Caroline's Miscellany

Edwardian Lassie

2012-01-27T15:26:00.000Z

If you enjoyed Lassie, then Rescued by Rover is the silent film for you! The title does rather give away the plot, but there's plenty to enjoy even without a great element of surprise. I particularly liked the distraught father's insistence upon donning a top hat before rushing out of the house, and the happy ending for all concerned - including the 'villain'.

Cecil Hepworth, director, was born in Beaufort Gardens, Lewisham. The son of a magic lanternist, he developed a film career and established studios in in Walton-on-Thames. While they churned out several films a week, this one was probably the first to include paid actors and was among Hepworth Studios' greatest successes. It even had to be re-shot twice as the original negatives wore out.

Hepworth's wife Margaret both wrote it and starred as the mother, while Hepworth played the father. Even the baby was their daughter Barbara. After all, why pay half a guinea to an actor when you could appear yourself? As for the real star of the film, Blair the dog, he was the family pet!

Making history books

2012-01-26T14:01:00.002Z

Obviously, I need no persuading on the value of local history; but I do love new ways of exploring it. One of the most creative is artist Amy Lord's The Takeaway Shop. In an hour-long session, participants make their own book before filling it with images and text about Deptford's history.

The mixture of craft and historical discovery is irresistible. Lord has put together a wonderful selection of materials, from maps to images of buildings to photographs of events. That allows everyone to choose their own approach and create a unique personal archive to take away. It's also an opportunity to chat to other local people and share knowledge of Deptford's past.

Along with the cutting, gluing and creating, I loved exploring new documents. Among my favourites was an advertisement from a job applicant in 1840. I've explored similar approaches to job-hunting by other Deptfordians, but this appeal for the job of gravedigger was new to me. The applicant didn't emphasise relevant skills (as an unemployed sugar-mould potter he presumably had none) but rather his personal misfortune: he and his eight children were left dependant upon his wife. His unemployment, he was careful to explain, was because wrought-iron moulds had rendered him redundant. What a wonderful combination of industrial, social and local history: a perfect illustration of the value of The Takeaway Shop.

There's only one day of this event left, but if you want to book a last-minute place for Friday then click here. Transpontine has also visited.

Down the drainpipe

2012-01-24T21:49:00.001Z

This is one of the most wonderful drainpipes and hoppers I've noticed. It's on the main post office in York, which is a rather nice Victorian building altogether.

The building was designed by Sir Henry Tanner, probably the Post Office's best-known architect. The year York Post Office was built, he became principal architect of HM Office of Works (the department responsible for designing most main post offices of the period). His post office work can be seen throughout the country, and included major London buildings such as the King Edward Building in St Martin's-le-Grand.

Further reading: British Post Office Architects is full of information on both post offices and the people who built them. The British Postal Museum and Archive has published Built for Service: Post Office Architecture by Julian Osley.

Earl's Court: reliefs and reinforced concrete

2012-01-20T15:56:00.000Z

Built in just two years despite being located over railway lines, Earl's Court Exhibition Centre opened with the Chocolate and Confectionery Exhibition on 1 September 1937. In order for this building to be constructed, its engineers LG Mouchel & Partners had to work out how to build the foundations. Reinforced concrete beam work of great strength was the answer, raising the building over the tracks with columns and girders. One beam is 30 metres long, 5 metres wide and weighs over a thousand tons. That may sound excessive, but it's supporting a weight of over 4,000 tons!

The architect was an American, C Howard Crane, who had specialised in cinemas. He left Detroit in 1930 to escape the Depression; among his other London buildings is the Gaumont (now Odeon), Holloway Road. If we look beyond the show posters and welcome banner, then the building is very much of its period with its sweeping curves, long, slender windows and at the very top, its reliefs. Most visitors probably don't look up that high, and frankly the details aren't easy to make out from ground level. Their subjects are presumably meant to reflect the events within: gears for industry, musical instruments, sports, and flowers for horticulture. At the centre are the words Earl's Court below a knight on horseback.

Just decipherable on the centrepiece is the sculptor's name: David Evans. His better-known London work is the Guildhall's Gog and Magog of 1953. His Times obituary noted that 'it was in the illustrative relief that he excelled. His work was not conspicuously architectural in itself, but he had a very good understanding of architectural application, and he carried out several important schemes on public buildings'; these included Wandsworth Town Hall.

British Pathe - Gog and Magog back in London, 1953

Despite all this technical and artistic effort, the Exhibition Centre won't last long past its 75th anniversary. It is destined to be demolished after the Olympics (for which it will host the volleyball) and be replaced by a new development.

Boundaries

2012-01-18T21:03:00.002Z

This boundary post on Vesta Road, Telegraph Hill marks the historic border between Kent and Surrey. In the long years since county boundaries have been withdrawn, the post has developed a tired lean. Nonetheless, its message is still clear even if redundant.

Look more closely, and there's a smaller, stumpier boundary marker at its foot. The shorter sign reads 'Haberdashers' Company' and marks the edge of the guild's estates. The City of London Livery Company developed the area in the late nineteenth century, building houses "of a superior class" from here down to New Cross Road. Their presence remains visible locally, not only in the form of bollards but also in the Haberdashers' Aske's Schools.

York's public clocks

2012-01-15T20:39:00.000Z

Like London's, York's streets are well-supplied with clocks for the use of passers-by. Here are some favourites noticed on recent visits.

The street facade of St Martin Le Grand Church is dominated by a large clock, topped with the eighteenth-century Little Admiral (although they're currently away for restoration). The clock was replaced in 1855, and later heavily restored after being damaged in a wartime air raid, but the tiny seafarer and his sextant survived all this intact. Nobody knows if he represents any particular admiral, but he has been taking a sighting from the sun since the 1770s.

Given the importance of the railways to York, it's not surprising that a rather fine clock was erected in the station. It has been restored, and after some problems with an outbreak of spikes is now looking very handsome. I particularly like the small clock face on its side, ideally placed for those crossing the footbridge between platforms.

Much more modest is this British Rail clock, hanging above the doorway of a building now used as the National Rail Museum Friends' Office.

In the 1840s, an officers' mess was built for the Yorkshire Hussars. The De Grey Rooms went on to have various social uses, and are now occupied by York Theatre Royal. However, dances continue to be held in the ballroom; guests can check that they are fashionably late with a glance at this colourful clock. It was made by George Newey in 1906, as part of an exhibition for the British Association for the Advancement of Science conference, and afterwards hung in High Petergate before moving to its current location. Newey's grandson Geoff still looks after the clock. He also cares for other notable clocks in the city, and restored the Little Admiral clock in the 1960s.

Here's another Newey clock, near the station. While the swirling brackets first catch the eye, the carved case holds the attention.

After the elaborate brackets and housing of so many clocks, this one is striking for its relatively modest profile. The face, with its gilt flourishes, is set directly into the wall of St Michael's, Spurriergate (now the Spurriergate Centre).

Bell Yard clock

2012-01-10T22:04:00.001Z

Public clocks are a common, if treasured, sight in our cities but this example at Bell Yard always looks a little random and surprising to me. Although the bricks form a frame for it, the face appears to have been simply stuck onto the wall.

The small alleyway off the Strand was once less than respectable: Sweeney Todd's conspirator Mrs Lovett had her mythical pie shop here. You won't get any mysterious meat pies today, however: Bell Yard is now a byway of legal London.

Orphans and engines

2012-01-08T18:12:00.000Z

Charity collecting boxes need to attract the attention of potential donors. Some do so by their location, placed strategically next to a till for example; others have novelty shapes and bright colours; while a few offer some small piece of entertainment in return for your coin. The latter tactic is far older than you might expect.

The Railway Servants' Orphanage in Derby placed models of Stephenson's Rocket on railway platforms in the 1880s. When a coin was inserted, the clockwork mechanism would spring into action and the engine would come to life. No doubt this was a very effective way of using 'pester power' to extract pennies from travel-worn parents!

In 1930, you could have found one of these models at London St Pancras or Euston, or at 39 other locations throughout Britain. Although many were later converted to electricity, the example above still runs on clockwork. While its colleagues disappeared from their stations by the 1980s, this one continues its fundraising work, albeit at the National Railway Museum in York.

Where was I?

2012-01-07T18:46:00.002Z

I've been away for a few days (hence the lack of recent posts) - but in which city? Bonus points if you can identify the building!

Prince Frederick's barge

2012-01-01T22:14:00.001Z

If you want an elaborate showstopper of a ceremonial barge, you want the right designer. Thus, when Frederick Prince of Wales had his built in 1732 he didn't put a boat-builder in charge. Instead, he engaged William Kent: the architect and painter had recently designed the interior of Chiswick House. Kent would use similar motifs on the barge, carved by James Richards, Master Carver to the Crown.

Presumably John Hall, who actually built the barge, managed to guide the design in the direction of river-worthiness despite the elaborate gilding and decoration. 22 oarsmen rowed it, in costumes designed by Kent, and even their oars were decorated with painted designs. They conveyed Prince Frederick and his family on both official engagements and pleasure trips.

Frederick died in 1751 without ever becoming King, but his barge did reach the highest level: it was used as principal royal barge until 1849. The barge is now on display in the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich; alongside rather than upon the Thames, it still attracts admiring attention.

