WINDSOR'S "CROOKED HOUSE" NOW THE JERSEY PEARL

Windsor is one of my favourite places in England. It offers so much variety in things to see and do and the entire town is extremely walkable. I try to visit Windsor every time I’m over, as I did with Sue Ellen Welfonder a few months back. Of course, you can’t miss the Crooked House, a mainstay of the Windsor High Street for centuries. It was built in 1592 and originally known as Market Cross House, standing cheek by jowl with the Guildhall. It didn’t start to tilt until 1718, when renovations were carried out using green, unseasoned wood. I’ve personally seen it transform from one type of business to another several times, the latest tranistion being from gift shop to tea rooms. This time I visited, it was again being transformed, but the only clue we had to it’s future use was some gilt writing on the facade stating “Jersey Pearl.”
Soon after I returned home, someone mentioned the Crooked House in a Facebook post and a discussion was started regarding the House and it’s future purpose. Recently, I received an email from Windsor regarding exactly what the “Jersey Pearl” is and I share that news with you here. 
Mystery solved!

Windsor’s famous Crooked House is now the home of Jersey Pearl – and it’s a great place to visit.

Located in the heart of historic Windsor, Crooked House is one of the town’s most photographed buildings, instantly recognisable for its jaunty lean. But now, there’s a whole lot more to do and see inside – in fact, this amazing boutique is tipped as one of Windsor’s most enjoyable experiences.
There’s a huge range of exquisite pearl jewellery to suit all tastes and budgets. From classic necklaces to fun, contemporary and colourful ways to wear pearls, there’s plenty to explore and new looks to try.
For fans of royal history there are plenty of surprises. Fancy trying on a replica of Queen Elizabeth I’s necklace of 600 pearls? Or see what Queen Elizabeth II’s favourite pearl strands look like on? Come along and take a photo wearing them and then delight your friends with your new, royal look!
And while you’re at it, you can enjoy a spot of Christmas shopping; in fact, if you bring this newsletter to our boutique, you’ll receive £10 off your first purchase.
For more information, contact Debbie and the team in Windsor store.
Tel: 01753 868969

ONCE AGAIN WEDNESDAY: FASHIONS FOR 1815

Victoria here sharing a few of my fashion plates from magazines of 1815. At one time, I owned most of the 1815 and 1816 La Belle Assemblee volumes and plates, now residing in the Chawton House Library.  I have kept digital and printed copies for my own use, but they will reach a better audience there.  I still have a few from Ackermann’s, so herewith :

What you’d  be Wearing 200 years ago!

La Belle Assemblée, February, 1815
From the magazine: “Parisian Costume: A short round dress of the finest light ruby Merino cloth, trimmed with narrow blue velvet, is worn over a cambric petticoat, no part of which is seen by the double flounce of the finest Valenciennes edging with which it is ornamented at the bottom.  We refer our readers to the Print for the form of this dress.  An elegant little cap of black velvet is put on over one of white lace, the lace border is disposed round the face in a very novel and becoming style.  The hair is little seen on the forehead, and not at all on the neck, otherwise the fullness of lace would look much better; the cap is ornamented with a beautiful plume of white ostrich feathers, put on so as to fall over in front.  White silk scarf with a border of intermingled blue and ruby.  Black kid slippers, tied round the ancle (sic.) with a narrow black ribband; and white kid gloves.
                We have selected this dress because it is at present in the highest estimation amongst the Parisian elegantes; it is certainly original, and the materials are elegant, the scarf, in particular, is superb; its tout ensemble is truly French, and the admirers of Parisian fashions will, we think, agree with us, as to its being one of the most striking lately introduced in that tasteful metropolis. The dinner dress was invented by Mrs. Bell, Inventress of the Ladies Chapeau Bras and the Circassian Corsets, and of whom only it can be had, at her Magazin des Modes, No. 26, Charlotte-street, Bedford-square; of who also May be had the Parisian Costume as above described.

