Crossing the Tamar

I recently acquired an interesting old letter card featuring eight photographs of Devonport, England. It was published by “W.B.P.” and my best guess for a date would be 1904 to 1907. Printed on semi-matt paper with a fairly course screen and a little faded with age, it doesn’t provide the best quality but I think these two images are good enough (after a little tweaking) to be posted for their historic interest.

Torpoint ferry

The ferry service across the Tamar estuary between what was then Plymouth, in Devon, and Torpoint, in Cornwall, was established in 1791 by the first Earl of Mount Edgcumbe. It’s still running – with three much bigger ferries. This image was also published by W.B.P. as a hand-coloured postcard.

Image from a letter card c. 1904-1907 published by "W.B.P."

Farther upstream, at Saltash, is the Royal Albert railway bridge opened by Prince Albert in May 1859. Still in use today, after periodic strengthening to take heavier trains, it is literally a monument to the brilliant Victorian engineer I. K. Brunel. He died four months after his creation opened and the railway company added his name, in large letters, to each end of the bridge as a memorial. A road bridge was built alongside it in 1962.

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Ancestral Bones

The town of Esher, in the English county of Sussex, is known today as a commuter town on the outer reaches of London’s suburban sprawl but in 1902 it was described by Charles Harper as “a pretty village” and a “charmingly rural place, with a humble old church behind an old coaching inn, and a new church, not at all humble, across the way.”

640px-Esher02

The old church of St. George in Esher, parts of which date to the 16th century.

“The old church of Esher”, he writes, “long since disused and kept locked and given over to spiders and dust, has a Royal Pew, built for the use of the Princess Charlotte and the Claremont household in 1816. It is a huge structure, in comparison with the size of the little church, and designed in the worst possible classic taste; wearing, indeed, more the appearance of an opera-box than anything else.

The authorities (whoever they may be) charge a shilling for viewing this derelict church. It is distinctly not worth the money, because the architecture is contemptible, and all the interesting monuments have been removed to the modern building, on a quite different site, across the road. …..

The reflections conjured up by an inspection of Esher old church are sad indeed, and the details of it not a little horrible to a sensitive person. There is an early nineteenth-century bone-house or above-ground vault attached to the little building, in which have been stored coffins innumerable. The coffins are gone, but many of the bony relics of poor humanity may be seen in the dusty semi-obscurity of an open archway, lying strewn among rakes and shovels. To these, when the present writer was inspecting the place, entered a fox-terrier, emerging presently with the thigh-bone of some rude forefather of the hamlet in his mouth. “Drop it!” said the churchwarden, fetching the dog a blow with his walking-stick. The dog “dropped it” accordingly, and went off, and the churchwarden kicked the bone away. I made some comment, I know not what, and the churchwarden volunteered the information that the village urchins had been used to play with these poor relics. “They’re nearly all gone now,” said he. “They used to break the windows with ’em.” And then we changed the subject for a better.
Charles G. Harper. ‘Cycle Rides Around London’, 1902.

photo from wikimedia

Note: Follow the Royal Pew link to see the present condition of the old church.

London’s Gaiety Girls

In the “seventies” [1870s] there was a wonderful galaxy of talent at the old Gaiety Theatre, Nellie Farren, Kate Vaughan, Edward Terry, and Royce forming a matchless quartette.

Kate Vaughn

Kate Vaughan

Young men, of course, will always be foolish, up to the end of time. Nellie Farren, Kate Vaughan, and Emily Duncan all had their “colours.” Nellie Farren’s were dark blue, light blue, and white; Kate Vaughan’s were pink and grey; Emily Duncan’s black and white; the leading hosiers “stocked” silk scarves of these colours, and we foolish young men bought the colours of the lady we especially admired, and sat in the stalls of the Gaiety flaunting the scarves of our favourite round our necks.

As I then thought, and still think, that Nellie Farren was one of the daintiest and most graceful little creatures ever seen on the stage, with a gaminerie all her own, I, in common with many other youths, sat in the stalls of the Gaiety wrapped in a blue-and-white scarf. Each lady showered smiles over the footlights at her avowed admirers, whilst contemptuously ignoring those who sported her rival’s colours. One silly youth, to testify to his admiration for Emily Duncan, actually had white kid gloves with black fingers, specially manufactured for him. He was, we hope, repaid for his outlay by extra smiles from his enchantress.
‘The Days Before Yesterday’, Lord Frederic Hamilton. Hodder and Stoughton, London.

Aldwych

Nellie Farren

Nellie Farren

For a popular burlesque, in the days of Nellie Farren and Connie Gilchrist, of Fred Leslie and Arthur Roberts, the same stalls were filled night after night by the rich unemployed, who afterwards followed their fancies hither and thither and spent quite considerable sums upon them. There was no great stir when marriages followed such aquaintance, and most of them turned out a great success.
‘Gilded Youth’ (essay) ‘Fifty Years, Memories and Contrasts’, Sir Ian Malcolm. Thornton Butterworth, Ltd; London, 1932.