Top five of 2011

2011-12-31T15:38:00.000Z

To end the year, here's a quick review of this site's most popular posts of 2011.

In fifth place was London, 1940s: a look at post-war London in film. Staying with the twentieth-century theme, fourth place went to Inside BT Tower, my visit to the top of one of London's taller landmarks. (I took the lift!)

Number three was one of the more extraordinary sights from the BT Tower: the lonely figure of Middlesex Hospital Chapel. This listed Victorian building is all that survives on the former hospital site, currently awaiting redevelopment.

A relatively topical post, on the long history of London riots, took second place. However, the most popular post of the year was rather more cheerful: some Edwardian advice to tourists. A must-read for all London sightseers!

One final mention for the new pages on this blog - there's one for Postman's Park and another for ghost signs.

Above all, thank you for reading and a very happy new year!

Final rest

2011-12-29T15:09:00.000Z

Greenwich's saddest bird must be this cockatoo, resting uncomfortably if aptly in the graveyard at Devonport House.

Smithfield Market trains

2011-12-27T18:16:00.000Z

There has been a market at Smithfield for over 800 years, but the current building was opened in 1868. Among the reasons for rebuilding was the provision of railway facilities: with most of the meat now arriving by train rather than on the hoof, being able to unload it on-site was a huge advantage.

The Morning Post of 3 November 1868 described the amenities:

The building for the market covers an area of 620 feet by 240 feet, and beneath the floor of this large building there is a world of railways, and sidings, and cranes, and lifts, designed to facilitate the supply of the market with its thousands of tons of meat and poultry. The Metropolitan Railway will provide access to this market for the meat-laden trains of the Great Western, Midland, Great Northern, South-Western, and Chatham and Dover Lines; and by this system of underground communication will relieve to a great extent the street traffic. ... Of the area below the market one half - the northern - belongs to the Metropolitan Railway Company, and the southern half to the Great Western, which has the right of passing over the rails of the Metropolitan.

What was coming into the market and from where? The Morning Post offered details:

The Great Northern's deliveries consist of large consignments of prime beef, which start from Aberdeen, now, in fact, one of the London abattoirs. The northern counties of Scotland add to the contributions of beef as the train proceeds southwards. In the Lothians and Lowland counties of Scotland, mutton is added by tons; and onwards in England, through the northern, midland, and home counties, the load keeps constantly increasing with beef, mutton, pork, and veal. The loads of the Great Western, smaller in aggregate quantity, are higher in relative value, including, as they do, a large proportion of the finest quality of hams and bacon from Ireland and Wiltshire. The Midland brings in a large quantity of meat and poultry from Scotland, the North of Ireland, and the midland counties. The London, Chatham, and Dover brings about 20 tons of game and poultry per week. The quantity of meat brought into London last year by railways is close upon 100,000 tons, and nearly the whole of this will, on the opening of the New Meat Market, be delivered from the railways below the level of the new building.

The railway facilities are no more. The Snow Hill tunnel which carried the railway line was closed in 1916 while the sidings beneath Smithfield lasted into the 1960s. Today, the tunnel is part of Thameslink and the space under the market has been converted into a car park.

Season's greetings!

2011-12-25T09:59:00.000Z

Navigating Christmas

2011-12-23T17:00:00.000Z

When the shops are closed, tubes and buses aren't running, and no one can agree what to watch on TV, it's time to turn to the internet for seasonal entertainment.* With a tube strike promised for Boxing Day, a transport-based selection of ideas seems apt!

Test your knowledge. London Reconnections' annual Christmas Quiz is back, with appropriately transport-themed prizes including books and a set of Herrenknecht TBM Cutting Head fridge magnets. Be warned, it's not easy!
Enjoy some seasonal nostalgia. Turnip Rail has fascinating accounts of Christmas on the railways, here, here and here. Oh, for the days of trains running on Christmas Day...
Listen to Londonist Out Loud's day with London Air Ambulance.
Plan an outing to walk off the festive fare with the Ramblers Association Festival of Winter Walks. IanVisits has produced a handy crib sheet for London.

* Although, should you prefer to get some fresh air on Christmas day, Londonist has an invaluable guide to what's open.

Image by Shaun Derry.

St Katharine by the Tower

2011-12-21T20:55:00.000Z

Around St Katharine's Docks are a number of mooring bollards, topped with this attractive design. It reads 'St Katharine by the Tower' and has an image of the saint in the centre. She is stood alongside a wheel: apparently innocuous, but actually a reminder of her martyrdom by being broken on the wheel.

The name is that of a hospital which formerly stood on the site. Established in the twelfth century, it was demolished in the 1820s - along with over a thousand houses, slum accommodation for 11,300 people - in order for the docks to be built. There is evidence of a smaller dock having been here throughout the site's history, but Thomas Telford's scheme gave two large, purpose-built commercial docks surrounded by secure warehouses for valuable cargo.

The docks could not take larger ships, and were already starting to decline before being bombed in the Second World War. They closed in 1968. Their prime location next to Tower Bridge, however, ensured that redevelopment has followed. The docks are now a marina with restaurants occupying the warehouses; the bollards are subtle reminders of a more industrial past.

London to Hove

2011-12-19T19:48:00.002Z

This detail is from the porte cochere at the front of Hove railway station. It's on the London to Brighton line, but there's an even stronger London connection than that. The porte cochere itself, a large covered expanse providing shelter for those arriving at the station and their vehicles, was originally part of Victoria Station. It was moved to its present location when rebuilding at Victoria made it redundant there.

The tiled initials are 'LBSCR'. They stand for London Brighton & South Coast Railway, a company formed in 1846 when the original operators, the London & Brighton Railway, amalgamated with several other companies. They continued to own the line until they merged once again, forming the Southern Railway in 1923. The LBSCR was also known as 'the Brighton Line', a name which lives on in bingo calls ("five and nine...").

Deptford Copperas

2011-12-17T18:47:00.000Z

Copperas Street is a topographical reminder of one element in Deptford's industrial past. Copperas manufacture began here in the seventeenth century and continued until 1828. Although now largely forgotten, the industry was once a highly significant one.

Copperas, or iron vitriol, is a ferrous sulphate. It was made from iron pyrites stone: not the shiny, 'fool's gold' form but heavy, dull black pebbles found in London clay and on Kent beaches. Once manufactured, Deptford copperas was used to make black and red dyes. (Other possible uses included production of sulphuric acid, or oil of vitriol, dye fixative, ink and gunpowder manufacture. It even became an ingredient of various patent medicines)

Sir Nicholas Crispe - whose main trade activities were in West Africa, and included the slave trade -established copperas manufacture in Deptford, off Church Street. The works had their own dock on Deptford Creek. An account given to the Royal Society in 1678 described the copperas bed as 'about an hundred feet long, fifteen feet broad at the top, and twelve feet deep, shelving all the way to the bottom.' The bed had clay and chalk at the bottom, with a wooden trough in the middle which led to a cistern. The iron pyrites stones were laid about two feet deep, then left to ripen for five or six years in the sun and rain before they began to produce a liquor of sufficient strength. New stones would be laid on top every four years to refresh the bed.

The liquor ran into a cistern which could hold seven hundred tons. The cistern was built from chalk-caulked oak boards; further boards sub-divided it to prevent leakage. Its liquid was pumped to a lead boiler some eight feet square where it was boiled with scrap iron for a week - thanks to improvements brought in by Crispe. Prior to his innovations, the process had taken about 20 days. This was expensive, as the fuel for this process was Newcastle coal.

Once sufficiently concentrated, the liquid was left in a cooler for a further two weeks for the crystals to form. Deptford's cooler was unusual in being made of tarras, a form of cement, rather than the more usual lead. It was twenty feet by nine feet, and five feet deep. The copperas would form five inches thick on the bottom and sides.

The copperas works are not simply a forgotten piece of local history or a byway of industrial history. Rather, researcher Tim Allen argues that they force us to reappraise the origins of the Industrial Revolution. Well before the development of the coal and steel industries in the north, these chemical works in London and on the Kent coast required capital investment and a long manufacturing process, and produced large returns. Copperas also contributed to many other industries, and was arguably a vital forebear of the modern chemical industry.

Image: Iron(II) sulfate [copperas], from Wikimedia Commons.

Romilly in Russell Square

2011-12-14T16:37:00.002Z

In the eighteenth-century, so many offences carried the death penalty that the criminal law of the period is known as the 'Bloody Code'. The population might have been seriously depleted, were it not for important factors limiting the actual number of executions. First, many of the capital offences were awfully specific: damaging a particular bridge, for instance. Secondly, juries would convict of lesser offences (undervaluing stolen goods, for example) or leniency being granted after the death sentence was imposed.

However, the second factor introduced its own problem: convicts' lives depended upon the whim of those judging them. Sir Samuel Romilly saw that the more satisfactory solution would be to reduce the number of offences carrying the death sentence, and dedicated himself to seeking reform.

Romilly was the grandson of Huguenots; although his father was a jeweller, it was decided that he would train in the law. He qualified as a barrister, practised with some success, and was appointed solicitor-general in 1806. That was the beginning of a political career dominated by his campaign for criminal law reform.