Ackermann’s, March 1815
This looks like just the ensemble for the chilly winds of March. But that hat would need a strong set of pins to keep it on her head.
Description from the magazine: “Walking Dress: Pelisse of short walking length, made of evening-primrose coloured velvet, ornamented down the front with satin trimming, round capes, trimmed to correspond, full lace ruff.  A French bonnet, composed of white velvet and satin in reversed plaitings, trimmed round the edge with a quilting of lace, full plume of ostrich feathers in the front. Half-boots of tan-coloured kid. Gloves, Limerick or York tan.”
Ackermann’s, April 1815
I love the parrot or budgie on her hand. 
“Morning Dress: A loose robe of fine cambric or worked jaconot muslin, over a petticoat of the same, flounced with French trimming; long, full sleeve, confined at the wrist with treble drawings, and ornamented with corresponding trimming. The robe or neglige of demi-length, is confined at the top by a narrow collar or gathered into a Vandyke ruff, and is worn with coloured silk handkerchief, tied carelessly round the neck, and is fastened down the front with bows and tassels.  A mob cap, composed of net and Brussels lace, decorated with a cluster of flowers, and bows of satin ribbon. Hair curled in the neck. Slippers or sandals of pale tan-coloured kid. Gloves en suite.”
La Belle Assemblée, May, 1815
Originally published March, 2015
Angouleme Walking Dress
Angouleme is an area of southwestern France. In 1799, the Duke of Angouleme married Marie Thérèse 1778-1851), eldest child of  King Louis XVI of France and Queen Marie Antoinette. The Duke was the son of the eventual French King Charles X, who abdicated in 1830.  As the niece of Louis XVIII. the Duchess was part of his entourage when he became King in 1814, and she accompanied him when he fled at Napoleon’s return to Paris. Since I cannot locate the magazine’s description of this plate, alas, I assume the ensemble is named for the Duchess in some regard.
La Belle Assemblée July 1815
Waterloo Walking Dress:  After the Battle, the publishers of this maga
zine must have raced to find a suitable dress to commemorate the battle, something in the colors of mourning for the dead, yet expressive of the victorious celebration throughout the nation. Do you think they succeeded?
From the magazine: “Waterloo Walking Dress
This very beautiful dress, which answers the double purpose of walking or dinner dress, is composed of clear muslin and is made in a most original and tasteful style:  the petticoat, as our readers will perceive by the Print, is ornamented in an elegant and appropriate manner with a tasteful black trimming.  The body and sleeves, composed of an intermixture of black satin and clear muslin, are exquisitely fancied; they are made in a style of novelty, elegance, and simplicity which we never recollect being equalled in the mourning costume.  The Waterloo dress, when worn for dinner parties, has no shirt, but some ladies shade the neck a little by a narrow frill of white crape round the bosom.  In the walking costume it is worn with a shirt invented for the occasion, and trimmed in a very novel and appropriate style.  Of the hat worn with this dress we can only observe that it is the most elegant and striking headdress ever invented for mourning; it is an intermixture of white satin and black crape, most tastefully ornamented with either black or white feathers.  Black or white kid sandals and white kid gloves finish the dress, the effect of which altogether is much more elegant than our fair readers can conceive either from the Print or from our description.  The above dress was invented by Mrs. Bell, Inventress of the Ladies Chapeau Bras and the Circassian Corset, and of whom only they can be had, at her Magazin des Modes, No. 26, Charlotte Street, Bedford-Square.”
La Belle Assemblée  August 1815

The description below is particularly amusing, referring to ease of shedding the dress while in the bathing machine (see background drawing) ready to be ‘plunged.’