I have to admit, in the interest of accuracy, that the Gaiety shown above in 1913 is not the “old Gaiety Theatre” these two men remembered. That stood across the road on the site of the Morning Post newspaper office at left. It had its last performance in 1903 and was demolished soon afterwards. The new theatre (on the right) had been under construction since 1901 and opened four months after the original closed.

Some of the Gaiety Girls held a reunion in 1950 and what remained of the theatre, just a shell since 1939, was demolished in 1957. The Morning Post building, completed in 1907, is now the One Aldwych hotel.

Stonehenge: the Giants’ Dance.

This image has been taken from a postcard sent from Malmesbury on August 21 1907 – one hundred and ten years ago (plus one day).

Image of Stonehenge from an Edwardian postcard mailed in 1907.

The front of the card, below the crop line, repeats a popular myth about the Giants’ Dance, sometimes known as Giants’ Round or Giants’ Circle.

“A Legend states: – Aurelius, wishing to commemorate a battle, sent for Merlin, the Prophet, to consult on the proper monument to be erected to the memory of the slain; he replied: “If you want an everlasting monument, send for the Giants’ Dance in Killarus, Ireland. There are stones of a vast magnitude, & wonderful quality.” The Britons despatched 15,000 soldiers under Uther Pendragon. The removal was violently opposed by Gillomanus, a youth of wonderful valour, who exclaimed: “To Arms, Soldiers! While I have breath they shall not move one stone.” A battle was fought & won by the Britons. Merlin then directed with a mystical & wonderful facility their removal. When accomplished, Aurelius summoned the Clergy and people to the Mount Ambrius, and a great solemnity was held for 3 days in honour of the event. Aurelius at his death was buried in the midst.”

This legend, and variations of it, can be traced to Geoffrey of Monmouth – “that master historian and myth-dispenser of the twelfth century,” according to Gerald S. Hawkins in his book ‘Stonehenge Decoded’. It could contain the seeds of two or more ancient events blended together and embellished by the author. Geoffrey wasn’t a man to let facts get in the way of a good story.

Gillomanus is claimed by some to have been the “king of Ireland”, Aurelius and Pendragon were real people outside the King Arthur legend (another one of Geoffrey’s fictions), but the stones of the henge came from Wales, not Ireland.

Research into this ancient World Heritage site continues and, incredibly, new discoveries are still being made. This detailed Wikipedia page will bring you right up to date and give you as much information about Stonehenge as you ever wanted to know.

Marble Arch and the Tyburn Tree

If you buy a picture postcard with a printed caption on the back, you expect it to be short, factual, upbeat and positive. No room for personal opinion. Maybe this caption writer didn’t get the memo.

Vintage postcard by J. Valentine of Marble Arch, London.

Marble Arch, London, – This fine if rather useless ornament of Hyde Park is reminiscent of the triumphal arches beloved of the Romans. The view serves to suggest the superb vistas available in the Park dear to fashion, which covers some four hundred acres, and is encompassed by a carriage drive two and a half miles long.

Arthur Mee, in his book ‘London’ (1937), gives us more detail about the Arch and the gruesome past of the place where it stands. This is the short, less harrowing, version.

At the top of [Park Lane], the meeting place of four great roads, stands the Marble Arch, which changed its address in the year of the Great Exhibition [1851]. Till then it stood at the entrance to Buckingham Palace; now it stands at the head of Oxford Street a few yards away from a little brass plate* which tells us that this was Tyburn Hill. Here were hanged men and women and children, heroes and malefactors, patriots and traitors.

The site took its name from the little river Tyburn, one of whose arms crossed Oxford Street here. Tyburn then lay among the fields, with only a few houses, from one of which the sheriffs watched the executions. Round the gallows were stands with seats, let to spectators at half a crown. Until 1783, when Newgate took its place, Tyburn was the busiest scene in the world of agony and sorrow. It became the frightful clearing-house for criminals of both sexes and of all ages. Upwards of 200 petty offences were punishable with death, and offenders were sent in horrifying numbers to die here in batches, a dozen or more at a time.

Vintage postcard of Marble Arch, London.

The arch was set up by John Nash ten years after Waterloo at a cost of £80,000. Chantrey’s statue of George the Fourth in Trafalgar Square was made for it, but never fixed. The arch was designed after [one] in the Roman Forum, and made of marble from Michael Angelo’s quarries at Carrara. It was orininally intended to symbolise the victories of Trafalgar and Waterloo in its picture panels, but the arch was made an arch of peace instead.

Map
*The little brass plate was replaced by a bigger concrete marker in 1964.

Bath Abbey

Extracts from ‘Notes on the Cathedrals’, an Edwardian pocket guidebook (c.1904) by W. H. Fairbairns.