His first success was the abolition of the death penalty for theft from the person. Unfortunately, his subsequent attempts at similar reforms to other offences were unsuccessful. (The exceptions were repeal of the death penalty for theft from bleaching grounds, and for soldiers or sailors who begged without an official pass.) His work was not in vain, though: the political atmosphere began to change so that in 1823 the death penalty became discretionary rather than mandatory for many offences, and by 1861 only five capital offences remained.

Sadly, Romilly would not see these later successes. When his wife died suddenly in 1818, he was dreadfully distressed. At his home in Russell Square, now marked by a plaque, he cut his own throat just a few days later.

Wintry Wisley

2011-12-12T16:31:00.002Z

Described by the Royal Horticultural Society as their flagship garden, Wisley in Surrey is full of interest even in the depths of December.

Peterboats

2011-12-11T16:21:00.000Z

Many thanks to ChrisP of Ornamental Passions - and Rowing for Pleasure - for identifying the boat in Tull's terracotta sign as a peterboat.

Peterboats were used for fishing on the Thames from mediaeval times until the nineteenth century. Legend has it that they used to ferry passengers between the cathedrals of Saxon London; their use for fishing is better documented and endured for centuries. They were double-ended rowing boats, well-balanced, typically with a well in the middle to hold the catch.

The small peterboat died out in the mid-nineteenth century, having evolved into the larger 'bawley' which could be around 30 feet long with sails. They were particularly popular around Leigh, where they were used for shrimp fishing. Meanwhile, growing pollution was driving fishing boats out of London altogether: by the end of the century, the Greenwich whitebait fisheries which had used these boats disappeared. (Ironically, for some time before that, the pollution in the water actually seemed to benefit the fish!) One of the city's characteristic craft thus vanished from its river.

London Christmas lights

2011-12-08T19:59:00.010Z

The best Christmas lights in London are to be found away from Oxford Street and Regent Street. I explored some of them last night with Westminster Walking - there are further walks on 12 and 29 December, ending in a pub with open fires and mulled wine.

Ratcliffe Highway Murders

2011-12-07T17:00:00.004Z

Today is the 200th anniversary of a particularly grisly crime: the Ratcliffe Highway murders. In what was then one of the seediest dockland districts, draper Timothy Marr and his wife Celia, their baby son and their apprentice James Gowan were all found brutally murdered in their home. Only the family's maid survived, having been out trying to buy oysters. Less than a fortnight later, another family would be brutally killed.

The murders were never solved. When suspect John Williams hanged himself (or was hanged) in his cell, the case was officially closed but in fact it is unlikely he killed alone. He may not even have been involved at all. Nonetheless, he was paraded through the streets before being buried with a stake through his heart.

Rather than rehearse the facts in more depth, I'm happy to be able to suggest a rich assortment of further reading. The case was investigated by the Thames Police, who have a full account on their website. IanVisits has revisited the locations (now utterly changed) and also draws some modern parallels. For a map and more photos, see Londonist.

For more depth, there is a book-length account of the crime by PD James, The Maul and the Pear Tree. Alternatively, you can explore the scene yourself with a guided walk by Spitalfields Life on 28 December, or get a flavour of what the area was like in the reconstructed Sailortown at the Museum of London Docklands.

Frederic David Mocatta, Victorian philanthropist

2011-12-05T16:19:00.001Z

Among the many public drinking fountains in the City of London is this example outside St Botolph's, Aldgate. Dated 1909, it has a carved inscription bearing the name of the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain Association - but below is a metal plate bearing a fuller explanation of its presence:

In honoured memory of Frederic David Mocatta, in recognition of a benevolent life, January 16th 1905.

It's a lovely epitaph for a man whose impact on the lives of the London poor was significant. Mocatta retired from Mocatta & Goldsmid, bullion brokers, in 1874 when he was not yet fifty. He thereafter dedicated himself to philanthropy.

He was involved in many charitable organisations working in London, particularly the East End, and was concerned that charities should encourage the independence of the poor. Although he had a particular interest in housing, many London hospitals and the RSPCA were among the beneficiaries of his philanthropy. Mocatta supported many Jewish charities, and for the last years of his life was chairman of the council of the West London Reform Synagogue.

Mocatta also engaged in study, particularly of Jewish history. He was the author of The Jews and the Inquisition, and funded publications by other authors. His library is now at University College London.

This isn't the most elegant drinking fountain in London, and it's unlikely that many passers-by today are tempted to drink from its chained cup. At least a few might, though, take a moment to ponder the 'benevolent life' of the notable Victorian philanthropist it commemorates.

Tull of Fenchurch Street

2011-12-03T15:50:00.001Z

If you search among the shops in Fenchurch Street, you won't spot Tull, fishing line and twine makers. However, take a closer look above the sign for Moss and there they are in a terracotta relief. It proudly points out that Tull was established in 1740; two fishermen casting a net from their rowing boat illustrate the firm's products.

The company certainly had a long history on this site. Elizabeth Tull, 'Net, Twine & Line-maker' appears at the address in Kent's Directory of 1794; the current building dates from 1880. The actual manufacture was carried out in Globe Lane (now Globe Road), Mile End. (An Old Bailey case of 1818 concerned the theft of 18lb of hemp from the 'manufactory'. The thief was transported for seven years.)

Tull seems to have enjoyed a reputation for quality. In 1827, one WP Richards wrote to the Literary Gazette with an account of his trial of an anti-rot treatment for rope. The experiment used 'new cord, of the very best quality, sold by Mr. Tull, in Fenchurch Street.' A few years later, Tull were among the exhibitors at the Great Exhibition of 1851, showing 'twine, fishing lines, cords, ropes, casting nets, & c., made of different materials'.

Today, the company seems to have long disappeared. However, its representatives carry on fishing the first floors of Fenchurch Street, almost unnoticed by passers-by.

Seasonal London gifts

2011-12-01T16:18:00.007Z

Wondering what to give the London geek in your life? Here are some of my favourite ideas for unusual presents:

For a suitably old-time ambience, try Victorian Trumps: a top trumps game offering amusement for all the family.

There are all sorts of covetable, vintage gifts at London Peculiar - and their map of London peculiars makes a lovely stocking-filler.

Amelia Parker has jewellery for men and women made with antique clay pipes. It's an amazing way to share something unique, centuries old, yet very usable. You can purchase the jewellery online, or at various markets throughout December.

For a present that lasts all year, museum membership is perfect. IanVisits has an excellent summary of what's on offer - from major institutions like the Science Museum to small and quirky options such as Carshalton Water Tower. Alternatively, cover all historical bases with membership of London Historians, with a monthly newsletter and events ranging from pub meetings to walks and tours.

Finally, this weekend is Gifted in Deptford: over 200 artists and designers are offering their work. Mulled wine and mince pies are also available, all well away from the unbearable crowds in the West End.

High street Victoriana

2011-11-30T16:00:00.007Z

One of the finest buildings in Bridgwater's shopping streets, E H Hooper is a beautiful Victorian survival. While it may offer less in the way of silk mercery, mantles and millinery than in years past, it continues to sell ladies' clothing and household linen.

Built as a house in the eighteenth century, the building was later converted to commercial use and its shop-front dates from late nineteenth century. There are so many lovely details: from the age-worn wording of the sign to the mosaic in the doorway. It's just a shame that the plate glass windows now reflect some rather mundane shopfronts from the other side of the street.

Cryptic clue

2011-11-29T17:41:00.004Z

Having been built in 1367, the spire of St Mary's, Bridgwater has required repairs from time to time in the centuries since. Those of 1694 are commemorated in a plaque - but it's rather cryptic. First, it's on the side of the spire itself so reading it from the ground requires excellent eyesight. Second, the text is very economical: 'G B/H P/1694'.

This type of inscription always intrigues me. Were those responsible too modest to add more (although too proud to resist altogether)? Were they arrogant enough to think that everyone would always know just what those few letters and numbers meant? Or were they simply limited by space and money?

On toast sandwiches

2011-11-27T23:02:00.002Z

The Royal Society of Chemistry has got a lot of publicity for its 'toast sandwich' recipe, inspired by Mrs Beeton and apparently costing 7.5 pence (which surely depends upon cheap bread and cheaper electricity). However, in emphasising its simplicity, the RSC are failing to heed Mrs Beeton's stern and substantial advice on the subject of toast.

Indeed, as well as her recipe for toast sandwiches ('tempting to the appetite of an invalid') and toast-and-water (a hot drink), Beeton offers separate recipes for dry toast and hot buttered toast. In the spirit of these frugal times, here are the instructions for making dry toast:

To make dry toast properly, a great deal of attention is required; much more, indeed, than people generally suppose. Never use new bread for making any kind of toast, as it eats heavy, and, besides, is very extravagant. Procure a loaf of household bread about two days old; cut off as many slices as may be required, not quite 1/4 inch in thickness; trim off the crusts and ragged edges, put the bread on a toasting fork, and hold it before a very clear fire. Move it backwards and forwards until the bread is nicely coloured; then turn it and toast the other side, and do not place it so near the fire that it blackens. Dry toast should be more gradually made than buttered toast, as its great beauty consists in its crispness, and this cannot be attained unless the process is slow and the bread is allowed gradually to colour. It should never be made long before it is wanted, as it soon becomes tough, unless placed on the fender in front of the fire. As soon as each piece is ready, it should be put into a rack, or stood upon its edges, and sent quickly to table.