“Sea Side Bathing Dress: This very elegant dress is composed of the newly introduced Berlin silk. It is made in the form of a pelisse, and is so contrived that the stays, petticoat, and pelisse are all put on in a few moments. A flounce of green gauze, crape, or muslin, edged with an exceedingly pretty silk trimming, ornaments the dress; which, when on, is so finished and elegant that no one could suppose it was possible to adjust it in a few moments. A Leghorn hat ornamented with a plume of straw colour feathers, and green plaid leather boots, finish this dress, which we look upon as a chef d’oeuvre in its way, since, independent of the advantage which it is to a lady to be able to dress and undress so quickly, the most fastidious belle must confess that nothing can possibly be more becoming than this Sea Side Bathing Dress. The Wellington corset, with which it is worn, is admirably adapted to display in the most easy and graceful manner the natural proportions of the shape; and the tout ensemble of this elegant and useful habit is simple, tasteful and in the highest degree appropriate.”

Ackermann’s, September 1815
“Dinner Dress: A white satin slip worn under a dress made in primrose-coloured French gauze, terminating at the feet with a full flounce  of blond lace, headed with a double border of the same, gathered in full, and confined with folds of satin, corresponding colours to the dress; handkerchief -front trimmed with white satin, and a falling collar of blond lace; long sleeve of white satin, the fulness upon the shoulder confined under an epaulet of the French gauze tried with white satin; the sleeve drawn alternately across the arm with the evening primrose coloured satin ribbon. Long white sash of white satin, tied in front.  The ends of the hind hair brought forward, to fall in ringlets over the temple, confined with a plain white satin ribbon, and ornamented with a tiara of pearl. Necklace to correspond. Gloves, French kid. Slippers, white satin.”
Want more of 1815? We’d love to have you join us on Number One London’s 1815: London to Waterloo Tour, when we’ll be exploring this exciting year in-depth. Full details on our website, at the link above.

LISTEN TO THE WATERLOO BUGLE BEING SOUNDED

Copyright Waterloo 200/Household Cavalry Museum

It is impossible to imagine the field at the Battle of Waterloo without calling the senses into play. The sights: soldiers clashing swords, horses rearing, men forming squares, columns of smoke from cannon fire. The smells: wet earth, sweat, wet horse and wet leather, cordite and black powder. The sounds: musket fire, swords singing metal on metal, horses neighing, men shouting and, perhaps most identifiable to us in the present day, bugles and trumpets sounding the calls. Amazingly, a few of the instruments that were played on the field of Battle at Waterloo have been preserved and are occasionally still played, like the trumpet above in the collection of the Household Cavalry Museum, which was played by John Edwards on the battlefield.

From the Waterloo200 website:

This field bugle was blown by 16-year-old John Edwards, who was duty trumpeter of the day. It sounded the charge for the Household Brigade which comprised the 1st and 2nd Life Guards, the Royal Horse Guards (the Blues) and the 1st Dragoon Guards.
The other brigade, the Union Brigade, comprised the 1st (Royal) Dragoons, the Royal North British Dragoons (Scots Greys) and the 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons. They charged a few minutes before the Household Brigade.
The Allied cavalry manoeuvred through the ranks of Allied infantry and charged D’Erlon’s Corps, with its supporting cuirassiers, causing immense damage. Then, rather than turn back having successfully completed their task, they charged on over the French gun batteries. They arrived without support and with exhausted horses deep into the French lines, where they in turn suffered heavy casualties.
Of the 2,500 cavalrymen involved, approximately half were killed or wounded. However, Napoleon had lost the initiative and failed to gain control of the battle. Two French Eagles (battalion colours) were taken.
Trumpet or bugle calls were a vital command system in battles at this time. Shouting and screaming men and horses, the explosions of guns, cannon shells and small arms made verbal communication impossible. The smoke from black powder meant visibility was down to that of a thick fog. The incredible danger from musket balls, sabres, cannon balls and kicking horses made full attention vital. Only the sound of the trumpet was able to communicate between cavalry squadrons, each of which had a trumpeter.
There were over 40 different bugle calls used in the field, all to command horses. Formations were controlled by calls known to the cavalrymen and made easier to remember by the addition of words in songbooks.
The trumpet was played again at the Household Cavalry Musem during preparations for the 200th Anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo in 2015 and you can watch the video and listen to the call being played here
A far older sound recording of a Waterloo bugle was made in 1890 in London by trumpeter Landfried of the 17th Lancers, who is said to have played the charge at Balaclava using this Waterloo bugle. You can listen to that recording here

For more on Martin Lanfried, visit the Lives of the Light Brigade site.