The modern city of Bath was the Roman Aquae Sulis. Here the conquerors, attracted by the genial climate of the Avon valley, established themselves, and built not only a complete series of baths but a magnificent temple to Sul Minerva. The baths, more or less altered, we can still see, but of the temple there remain only the fragments in the museum.

Bath Abbey fromm the Roman Baths. Image from an Edwardian pocket guidebook.

The Abbey from the Roman baths

Early Christian tradition tells of the foundation of a nunnery by King Ostric at Bath in 676. A hundred years later Offa King of Mercia certainly established a college of secular canons here, who in the tenth century gave place to Benedictine monks. King Edgar came to Bath in the year 973 and was crowned in the Abbey Church on Whitsunday of that year.

From the Norman Conquest onward the history of Bath Abbey is closely knit to that of the Cathedral at Wells, and although there have been many changes, the diocese to-day bears the historic title of Bath and Wells.

Wells Cathedral_Quinton

An artist’s impression of Wells Cathedral by A. R. Quinton

John of Villula, a native of Tours (where as a doctor he had amassed a considerable fortune), was appointed Bishop of Wells in 1088 and removed the place of the see to Bath Abbey, the rights of which he had purchased from William Rufus. The removal caused serious discord between the men of the two places, and it was not until 1218 that the question was finally settled and the unbroken succession of Bishops of Bath and Wells began.

The present building was begun by Bishop Oliver King who was translated from Exeter in 1495. He is said to have been moved to do this by a dream in which he heard a voice saying ‘Let an Olive establish the crown and a King restore the church.’ The representation of the vision was sculptured by the bishop on the west front of the Church.

West front of Bath Abbey. Image from an Edwardian pocket guide book.

[As a result of the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the reign of Henry VIII] …Everything of value was sold, the building remaining roofless until 1572, and it was not until the time of Bishop Montague (1608 – 1616) that the Church was fully restored.

In 1860 Sir Gilbert Scott was appointed architect, and between 1864 and 1874 the sum of £37,000 was expended on the building.

Bath Abbey_pump

The west front of Bath Abbey with the pump house at right.

Wells Cathedral seen from Milton Hill. Image from a vintage postcard.

Wells Cathedral

Fans of the TV series, Doctor Who, will know that a battle scene between the Doctor (David Tennant) and Lazarus was fought inside Wells Cathedral.

 

Appledore, North Devon.

Earlier this month (7th) I posted a short item about the Old Tower at Lynmouth and quoted from a book called The North Devon Coast by Edwardian travel writer Charles G. Harper. This is such an interesting book, written in a comparatively ‘modern’ style for the period, that I’ll dip into it from time to time as matching images are added to ‘the collection’.

Appledore

Appledore, situated on rising and woody ground on the banks of the Torridge, is a pretty and picturesque old hamlet, with a considerable coasting trade of its own. Salmon-fishing is to be had here from May to September, and plenty of barges are still built in the old shipyards at the water’s edge.
[Tuck’s Oilette postcard c.1906. From a painting by H.B. Wimbush]

Harper wasn’t in the business of selling postcards, or picturesque old hamlets, so he told it as he saw it.

Appledore (whose name has really nothing to do with apples, but derives from two words meaning “water-pool”) stands at the very entrance to the Torridge estuary. On the opposite side is Instow.
Appledore is a decayed port; a fishing village long past its prime. Time was when its ship-owners waxed rich in what the natives still call the “Noofunlan’ Trade,” but that was long ago, and it is scarce possible even the hoariest inhabitant recollects those times. But the buildings, the quays are reminiscent; the whole place mumbles, quite plainly in the imaginative ear, “Has Been.”
This is, however, by no means to hint that Appledore is poor, or moribund. Vessels are repaired in its docks, a quarry is in full blast on the hillside, and the fishermen fare out to sea in pursuit of the salmon and cod. The less adventurous gather the edible seaweed known to epicures as “laver,” or at low water ravish the tenacious cockle and mussel from their lairs.
But, in general, Appledore has resignedly stood still since the “Noofunlan'” trade ceased, and remains very much what it was at the time of its ceasing: only something the worse for wear. Bideford may exchange cobbles for macadam, and even, in choice spots, wood pavement, but Appledore’s lanes, which are of the dirtiest, the steepest and most rugged description, still retain their ancient knobbly character. In short Appledore is a curiosity, and one not in any immediate likelihood of being reformed out of that status, for it is at the very end of things. So its white-washed cottages will long, no doubt, continue to give a specious and illusory character for cleanliness to it, as seen across the river from Instow; and “Factory Ope,” “Drang,” and other queerly named lanes will survive for generations yet to come.
‘The North Devon Coast’, Charles G. Harper. Chapman & Hall Ltd., 1908.

Here’s a link to modern Appledore.