Dr Salter's Daydream stolen

2011-11-24T18:54:00.004Z

Last year, I blogged about a statue commemorating Dr Salter, who provided healthcare to Bermondsey's poor as well as working for them as the local MP. Sadly, that statue has been stolen from its bench; the girl and cat have been moved for safekeeping.

Here is the original post:

On the Thames path at Bermondsey, a man sits on a bench waving at a small girl and a large cat. They may make an odd trio but they do tell a story, as a nearby board explains.

The man is Dr Alfred Salter, born in Greenwich in 1873. A doctor trained at Guy's Hospital, he first visited and then moved to Bermondsey and took practical action to address the poverty there. Not only did he provide consultations for sixpence (or even free), but he also set up a health insurance scheme and Sunday morning adult education classes. Through his efforts, the area had a local health service long before the establishment of the NHS. He also became a local Liberal councillor before moving to the Independent Labour Party.

Dr Salter married and had a daughter, who was educated locally. However, she died of scarlet fever aged only 8: this is the girl depicted in his daydream. After her death, his work for local people continued. He bought a house in Kent which was turned into a convalescent home for Bermondsey people, and in 1922 became MP for Bermondsey. The returning officer who declared him elected was the mayor - his wife Ada, a successful activist in her own right and the first woman mayor in London and first Labour mayor in Britain. He served as MP until 1945, when he stood down on health grounds. Dr Salter died later that year.

If you know anything about the statue's whereabouts, Southwark Council are offering a £1,000 reward.

Mystery object - for the birds

2011-11-22T16:40:00.001Z

The mystery object on the front of Hogarth's House is a bird pot or 'sparrow pot'. These ceramic, bottle-shaped objects were designed for birds to nest in and seem to have been popular throughout London in the eighteenth century (and for several centuries before). However, their exact purpose is uncertain.

A similar pot has been found in Williamsburg, USA; you can buy a replica from the Colonial Williamsburg catalogue, which assumes that the birds were welcomed in order to control insects. However, that doesn't seem to be quite such a convincing explanation for urban London. Why, then, were city-dwellers eager to attract small birds to nest outside their windows?

The likeliest explanation seems to be that the eggs and baby birds were readily accessible (by reaching out of a window and unhooking the bottle) so that they could be taken and eaten. This rather grisly explanation does raise a question: were the tiny amounts of protein worth the effort? I also thought that birds would soon learn not to nest in these 'bottles' if they wanted their young to survive, but apparently they are more likely to respond by laying another clutch of eggs.

It will be interesting to find out how the bird pot on Hogarth's House fares. I should add that the staff have no plans to eat any birds nesting there!

Swine and other profanation

2011-11-21T18:53:00.005Z

Still in Chiswick, the wall of St Nicholas's churchyard carries an interesting inscription. It's rather worn and difficult to read now, so I'm grateful for the transcription on the church website:

This wall was made at ye charges of ye right honourable and trulie pious Lorde Francis Russell Earle of Bedford oute of true zeale and care for ye keeping of this churchyard and ye wardrobe of Goddes saintes, whose bodies lay therein buryed from violating of swine and other profanation so witnesseth William Walker, v.1623’ Rebuilt in 1831: refaced in 1884.

Nearby is a flood marker, which doesn't look that remarkable until the passer-by notices the considerable slope from the river's edge to this point in the road. The date is also a hint that this flooding was out of the ordinary: it marks the high point of the lethal 1928 floods which affected much of riverside London.

Hogarth in Chiswick

2011-11-20T16:41:00.007Z

How better to explore the life of eighteenth-century artist William Hogarth than on a sunny autumn day in Chiswick, in the company of London Historians? Famous as the creator of Gin Lane and The Rake's Progress, Hogarth was an artist, satirist and cartoonist who depicted all levels of London life. However, he also had a country home - in Chiswick, then a rural area on the edge of the city.

His home was a relatively modest house which he extended and embellished with an oriel window. It has survived largely intact, despite the efforts of a World War II bomb, and has just reopened after several years' restoration. While the house is now alongside the A4, it was easy to ignore the sound of traffic as our guide Val Bott took us back to the quiet village Hogarth knew.

It was also in Chiswick that Hogarth was buried, in the churchyard of St Nicholas's. Here, his friend the actor David Garrick was involved in erecting a memorial to him. Hogarth is also remembered by a statue on the High Road and, rather incongruously, a roundabout. Unfortunately, when many London motorists hear his name they probably think first of the traffic news!

We'll leave Chiswick with a little mystery: can you identify this object, which is on the facade of Hogarth's house?

Doll's house

2011-11-18T22:36:00.004Z

The Hotel Russell in Bloomsbury is an elaborate late-Victorian structure, full of carved details and decorative flourishes. No excuse is missed for a bit of sculpture or a few reliefs. Perhaps most fanciful of all is the roofline: there are stripy chimneys, turrets worthy of a Disney castle, and of course a few more garlands and warriors.

Charles Fitzroy Doll was the architect responsible for all this exuberance. Although he designed a number of hotels, his most famous (and short-lived) creation is perhaps the Titanic's dining room. While that work is now at the bottom of the ocean, the Hotel Russell's fate is much happier: recently restored, it continues to dominate its square.

London Remembers relaunched

2011-11-17T17:54:00.003Z

Last night was the official relaunch of the new, improved London Remembers. This amazing website maps an enormous number of London memorials of all kinds, and is now lovelier and easier to use than ever.

If you want to find out about a particular memorial then there's a very good chance you'll find it here. However, the true joy of the site is just browsing through all the extraordinary lives commemorated in fountains, statues, plaques and more. It's a labour of love, which means that the definition can be stretched now and then to include a not-quite memorial to a shop and some puzzling stones commemorating 'Little Whig and Kitt Catt'. There are many, many more treasures: get browsing and choose your own favourites!

Random statue 12: Robert Milligan

2011-11-15T20:15:00.003Z

Looking out at West India Docks, Robert Milligan's statue has seen a lot of changes since 1813. However, they are no more extreme than the changes Milligan had overseen here during his lifetime.

Born and brought up in Jamaica, where his family owned sugar plantations, Milligan came to London in 1779. Here, he would become the leading member of a group of businessmen who created the West India Docks. They wanted a safer place to unload cargoes from the Caribbean, which had suffered heavy thefts elsewhere in London's port. The foundation stone was laid in 1800, with the dock itself opening just two years later.

After a move to the dock entrance and a period in storage, Milligan's statue is back in its original position. However, behind him the former warehouses are now the Museum of London Docklands which tells the story not only of the docks he lived among and expanded, but also of the slavery and exploitation which lay behind the wealth of Milligan and his colleagues.

Breton woodwork

2011-11-13T20:50:00.002Z

The mediaeval town of Dinan, Brittany is full of wonderful details. This carved figure adds its own contribution to the varied textures of wood on a half-timbered facade.

Servants' bells

2011-11-10T14:38:00.005Z

Having servants may have been a luxury, but part of the cost was loss of privacy. Until well into the eighteenth century, there was no easy way to summon them from another part of a large house. A servant would therefore stay in the room with their employers, or just outside the door, so that they could be quickly called when needed. Only in 1744 was a bell system invented, enabling servants to be in other parts of the house until rung for.

By the nineteenth century, such systems had become standard in larger households. They were familiar enough to Victorian readers for a bell-pull to play a key role in the Sherlock Holmes story The Adventure of the Speckled Band.

The board of labelled bells pictured here is in Tyntesfield, a Victorian mansion in North Somerset. As electrical systems progressed, more modern systems would have smaller boards indicating which bell had been rung and a discreet button instead of a bell pull.

While such a system may seem the height of luxury to us, the New York Times of 1894 disagreed. In an article on Englishmen's dining rooms, it observed:

Such a convenience as a table bell is an unknown article of furnishing. Should the servant by any chance be wanted when out of the room, even at dinner, the mistress will rise from her chair and cross to the mantel, by the side of which is an electric button or bell pull communicating with the kitchen.

Grotto Passage

2011-11-08T19:05:00.003Z

There is a whole lost world of London entertainment: its pleasure grounds, panoramas and private museums. One eighteenth-century attraction which now survives only as a street name was John Castle’s shell grotto, a wonderland of constructions in shells, housed in an acre of the open land which then characterised Marylebone.

The grotto didn’t long survive Castle’s death in 1757, and in the nineteenth century the area was no longer one of fields. Instead, a ragged and industrial school was built in Grotto Passage– but its elaborate lettering perhaps suggests a hint of whimsy lingering about the spot.

However, there was probably little that was whimsical about the lives of impoverished children educated there. A parliamentary report of 1854 states:

This institution was opened in 1846, in a small room in the above locality, at first as an evening school for boys of the ragged class.

In 1849 a refuge and reformatory for boys was opened, accommodation having been made for 25. 209 have been admitted; of these, 62 have been sent to Australia; 34 to Canada; 55 have entered the royal navy; 36 the merchant service; and 10 various kinds of service at home. Total, 197.