Want more Waterloo? You’ll have the opportunity to walk the key sites connected to the Waterloo Battlefield with guide Ian Fletcher on Number One London’s 1815: London to Waterloo Tour in June, 2017. In addition to the headquarters of both Wellington and Napoleon, we’ll be visiting La Hay Sainte, Quatre Bras, Ligny, Hougoumont, the Lion’s Mound, the newly remodeled Visitor’s Centre and, of course, the Battlefield itself. At every stop, Ian will describe the events that took place there and explain their significance in the Allied victory. This is an opportunity you won’t want to miss.

ONCE AGAIN WEDNESDAY: MUDLARKING ON THE RIVER THAMES

Since there has been so much interest in my recent mudlarking adventures with my pal, author Sue Ellen Welfonder this past September, I thought I’d re-run my very first post on the subject, originally published July 1, 2010:

Many, many (many) years ago, when I first began doing research into London history, I was intrigued to learn about the Mudlarks of London, people from the poorer classes, typically children and the elderly, who scavenged along the banks of the River Thames at low tide looking for anything remotely valuable – clothing, coal, coins, pottery, items that had fallen off of ships and barges, etc etc. – that they could turn around and sell to the rag and bone man in order to earn enough for a meal. Mudlarking was considered to be lowest rung on the scavenger’s ladder, so it was with great surprise, and a lot of pleasure, that I found myself actually mudlarking during my jaunt in London.

Having roamed the streets and gardens of London proper and venturing as far north as Hampstead and as far west as Windsor, my daughter, Brooke, and I turned our attention one day to the area of London south of the River – to Southwark, that once desperate area known for being the den of drunken sailors, thieves, prostitutes, cut throats and the Clink Prison – now a really tacky tourist trap.

As we were walking along the River on the Queen’s Walk, a pedestrian promenade located on the South  Bank of the River between Lambeth Bridge and Tower Bridge, we came upon stone steps leading down to the River. The tide was out, exposing what appeared to be a rocky beach of sorts.  We made our way down and, uncertain as to whether or not we were actually allowed down there, tentatively began to walk towards the shore.

You can see the usual high water mark from the algae line in the photo above. I stood there gazing at this rare view of the River with it’s beach exposed, recalling all I’d read about the long ago mudlarks. As I looked at St. Paul’s Cathedral on the distant shoreline, my heart skipped a beat as I realized that this was one of those moments I’d remember always – to be able to, for a moment, at a distance of centuries – walk in the mudlark’s shoes, to see the River as they’d seen it, to feel, as they must have done, as though I were somewhere I shouldn’t be, doing something I shouldn’t be doing, but compelled to carry on.
As I was telling Brooke the tale of the mudlarks, I glanced down at the sand and saw a shard of blue and white pottery. Holding it up, I showed Brooke. Where had it come from, she asked. Who knows, said I (with infinite motherly wisdom). Honestly, it could have washed up last week or last century. Or two centuries ago. Before I knew it, I’d spied another shard, and another. I was off, while my daughter rolled her eyes, telling me that she couldn’t believe I was actually garbage picking on the beach. Treasure hunting, I said, correcting her. I told her that many valuable objects were known to have washed up from the Thames – Medieval stuff,  Restoration gee gaws, Georgian trash, even. As if to prove my point, at that moment I found a bone. Really. A dried out animal bone. Maybe the leg bone of a dog. Fascinated, Brooke stepped in for a closer look. Is it new? she asked. Nah, I replied sagely, look, the bone and the marrow are all dried out. What’s it from? she asked. Some small animal, like a dog, I said as I gingerly let the bone fall to the sand. Of course, had the bone come complete with a tag that read “Authentic Leg Bone of a Regency Era Dog” I would have kept it, but the bone had done it’s trick – now Brooke had gotten scavenger fever. For about an hour we combed the beach until I noted (again with great wisdom) that the tide was beginning to turn and come back in. By this time, I’d amassed a bagful of blue and white pottery shards, one of them complete with the full figure of a robed Oriental person. I will put these shards in a bowl at home, with a note beneath them that reads “Found on banks of Thames River June 2010” and will occasionally sift through each one and remember with great fondness the day I became a mudlark. Here
‘s a photo of the sign above the bridge we were scavenging beneath –

