling copyright icollector.com



Charles Knight writes more on this theme in Knight’s Cyclopædia of London (1851) –
“Of 14,934 children received under the new system, only 4400 lived to be apprenticed! On the 8th of February, 1760, a resolution was passed in Parliament, declaring “That the indiscriminate admission of all children under a certain age into the Hospital had been attended with many evil consequences, and that it be discontinued.” From 1756 to 1771, the years of the Parliamentary connection, the national fuuds coutributed, it appears, no less a sum than 549,796. 16s. to the expenses of this illjudged experiment. Yet it was not till 1801 that the most objectionable practice of taking children without inquiry, on a payment of £100, was formally abolished.
Now Knight touches upon a theme that is relevant to the Foundling Museum’s current online exhibition, Threads of Feeling.
“Tokens.—It will be seen, that one of the regulations at the outset was, that persons leaving children should “affix on them some particular writing, or other distinguishing mark or token.” Forty years ago, the Governors being curiously inclined, appointed a committee to inspect these tokens, with the view of ascertaining their general nature, which committee, having examined a portion of them, reported the following to be specimens of the whole: viz.—
A half-crown, of the reign of Queen Anne, with hair.
An old silk purse.
A silver fourpence and an ivory fish.
A stone cross, set in silver.
A shilling, of the reign of James the Second.
A silver fourpence of William and Mary, and a silver penny of King James.
A silver fourpence.
A small gold locket.
A silver coin (foreign), of sixpence value.
“In 1757, a lottery ticket was given in with a child, but whether it turned up a prize or a blank is not recorded. The following lines were pinned to the clothes of one of the deserted infants :—

“Go, gentle babe, thy future life be spent
In virtuous purity and calm content;
Life’s sunshine bless thee, and no anxious care
Sit on thy brow, and draw the falling tear;
Thy country’s grateful servant may’st thou prove,
And all thy life be happiness and love.”
“Another child, received on the first day of admission, had the following doggrel lines affixed to its clothes:—
“Pray use me well, and you shall find
My father will not prove unkind
Unto that nurse who’s my protector,
Because he is a benefactor.”

copyright Needleprint
“At this period, the station in life of the parties availing themselves of the charity, could only be surmised by the quality of the garments in which the children were dressed, the particulars of which were faithfully recorded; the following being a sample, viz.—
“1741.—A male child, about two months old, with white dimity sleeves, lined with white, and tied with red ribbon.”
“A female child, aged about six weeks, with a blue figured ribbon, and purple and white printed linen sleeves, turned up with red and white.”
“A male child, about a fortnight old, very neatly dressed; a fine holland cap, with a cambric border, white corded dimity sleeves, the shirt ruffled with cambric.”
“A male child, a week old; a holland cap, with a plain border, edged biggin and forehead-cloth, diaper bib, striped and flowered dimity mantle, and another holland one; India dimity sleeves, turned up with stitched holland, damask waistcoat, holland ruffled shirt.”
As to the matter of naming such a large number of infants, Knight explains –
“It has been the practice of the Governors, from the earliest period of the Hospital to the present time, to name the children at their own will and pleasure, whether their parents should have been known or not.
At the baptism of the children first taken into the Hospital, which was on the 29th March, 1741, it is recorded, that “there was at the ceremony a fine appearance of persons of quality and distinction: his Grace the Duke of Bedford, our President, their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Richmond, the Countess of Pembroke, and several others, honouring the children with their names, and being their sponsors.
“Thus the register of this period presents the courtly names of Abercorn, Bedford, Bentinck, Montague, Marlborough, Newcastle, Norfolk, Pomfret, Pembroke, Richmond, Vernon, etc.. etc., as well as those of numerous other living individuals, great and small, who at that time took an interest in the establishment. When these names were exhausted, the authorities stole those of eminent deceased personages, their first attack being upon the church. Hence we have a Wickliffe, Huss, Ridley, Latimer, Laud, Sancroft, Tillotson, Tennison, Sherlock, etc., etc.  Then come the mighty dead of the poetical race, viz.—Geoffrey Chaucer, William Shakspeare, John Milton, etc. Of the philosophers, Francis Bacon stands pre-eminently conspicuous. As they proceeded, the Governors were more warlike in their notions, and brought from their graves Philip Sidney, Francis Drake, Oliver Cromwell, John Hampden, Admiral Benbow, and Cloudesley Shovel. A more peaceful list followed this, viz.—Peter Paul Rubens, Anthony Vandyke, Michael Angelo, and Godfrey Kneller; William Hogarth, and Jane, his wife, of course not being forgotten. Another class of names was borrowed from popular novels of the day, which accounts for Charles Allworthy, Tom Jones, Sophia Western, and Clarissa Harlowe. The gentle Isaac Walton stands alone.

“So long as the admission of children was confined within reasonable bounds, it was an easy matter to find names for them; but during the ” parliamentary era” of the Hospital, when its gates were thrown open to all comers, and each day brought its regiment of infantry to the establishment, the Governors were sometimes in difficulties; and when this was the case, they took a zoological view of the subject, and named them after the creeping things and beasts of the earth, or created a nomenclature from various handicrafts or trades. In 1801, the hero of the Nile and some of his friends honoured the establishment with a visit, and stood sponsors to several of the children. The names given on this occasion were Baltic Nelson, William and Emma Hamilton, Hyde Parker, etc.
“Up to a very late period the Governors were sometimes in the habit of naming the children after themselves or their friends; but it was found to be an inconvenient and objectionable course, inasmuch as when they grew to man and womanhood, they were apt to lay claim to some affinity of blood with their nomenclators. The present practice therefore is, for the Treasurer to prepare a list of ordinary names, by which the children are baptized.



© Coram Family in the care of the Foundling Museum

“The children are all disposed of by apprenticeship: the girls at the age of fifteen to domestic service, for a term of five years, and the boys at the age of fourteen as mechanics, &c. for a term of seven years. The trades to which the latter have been apprenticed during the last seven years are as follows, viz.:— tailors, sixteen; boot and shoe makers, sixteen; fishermen, seven; cabinet makers, four; linen drapers, three; confectioners, two; bakers, two; gold beaters, two; hair dressers, three; hair manufacturers, two; silver smith, one; opticians, two; tin plate worker and ironmonger, ‘one; general provision dealer, one; weaver, one; law writers, two; watch maker, one; pawnbrokers, three; soda water manufacturer, one; cooper, one; dyer, one; paper hanger, one; furnishing undertaker, one; brass, copper, and iron wire drawer, one; silk hat manufacturer, one; domestic service, four; in all eighty apprentices. A very satisfactory report was recently made of their conduct and destination, four only excepted. These have left their masters, owing to disagreements; but are believed to be leading reputable lives.



Girls exercising at the London Foundling Hospital
© Coram Family in the care of the Foundling Museum

With respect to the girls, it appeared by a recent investigation, that of all those apprenticed during the last five years, there was only one whose conduct had been faulty, and she was redeeming her character by subsequent good behaviou
r.



Boys marching out of the London Foundling Hospital for  the last time, 1926 © Coram in the care of the Foundling Museum



Whilst running a charity of such a size was not without its problems, some might say horrors, over the centuries, thousands of children’s lives were saved:  some 27,000 children, before the 1952 Children Act changed the way charities operated.  The Foundling Hospital finally closed its doors in 1954 and became the Thomas Coram Foundation for Children, which continues to benefit the children of London to this day.