Why such an emphasis on emigration? Apparently it was difficult to find work for these children in London; that must have been all the more true for the Grotto School. According to evidence heard in 1852, it was one ‘where children, who were found unmanageable in the workhouse on account of bad behaviour, have been taken in, and reformed and emigrated.’

I discovered this intriguing alley on a tour of Marylebone with Jo of Westminster Walking which I’d recommend highly. Alternatively, if all this talk of grottos has put you in a festive mood, she offers a tour of London’s Christmas lights which ends in a pub with a fire and mulled wine.

From the archives: London to Brighton Run

2011-11-07T17:44:00.003Z

Sadly, I missed the display of vehicles from this year's London to Brighton Veteran Car Run. However, here's a look back at my visit to this fabulous event in 2009.

It may be stood on a taxi rank, but this is not a new design for London taxis! Rather, this is one of a surprisingly large number of very elderly cars making the journey from London to Brighton today - yesterday, there was chance to enjoy seeing them parked along Regent Street.

All pre-1905, they were commemorating a special event in British motoring history: the Emancipation Run which celebrated the passing of the Locomotives on the Highway Act 1896. Before the Act was passed, cars were restricted by a speed limit of 4mph and - even more restrictively - the need to be preceded by a man walking with a red flag. The law had been targeted at steam traction engines, but a test case in 1895 had confirmed that cars were treated as locomotives rather than (horseless) carriages. A campaign for reform met with reasonably prompt success, and vehicles under three tons were exempted from the restrictions. Now, they could speed across the country at a racy 14mph. How better to celebrate than with a trip to the seaside?

The original London to Brighton run is recreated annually, preceded by the Saturday show. A mixture of Regent Street shoppers and vintage car enthusiasts crowded around these fascinating vehicles. Given the number of people, it made sense to photograph details rather than 'portraits' of the cars. I particularly like the diversity of designs - the steering wheel, for example, had not yet become standard - and the features clearly borrowed from the horse-drawn carriages these cars would eventually replace.

Herons, pelicans and pigeons

2011-11-06T13:55:00.004Z

The stars of St James's Park are the pelicans: a feature since 1664 when some were presented to Charles II by the Russian Ambassador. One of the city's more unusual experiences is watching the pelican feeding, which happens each day at 2.30pm.

However, even a well-fed pelican can fancy a snack between meals. In 2006, one of the St James's Park birds became a media star when it was photographed eating a pigeon (a feat which arguably makes it something of a London hero). Another apparently used to fly to London Zoo and steal their fish. Indeed, a discussion of the pelicans in the House of Lords alluded to the risk of other birds' young being eaten if there were too many pelicans in the park. (It also discussed their sex, something which is apparently difficult to establish and has been worrying politicians for at least half a century.)

These greedy, charismatic birds may attract most attention, but there are plenty of other interesting species to spot. On my last walk through the park, one heron was striking an ornamental pose on the roof of Duck Island Cottage. In fact, there are 15 species of waterfowl here as well as birds including great spotted woodpeckers and tawny owls. An account from 1878 describes their popularity:

The waterfowl here are natives of almost every climate in the world, and the Zoological Society itself has scarcely a finer or more varied collection. Those which are not foreign are mostly descendants of the ducks which Charles II. took such pleasure in feeding with his own royal hands. ... It is almost needless to add that the banks of the "canal," and the bridge which spans it, are the haunt of children and their nurses, and the pieces of bread and biscuit which are given daily to the ducks, geese, and swans would well-nigh feed the inmates of a workhouse.

Alternative Visions

2011-11-04T13:25:00.002Z

If you are near Deptford this evening or tomorrow morning, there is an opportunity to see alternative visions for Convoy's Wharf - the former naval dockyard, full of historic interest and about to be redeveloped.

This (Friday) evening's event is from 6.30pm with a presentation at 7pm; tomorrow there is a drop-in session from 9.30am to midday. The exhibition is at the Master Shipwright's House on Watergate Street (a wonderful historic building in its own right).

Pudding from the past

2011-11-03T18:02:00.004Z

The Guardian has the lovely story of a Christmas pudding found at the back of a kitchen cupboard - 111 years after it was sent to a sailor fighting in the Boer War. Philanthropist Agnes Weston was responsible for sending the pudding and other gifts to cheer up those at the front; the tin even bears the message 'For the Naval Brigade, In the Front, With Miss Weston's Best Christmas & New Year, 1900, Wishes.' However, her temperance principles meant that the Peak Freen plum pudding, although full of 'high class ingredients', was alcohol-free.

Despite tantalising us with its instructions - 'This pudding is ready for use but may be boiled for an hour if required hot' - the dessert is long past its use-by date and its tin is corroded. It won't be part of anyone's festive meal, then, but will go on display at Portsmouth's Royal Navy Museum.

The Christmas puddings were not the only way in which Agnes Weston brightened up sailors' lives. She founded Sailors' Rest temperance hostels where sailors could get food, drink, baths, (non-alcoholic) entertainment and a bed for the night - from 1892, they were Royal Sailors' Rests. She also published a monthly letter which was sent to sailors at sea, developing into the journal Ashore and Afloat, and campaigned for widows' pensions. In recognition of her philanthropic work, she was buried with full naval honours in 1918. Although the services it provides has changed, her organisation (now RSR) continues its work today.

Deptford murals (3): Douglas Square

2011-11-01T18:07:00.003Z

Replacing the earlier Deptford Railway Yard, this mural was painted during Deptford X. Peter Anderson scaled up his photographs (taken in Deptford and, er, New York); between them are 'posterized photograms of playful icons and objects that [he has] collected from Deptford Market'. They are intended to 'represent the urban culture of the Deptford community'. Reader, I'll leave you to judge for yourself.

From the archives: London advice to sightseers

2011-10-30T19:32:00.002Z

If you ever feel nostalgia for simpler times, when there were fewer distractions and less crime, then this century-old advice to tourists will sweep it away. Apparently, London was nothing but a series of traps for the unwary; only Enquire Within Upon Everything stood between them and ruin.

The Victorians had a book which enabled them to'Enquire Within Upon Everything' from recipes for opium-rich home remedies to the language of flowers; from addressing dukes to getting rid of your local accent; and from choosing furniture to choosing your baby's name. My copy is a fairly late one (the 110th edition!), so articles on the desirability of owning a motor car and a wife's right to keep her own earnings have also crept in. Another innovation is 'Advice to Sightseers', a selection of tips on visiting London:

1. Before starting on your holiday spend two hours in studying a good guide-book and mapping out a programme for each day of your stay in London. Note that some institutions, as the British Museum, are open free every day; some, as the National Gallery, are open free on certain days and for a fee on others; some, as the Mint and Woolwich Arsenal, are open on specified days and under stringent conditions. These things should be ascertained from the guide-book before leaving home, and your programme modified accordingly.
['Enquire' is never afraid to be prescriptive - take two hours precisely! - or to state the obvious.]

2. Group the sights so as to economize your time. For example, avoid such a programme for a day's doings as this - the Tower; Tate Gallery; Madame Tussaud's; Greenwich Hospital; Hyde Park. To "do" these sights in a day would put a great deal of time to waste.
[To do these sights in a day would require you to sprint non-stop and skip lunch! Perhaps you should have spent more than two hours with the guide book.]

3. Ask your way of a policeman, postman, telegraph boy, or shopkeeper. If you are in a residential quarter, you will be compelled to resort to the courtesy of the casual wayfarer; but in that case take the direction from him and then pass on.
[This is the start of an obsession with not chatting to Londoners, but you might rebel and pause to say thank you.]

4. If you feel that you are taking the wrong road, do not proceed farther until you have ascertained whether you are right or wrong. You have a civil tongue; do not hesitate to use it.
[But only in accordance with (3) - remember not to stand around chatting. A pity you weren't advised to get a map.]

5. If a stranger get into conversation with you in a gallery, or church, or the street, make himself particularly affable, claim that he thinks he has met you before or that he comes from the same town or district as yourself, be on your guard instantly. If further he be joined, apparently by chance, by a friend or two and propose to adjourn for a drink or a meal, and then talk of his prospects and the money he has, and ask you to lend him, for a short while, your purse, or an article of value, merely to show your confidence in him - he having already shown his confidence in them by handing some article to his confederates - be sure you are in the company of "confidence trick" rogues and leave them at once. If you happen on a policeman near by, describe the men to him and tell him where you left them. The information may be useful to him. Avoid all talk with undesirable or promiscuous folk whose appearance and manner you do not care for on acquaintance.
[Londoners will apparently only talk to you in order to rob you, while non-Londoners are incredibly gullible; more surprising to the modern reader is the idea that you might expect to happen on a policeman.]

6. As to tips, at many establishments where only a light repast is served "no gratuities" is the rule. Otherwise the custom is to tip the waiter on the scale of 1dfor every shilling of your bill. Thus if your dinner cost 2s. 6d., the waiter's tip would be 2d. or 3d., whichever you please.
[And how do you solve the twopence/threepence dilemma? After so many precise instructions, 'Enquire' has suddenly left us high and dry!]