Leaving the sand and returning to the streets of Southwark, Brooke and I came upon a pub called . . . The Mudlark (4 Montague Close, Southwark, London SE1 9DA). I later found out that today there’s a London-based Society of Thames Mudlarks, who are granted a special license by the Port of London to excavate the beach and who must turn over finds of historic importance to the Museum of London, whose holdings include the Cheapside Hoard, an eye-popping collection of 400 pieces of Elizabethan and Jacobean jewelry, dating back to between 1560 and 1630. The hoard was probably buried in the early 17th century and discovered in 1912, by workmen digging in a cellar in the neighborhood of Cheapside. Which is why there are now lots of regulations surrounding mudlarking about which Brooke and I were blissfully unaware.

It seems that journalist Nick Curtis took to the sand by the Thames himself and wrote about his own mudlarking adventure in the London Evening Standard. Here’s a portion of his article:

My day begins with the early morning low tide, in the mud of the foreshore near Custom House on the north bank near the Tower of London. Here, with commuters trudging above, I meet Ian Smith, a leading member of London’s loose community of mudlarks. Ian deals in antiques but he’s been combing the banks of the Thames for fun since the 1970s. When we meet, he’s hip deep in a muddy hole.

Anyone can wander down to the foreshore and pick up objects from the surface, but you need a licence from the Port of London Authority to dig or to sift. “Treasure” is the property of the Crown, although, as Ian says, no one would ever deliberately conceal valuables on a silty tidal foreshore. Plus, things don’t wash up from the river, they wash out from the land. Finds of historic interest are shown to the Port Antiquities Scheme’s finds liaison officer and archaeologist Kate Sumnall and, ideally, donated or sold to the collection of the Museum of London, where she works. Ian once found a hoard of counterfeit George II coins, and has donated several exquisite medieval pewter badges — lucky charms or pilgrims’ tokens — to the museum.

Even at first glance, there is tons of stuff on the shore. Victorian spikes, nails and barrel hoops, huge oyster shells and blackened animal bones and teeth. Once I’ve got my eye in, I also spot hundreds of clay pipe fragments. The smallest are the oldest, and were given away free in the 16th century with a tiny amount of the new and expensive import, tobacco. After just over an hour I’ve also found an ornate key, a stamped lead token, a pewter button and an iron flint striker for kindling fires.

Most of these are probably 17th or 18th century, but fragments of stoneware Bellarmine jars showing a bearded face — supposedly mocking an abstinent cardinal — might be from the 13th century. I’d love to search longer but time, and the Thames tide, wait for no mudlark.

Speaking of tides, Brooke and I stumbled upon the stairs at low tide, but if you want to plan your day around mudlarking, here’s a link to the Thames Tides Table.

THE BRIGHTON PAVILION – CAREME'S KITCHEN

The Royal Pavilion at Brighton is a fanciful building reflecting the enigmatic character of the man for whom it was created, George, Prince of Wales, the Prince Regent from 1811-1820 and King George IV from 1820 to his death in 1830.  Prinny, as he was often known, considered himself “The First Gentleman of Europe,” and a connoisseur of all things tasteful and refined.  And that was the paradox: He did indeed have good taste but he carried things to the extremes of excess.
James Gillray: A Voluptuary under the Horrors of Digestion, 1792
The British Museum

The Great Kitchen at the Pavilion was built especially for the Prince’s chefs who kept him and his minions well fed and produced brilliant banquets for his royal guests. 

(©Royal Pavilion and Museums, Brighton and Hove)

The Prince Regent was obsessed with all things French: architecture, décor, furniture, china, fashion, and “above all” French food.  Once Great Britain had driven out Napoleon, the Prince Regent had to have a French Chef to prepare his meals and banquets in London at Carlton House and at his Brighton home, the Royal Pavilion. He sent his household Clerk Controller to Paris to find a chef.  Even  the Prince was surprised when the celebrated Antonin Carême agreed to come, probably for the offer of a very high salary. Carême had prepared elaborate meals for the notables of Napoleonic France, particularly the diplomat Talleyrand and the Emperor himself – Carême was the first “celebrity chef.”

Cooking for Kings: The Life of Antonin Carême, the First Celebrity Chef
by Ian Kelly, a biography with recipes, 2003

Distinguished British writer and actor Ian Kelly is the author of Carême’s biography.  You can read more about Ian and his books here.  A chapter is devoted to Carême’s brief but notable career in England.  He arrived in July 1816, having left his wife and child in Paris. Carême certainly impressed the Prince’s guests with his dishes, particularly with his elaborate, even ostentatious, confections, up to four feet tall.

Before Carême arrived, the Prince was already grossly overweight.  Supposedly the Prince said that the temptations of his new chef’s cooking would be the death of him.  Carême replied, “Your highness, my concern is to tempt your appetite; yours is to curb it.”  Touché!

Marie-Antoine Carême (1784-1833)

Kelly had access to the records in the Royal Archive which include bills and notes from Careme’s time. When he arrived from France, Carême altered the usual method of disposing of the extra food  not eaten at the royal table. Previously, the staff could sell leftovers, plus such things as candles, and share the  profits.  Carême kept for himself the right to dispose of items from the kitchens. Thus he was quite unpopular with the staff.  Kelly tells some wonderful stories about the conflicts.  In late 1817, Carême returned to France.

(©Royal Pavilion and Museums, Brighton and Hove)

The kitchen as it appears today is only a part of the many rooms that were once used as bakeries, for supplies, preparation, sculleries, and so forth.  Kelly found records showing in 1817, in one month, the kitchens took supply of 428 bunches of radishes, 153 Savoy Cabbages, 7 dozen Cos lettuces, and spent over  £250 on 1,854 pounds of beef and similar amounts of mutton and veal.

For a 360-degree view of the kitchen, click here.


The Great Kitchen was built as part of the remodeling of the Marine Pavilion by architect John Nash.  Intended to be a model of innovation, the kitchen had running water, steam heating and special ventilation through the high windows. The oriental theme used in varied versions throughout the palace is also found in the kitchen. Tall pillars supporting the ceiling are adorned with copper palm fronds.

Nash water-colour of the Great Kitchen, 1828


The kitchen has been extensively renovated and visitors can see an impressive collection of  of Regency-era and early Victorian kitchen equipment.  Some of the copper pots on display once belonged to Apsley House, the London residence of the Duke of Wellington.

In his excellent book, Ian Kelly reproduces the menu of 18 January, 1817, for a dinner for Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia:  eight soups, eight releves de Poisson, fifteen Assiettes Volantes, eight grosses pieces, forty entrees, eight pieces montees, eight roasts and thirty-two entremets.” Kelly writes, “the banquet was to be seen and experienced as part of the theater of international relations — Napoleon’s chef creating a gastronomic spectacle for the conquering British monarch and his Russian allies.”  Excess indeed. 
Kelly’s conclusion is that Carême’s “…genius was to deploy methods that brought out the natural flavors of food to create a gourmand’s paradise while at the same time producing a feast which would, visually live up to the most opulent settings.”  He would have been the superstar of the cable Food Channels!

More information on the Royal Kitchen can be found here.  
Both Brighton and the Royal Pavilion are included on the itineraries for Number One London’s 2017 Regency Tour and Queen Victoria Tour. Details at links.