7. For a short stay it will answer your convenience and save time to put up at a comfortable central hotel rather than lodge in a suburb.
[But if you couldn't work that out for yourself, you're probably still pondering the twopence/threepence quandary.]

8. Arrange your programme so as to leave the evenings free for the theatre, or music hall, or concert, or the fireworks at the Crystal Palace.
[Assuming you are not just too tired and penniless having sprinted from one end of London to the other, handed your wallet to a new 'friend' for no obvious reason, offended the waiter with your mean tip and then had to travel back to your hotel in the outer suburbs...]

Demi gros

2011-10-27T16:42:00.002+01:00

Here's some more faded Paris: a shop front on rue au Maire.

Jouets du Temple

2011-10-26T15:30:00.002+01:00

This rusted, faded metal sign on the rue du Temple declares that number 101 was once les fabriques jouets du Temple (the toymakers of the Temple). Although it's not strictly a ghost sign, as it isn't painted onto a wall, the textures and muted colours speak appealingly of its long service above the street. Today, the building contains not a factory but an importer of, among other goods, toys.

Deptford Ubiquarians

2011-10-25T14:33:00.004+01:00

A chance listing on Abebooks alerted me to the existence of an intriguingly-named group who met in eighteenth-century Deptford. While I didn't buy the book (a sermon isn't really my taste), I did explore further who these Ubiquarians were.

In the eighteenth century, societies for middle and upper-class men were enormously popular. In fact, the problem was not so much finding a society to suit your tastes as finding enough members for your society! They ranged from learned societies to the notorious Hellfire Club. The Ubiquarians were part of this fashion, at the more respectable end of the spectrum, and shared many of the features of similar organisations.

The Right Worthy and Amicable Order of Ubiquarians of the Province of Deptford were one of many quasi-masonic societies. They were governed by a Senate, which in turn chose an (unfortunately-titled) Dictator. Despite thus making themselves a dictatorship, their purposes were in fact liberty and the pursuit of knowledge. According to Peter Clark, they had 'an interest in Egyptian learning, and sociability moderated by temperance.'

Like many such societies, the Ubiquarians pretended to have a long and venerable history. Their book of statues was preceded by 'a Preamble concerning the Antiquity, Universality, Fall, and Renovation, or Re-Institution of Ubiquarianism'.

The society met weekly in the 1730s and 1749s, and also had a sermon preached to them at St Paul's Deptford in late June each year. These included several on the theme of friendship, including 'The practice of religion and virtue the only sure foundation of friendship' and 'The duties and offices of friendship' in 1738 and 1739. In 1740, the topic was 'The faith and practice of a Christian the only true foundation of rational liberty'.

Like most such organisations, the Ubiquarians eventually faded away. They have left little trace except an intriguing name to catch the eye of later historians.

S is for shelter

2011-10-23T17:38:00.008+01:00

I don't often walk along Comet Street, off Deptford High Street, but did today and was rewarded with this sign.

It's one of several air raid shelter signs in Deptford, survivals from the Second World War. Others are on the High Street and Frankham Street (below), while Transpontine has spotted one on Tanners Hill.

A Place to Live

2011-10-21T12:17:00.003+01:00

If you're suffering Deptford X withdrawal symptoms, then Trevor Burgess's new exhibition may be just the antidote! He lives and works in Deptford, and his current exhibition A Place to Live runs until 29 October at the Paul McPherson Gallery in Greenwich. It features scenes of urban life in streets, markets and shops. There is also a new series painted on plywood, which is inspired by newspaper property adverts.

Practical info: open 17-29 October (Monday 12-5, Tuesday - Friday 11-5, Saturday 10-2.30)

Paul McPherson Gallery, 77 Lassell Street, Greenwich SE10 9PJ

Art Nouveau architect

2011-10-19T16:20:00.002+01:00

I’ve discussed before the practice of Parisian buildings displaying their architect’s name and date of construction. This plaque in Boulogne-Billancourt has to be one of the most attractive examples. The date is almost unnecessary, given the Art Nouveau flourishes of leaves and flower surrounding the distinctive script.

Aviation in Boulogne-Billancourt

2011-10-18T16:00:00.003+01:00

Sitting towards the western edge of Paris, Boulogne Billancourt is probably experienced by many of its visitors as a place of cheaper hotels and good Metro connections to the centre. However, it has its own history which is worth exploring. One aspect of that is the role of this area in the early history of aviation.

A few doors down from my hotel, a plaque marked the site of the Voisin brothers’ construction workshop, the first commercial aeroplane factory in the world. They established it in 1905; today the site is a block of flats.

Charles and Gabriel Voisin had started their aviation experiments in 1900 with gliders. Gabriel had also worked with Ernest Archedeacon, Edouard Surcouf and Louis Bleriot before entering into partnership with Charles. By 1907 they had sold ten machines, the first manned, engine-powered, heavier-than-air craft capable of sustained and controlled flight. One of them, flown by Henry Farman, won the Deutsch-Archedeacon prize for the first complete one-kilometre circuit. This growing success continued after the death of Charles in 1912; a few years later, the business expanded in a new direction when the French government bought their planes for use in the First World War. After the war ended, Voisin moved into luxury automobile manufacture and enjoyed further success.

A short walk away, another block of flats has replaced the workshops of Edouard Surcouf which made not aeroplanes but airships. Surcouf had first flown in a hot-air balloon in 1879; he began his aviation career a year later, aged 18. Having inherited his father-in-law’s business in 1899, he gave it his own name and pioneered various innovations in airships such as the use of rubberised fabrics. In 1908, Surcouf’s business merged with Henri Deutsch’s Astra to form Surcouf-Astra. Like the Voisins, Surcouf-Astra won government contracts in the war: they supplied airships and observation balloons. However, business would then tail off as commercial aviation made its move away from airships to aeroplanes.

Today, the main reminder of the area’s pioneering past is a selection of aviation-themed street names.

Airship image: Surcouf's 'Ville de Paris', 1906, from Wikimedia.

Signposts (6): Somerset fingerpost

2011-10-17T13:51:00.003+01:00

On the Somerset Levels, many traditional cast-iron fingerpost signs remain in use. They have a pyramid-shaped top with the initials ‘SCC’ on each side. Just visible on the grey central post is the word ‘Somerset’ descending vertically.

Fingerposts have a venerable history. They date back to the seventeenth century, while legislation mandating their use on turnpikes was passed in the 1760s and 1770s. Somerset’s examples are generally around a century old: responsibility for signs was passed from cycling and motoring organisations to local authorities in 1903. Although the black lettering on white ground conforms to standards imposed in 1933, the grey post used in Somerset does not. The county continued its gentle subversion by resisting encouragement to replace the fingerposts with standard signs in the 1960s.

This example is a little the worse for wear. However, it is still legible with its fingers pointing in the right directions, and adds to the character of its location. Whatever the benefits of standardised road signs, these distinctive characteristics are also valuable components of the local landscape. It is therefore praiseworthy that Somerset repairs and maintains these fingerposts rather than replacing them with more modern, less characterful versions.

Click here for more signposts from this (very) occasional series.

Olympia Warehouse

2011-10-14T18:55:00.007+01:00

Olympia Warehouse in the former Deptford Dockyard has the distinction of being Grade II listed. Its exterior will certainly appeal to lovers of industrial heritage and corrugated iron, but the reasons for listing it may not be obvious at first sight.

Built in 1846 by George Baker & Son, it is of distinctive iron-framed construction: the original wrought- and cast-ironwork is still visible inside. Originally, the two spans covered slipways, allowing ships to be constructed within. They led into the dockyard basin (now filled in) rather than directly into the river. While the building now has a concrete floor and its more recent use was simply as a warehouse, the slipways are intact a little below current ground level. Only one other such shipbuilding shed survives, at Chatham.

The future of the warehouse is, according to the current plans, as a cultural space. It certainly has a distinctive atmosphere and presence which provide a vital connection to the dockyard's past, and with sensitive use would be a real asset to the area. Thoughtful use and an appropriate setting will be vital, however, for this significant and special piece of Britain's shipbuilding heritage.

Deptford murals (2)

2011-10-12T17:43:00.001+01:00

A wall on Deptford Broadway is the home of Deptford Marbles. Its creator, Artmongers, say

The starting point of this artwork was to turn the pillars on the wall from obstacles to features, creating a landscape reminiscent of a stonehenge or a set of dominoes. On this old Roman road, the mural is a reminder of time passing and how it changes everything humans build.

Unfortunately, the explanation adds to the feeling that this is an opportunity slightly missed. Although the mural is pleasant enough, the trompe l'oeil effect is fun, and I rather like the birds, there is little sense of place. A slight allusion to the Broadway's past as part of a Roman road is not a real engagement with either the history or the cultural diversity of the area. Which raises the question, just how should murals relate to their location?

That's London entertainment!

2011-10-10T23:59:00.003+01:00

One of London's great assets is its specialist tour guides. For in-depth local knowledge, you can rely on those with badges from the City of London, Clerkenwell & Islington, Greenwich and Westminster schemes. (Indeed, two blogs I recommend on the right, Discovering London and Westminster Walking, are written by Westminster guides.)

Guides from all four areas are offering free walks this Saturday, with a 'That's Entertainment!' theme. Just turn up on the hour between 10am and 4pm (no need to book) and gain new insight into London on stage and screen.

Full details are here.

Convoy's Wharf uncovered

2011-10-09T15:43:00.008+01:00

Yesterday, I joined a guided tour of the Convoy's Wharf site led by Museum of London Archaeology. As debate rages over proposed development on the site, it's instructive to realise just how much of Deptford's history is still present here. Although key buildings were demolished above-ground, their foundations remain; other important features have always been below ground level and are largely intact.

The trading history of Deptford goes back much further than the founding of the Royal Dockyard by Henry VIII. There was probably already trade on this site before the Romans arrived. They certainly used it, and we saw a piece of Samian ware from Gaul found during the excavations. Shipping continued here in the Middle Ages, and the dark area of ground in the photograph below is part of the site of a mediaeveal dock.

The mediaeval dock was filled in order for a Tudor storehouse to be built in 1514. Unbelievably, this survived until the 1950s but was demolished in 1954. Some of its bricks were then used for garden walls at Hampton Court Palace. The foundations remain, though, and are clearly visible as a rectangle of salmon-coloured brick.

The Tudor great dock is partly intact, although some of the stonework was damaged when World War I warehouses were built here. Various slipways have also survived: the one pictured here dates from the early nineteenth century (slipways were altered and rebuilt on the same sites as the size of ships changed). Some of its wood is reused ships' timbers; the uprights are later, and of imported African wood. The slipway is probably the last such London structure of this size still surviving; it is proposed to leave it in situ but cover it up when redevelopment occurs.

The dockyard also had a huge basin, extending back into much of the current site, and the wall and large upright timbers below were part of it. The basin became smaller and deeper over time, again to accommodate changes in shipping.

This tour highlighted both how much of Deptford Dockyard's industrial heritage was lost last century, and how much is still there. The fascination lies in the way it reveals the huge changes and innovations which all occurred here: this is a complex map of naval, industrial and maritime history, rather than a survivor of just one historical moment.

It is a great shame that the proposed redevelopment does not take more account of this. However, Lewisham Council have responded to the many objections to the plans by organising a drop-in session from 5-8pm this Tuesday 11 October. It's at St Nicholas Church Hall, Deptford Green and offers an opportunity both to get more information about what is proposed for the site and to make your views known.

For more on the Convoy's Wharf development proposals, do follow Deptford Dame and Deptford Is... while Shipwright's Palace has not only information about the issues but also a huge amount of historical information about the dockyard.

Stink pipes

2011-10-08T12:50:00.002+01:00

As long-standing readers may have realised, I have a fondness for ventilation pipes. Some are rather elaborate, such as the listed example in New Cross; by contrast, the sewer stink pipe is usually more unassuming. These pipes were designed to allow gas to escape the sewers and disperse high above our heads. It's a vital function, but not a glamorous one.

Easily mistaken for lamp posts when they're noticed at all, the stinkpipe can seem the poor relation among street furniture. However, they are often worth a little attention and I've featured one of these Victorian gems from Deptford. New blog London Stinkpipes has gone further and aims to map examples from all over South London. You can also follow on Twitter.

Deptford murals (1)

2011-10-06T19:58:00.004+01:00

As the new mural in Douglas Square takes shape, here's a look back at what preceded it. Images of Deptford in 1840 covered the wall: a little faded, a little graffitied and a little unfashionable, but I was rather fond of it. The railway theme was absolutely right for the location, given Deptford's importance in passenger railway history.

It was created by Christopher Ryland (now better known as a botanical artist) and Paul Pestidge in 1981. Its thirty-year lifespan contrasts sharply with the three years intended for its replacement.

Ghost signage

2011-10-04T21:12:00.003+01:00

Ghost signs have been popping up regularly on the blog for as long as I've been writing it. Sixty-five posts and three years later, it seemed a good time to give them their own page, too. Here it is!

As well as an overview, background and further reading, the page lists signs by location and product type. It's something of a work in progress - in particular, I need to break down 'London' into smaller areas. I welcome any feedback!

Talking Walls

2011-10-03T20:12:00.006+01:00

Brightly-coloured, hand-painted signs have been appearing around Deptford and New Cross, thanks to the Talking Walls project. Although they don't explicitly mention ghost signs, those involved say that they are "really inspired by the charm of traditional advertisements, half faded but still visible to the curious eye" and "aim to commemorate and preserve the dying industry of hand rendered sign writing". There is, of course, local ghost-sign inspiration for such an exercise.

The project was founded by Tessa Lawer, now working with Thomas Marriott. There are signs at Goldsmiths College, the Albany and Deptford Project - each by a different artist - and the website seems to promise more to come. Let's hope so, it's lovely to see this contemporary take on one of my favourite features of the urban landscape!

At Deptford X

2011-10-01T17:12:00.010+01:00

Deptford's annual art festival enjoyed unseasonably hot weather today, and I did rather wilt as a result! However, between lurking in the shade and drinking cool drinks, I found plenty of artistic activity.

The new mural in Douglas Square is progressing well. While some panels are finished, one is currently being worked on. It's interesting to get a glimpse of how the artist Peter Anderson is converting photographs into wall paintings.

Back inside, the cool and shady Utrophia space was filled with Ben Parry's Deptford Machine. Its clanking sounds and slow, complex movements were rhythmic and soothing: an unusual and restful contrast to the lively market just outside. Photographs can't do justice to the movement of the piece, so do take a look at the video on Crosswhatfields? as well.

Many galleries are open for the weekend, and there was plenty to see on Creekside in particular. Soon, though, I was outdoors again for the 'make and bake' session held by The Deptford Biscuit. Presumably sitting in the sunshine wasn't the original plan for an October event!

These wonderful ship's biscuits are very appropriate for a Deptford festival. Not only were such biscuits manufactured here, but the designs added by artists Bridgette Ashton and Nicole Mollett tell the story of the Golden Hind. At the end of its journey, it moored at Deptford where Sir Francis Drake was knighted by Elizabeth I. After many years as a tourist attraction, the ship decayed and its timbers were converted into souvenir items including a chair. These events are depicted on the biscuits.

At today's session, we decorated the biscuits. What my effort lacks in artistry is compensated for by the pleasure I had doing it!

Blue lights

2011-09-30T15:43:00.004+01:00

Among the collection in the Thames River Police Museum is a rather fine blue lamp. These are hung in front of police stations, one of those features of English life we take for granted. When, though, did this practice begin?

Blue lamps appeared outside London police stations in 1861. They would spread throughout not only Britain but also the empire: Bahamian police stations, for example, still have these lamps today.

There seems to be some uncertainty as to why the light is blue. Probably it was chosen to match the colour of police uniforms, themselves selected because blue was a fairly neutral colour and clearly distinct from the red of the military. However, it wasn't popular with everyone: according to the Met's website, Queen Victorian objected to the lamp outside Bow Street Police Station. Every time she went to the nearby opera house in Covent Garden, it reminded her of the blue room in which Prince Albert had died. Bow Street was therefore unusual in having a white lamp.

Whatever its origins, the blue lamp became a symbol of British policing and in particular of its positive features. Dixon of Dock Green gave his monologues under this light; he had made his first appearance in a 1950 Ealing Studios film titled The Blue Lamp . However, with station closures and greater scepticism about policing, will the blue lamp continue to maintain its symbolic status?

Ghost signs (65): Hither Green Lane updated

2011-09-28T16:01:00.001+01:00

I was returning from the crime fiction event at Lewisham Literary Festival when I spotted this sign on Hither Green Lane. (Books, tea, cake and a ghost sign: the perfect afternoon!)

Two adverts have been painted on the same spot, both in black lettering, which makes them rather difficult to decipher. One appears to be headed 'Off-licence' with the words 'beer', 'wines' and perhaps 'spirits' arranged diagonally underneath. The other has 'agents,' alongside the heading 'Fox & Sons'. Below that is 'nborough', all that remains of 'Farnborough', then 'Ales Stout' and finally 'In bottle and cask'.

It seems clear, then, that there was an off-licence here for some time. The 'Fox & Sons' of 'nborough' was more mysterious, so huge thanks to Brian for solving that mystery. He included a link to some great pictures of the brewery and one of their advertisements.

The Farnborough in question is not the Hampshire town but a former village near Orpington, now part of the London Borough of Bromley. Fox & Sons were located in Green Street Green. They opened their brewery in 1836 and by the middle of the century were successful enough to build housing for their employees in nearby streets. The brewery closed in 1909 and would later be used as barracks in the First World War.

That history suggests a very early date for this Hither Green ghost sign. Any frustration at its being so worn is replaced by admiration for its surviving at all!

Non-boundary marker

2011-09-27T16:13:00.001+01:00

I've previously discussed facadism, one type of 'conservation' which maintains the facade while losing the original structure behind. Here is another piece of preservation which loses some of the original context.

This parish marker on the Thames path marks the boundary between St Paul's, Deptford and St Mary, Rotherhithe. It was also the line between Kent and Surrey. I particularly like the economy of adding dates below the original one, rather than replacing the markers.

However, the stone has been moved from its original site, where it formed part of a bridge; it was put in its present position in 1988. That seems a strange fate for something whose precise location was so important. The small length of wall mid-path is also rather incongruous.

That is perhaps a little grudging, though. The most important factor is that when the bridge went, the stone was not discarded but remains beside the river as a tangible survivor from Deptford's (and Rotherhithe's) past.

From the archives: Lyon's cooking 'mothers'

2011-09-25T15:14:00.000+01:00

Three years ago, I visited Lyon for a conference - but found the time to enjoy its local food specialities too! Professional female chefs had a huge impact upon the city's culinary reputation, and their influence is still apparent in French cuisine today.

I've already described some of Lyon's specialities: the traditional cuisine is based on tasty food made from good ingredients. Lyon has had a reputation for gastronomy since Roman times. However, much of its recent renown comes from its great chefs of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: the mères. (The word literally means 'mothers' but was also used as a respectful title).

Lyon suffered badly in the French revolution. In consequence, the bourgeois of the city preferred to do business over a meal at home, and women became used to cooking for others. Stendhal commented on the fact, and on the perfectionism and talent of such women: 'These gentlemen have women chefs, not male chefs ... I saw a touching spectacle, one of these girls, a fat plain woman of forty, cry with joy for a duck with olives: be assured that in Paris we only know an imitation of that dish.'

These women chefs later moved from private homes to their own restaurants. Their manner was often gruff; some were criticised for always serving the same dishes, but they argued that this was essential if they were to perfect them. One of the most notable such women, MèreFilloux, declared that 'the preparation of a dish demands years of experience. I've spent my whole life making four or five dishes, so I know how to make them, and I'll never make anything else.' That didn't mean that her menus were boring: for 3.5 francs she would serve you a charcuterie starter, truffled chicken, oven-baked fish quenelles in prawn butter, artichoke hearts with truffled foie gras, cheese, ice cream, desserts and wine.

Filloux's pupil Eugénie Brazier became the first woman to hold three Michelin stars - in 1933, over 70 years before Anne-Sophie Pic would repeat the feat - and was the first person ever to hold six stars (three stars each in two restaurants). She in turn would have as her apprenticePaul Bocuse, now one of France's greatest chefs. When there's yet another tired discussion of why women supposedly don't do well in professional kitchens, it's worth remembering the women of Lyon whose influence over the finest of French cuisine is still apparent.

For all Lyon posts, click here.

Open House (5): Thames River Police Museum

2011-09-23T15:54:00.009+01:00

Just the sort of place one hopes to discover during Open House, the Thames River Police Museum is a true gem. Usually open only by appointment, it is housed in the former carpenters' shop of the police station on Wapping High Street.

This one room is absolutely crammed with display cases, items hanging on the walls, and objects tucked into every available space. Such a surfeit of exhibits is perhaps unsurprising when they are documenting the oldest police force in the world: it predates the London Metropolitan force by over 30 years.

There are discoveries to be made at every point. From a fingerprinting kit to the flag of the tragic Princess Alice, gluepots and trophies, uniforms and cell door locks, handcuffs and weapons, every aspect of the force's history is commemorated here. While we were free to make serendipitous finds, the incredibly knowledgeable and friendly volunteers really made the visit special. They were all enthusiastic about the extraordinary history of the river police.

One of the River Police's first big challenges was a riot outside the station doors just four months after the force was founded. Until 1800, the force was funded privately by shipowners concerned at the amount of crime on the river. Much cargo disappeared as the boats were unloaded: while to the 'lumpers' this was a perk of the job, the shipowners considered it theft. The new police force shared the latter view. When three men were each fined forty shillings at the Thames Magistrates' Office for coal theft, their friends decided to get the money back and gathered at the police station.

Missiles were thrown, there were threats to burn the building and its occupants, and when a rock smashed through the window an officer fired out into the crowd and killed a rioter. Reading the Riot Act failed to calm the situation, and a police employee was fatally shot. The identity of the shooter was never discovered but James Eyers, brother of one of the fined men, was hanged for murder on the basis that he had instigated the riot.

These turbulent beginnings are in sharp contrast to the better-known story of Sir Robert Peel's force founded some decades later. Indeed, although the river police were merged into the Met in 1839 as the Thames Division, they have retained their own identity and continue to be proud of their status as oldest professional police force.

Further reading: the Museum's history pages are well worth a visit.

Deptford X 2011

2011-09-22T16:29:00.005+01:00

Deptford X begins tomorrow! This annual art festival has a full programme of exhibitions and events - and like all good festivals, even has its own fringe.

Outside the Birds Nest pub will be a contemporary version of the Deptford coat of arms; there's a special Deptford Biscuit depicting the Golden Hinde; while for all would-be insects, The Fly lets you move your silhouette over 'a pulsating flesh landscape'. Oversized bird feeders will appear in Sue Godfrey Nature Park and there are plenty of other shows including several using objects found around Deptford and its market. In the market itself, Douglas Way will get its new mural.

For all the details - and there really is a great deal more happening than I've mentioned - click here.

Image: 'expect nothing', Deptford X 2010

Open House (4): Prudential Building

2011-09-21T16:59:00.008+01:00

An extravagant, enormous piece of Victoriana, the Prudential Building sits at the eastern end of High Holborn. While Prudence stands on the facade holding her mirror, there is little evidence of prudent restraint elsewhere in the building.

While my exploration of the courtyards with their fine war memorials was curtailed by heavy rain, the interior was generously open for us to wander at will. Now a corporate venue known officially as Holborn Bars, the building retains many magnificent original features from the exuberant tiling to the vast and imposing safe doors. These once led into the muniment room where deeds and securities were stored.

If all of this seems excessive, ponder the incredible fact that in 1905, one-third of the population was insured by the Pru.

Open House (3): Deptford Market

2011-09-20T16:45:00.003+01:00

Our walk through Margaret McMillan Park with architects BDP continued into Douglas Way, the part of Deptford Market which has been revamped under the same project. Here, the key challenges were both budgetary and legal. The first speaks for itself; the second relates to the rights of stallholders.

The architects had a vision of the market extending the full length of Douglas Way. Unfortunately the stall agreements relate to specific locations, so the stallholders were entitled to insist on their original pitches. That made moving the second-hand market, which was in the square beside the Albany Theatre, almost impossible.

However, the matter resolved itself when the square was closed for resurfacing and infrastructure works. The stallholders preferred their temporary pitches along Douglas Way and chose not to move back. The square is therefore free for new uses: ideas include a food court. It also now has infrastructure such as electrical points which make a wide variety of events, such as concerts, possible outside market hours.

Parts of the area are paved with granite, but there is also a lot of tarmac. The reason for this does seem to have been financial. However, I was surprised to hear that my least favourite aspect of this compromise design - the markings painted on the square - was a deliberate decision. Rather than the usual small corner marks to show pitch locations, the architects chose more obvious, colourful painted lines which were meant to evoke a barcode. The contractors had to be convinced that the lines were intentional, and I'm not surprised. It's not to my taste: rather than barcodes, they evoke a very ugly car park!

Once again, a lot of street furniture was removed to make the space more open and welcoming. Granite seats and trees were added in the square; the old mural was rendered over in preparation for a new design to be painted during Deptford X. The lighting hangs on wires rather than being supported by posts, again making the square a less cluttered, more flexible area.

Differences of taste aside, it was helpful to hear the architects' vision for the market area. It will be interesting to see whether the hoped-for developments in usage occur, and how well the new granite and painted tarmac age. At the moment, the square remains a rather empty place and it may require further effort from the Council to change that. More positively, the number of market stalls has apparently increased since the changes so there are grounds for optimism.

Open House (2): Royal Victoria Dock

2011-09-19T16:02:00.005+01:00

When steamships began carrying cargoes to London, they really needed larger, deeper facilities than the Pool of London could offer. The result was a vast, state-of-the-art dock further east on Plaistow Marshes: the Victoria Dock. This was the first built specifically for steam vessels.

The result was impressive: opening in 1855, the dock had five jetties providing nearly three miles of quays. Its entrance lock was over 24 metres wide and, thanks to hydraulic machinery, could open in a minute and a half. Warehouses and cranes lined the edges; originally, many were specially adapted to handle either meat or tobacco. Later, the dock dealt with a great deal of fruit and had specific facilities for some such as bananas; it was also a centre of flour milling. Such had been its success that the Albert Dock was added in 1880, and both were given the prefix 'Royal'.

There were also bad times here: the worst was the Silvertown Explosion of 1917. A TNT factory exploded, destroying a large area and killing 73 people. The cause was uncertain, but there was strong criticism of such a dangerous industry being carried on in a built-up area.

In 1981 the dock closed. Once at the forefront of dockyards' moving further east, it now fell victim to the same process as vast container ships used the even larger facilities of Tilbury. The Royal Victoria became a residential and leisure space, with one side occupied by the huge Excel exhibition centre. The Millennium Mills are a solitary, near-derelict reminder of the industrial buildings once all around; they are now rather incongruous among the shiny new flats and newer construction. The cable car across the Thames will terminate at one corner of the Dock; nearby, the Siemens Sustainability Pavilion is being built.

Our boat tour of the dock was part of a project which aims to reconnect local people with the docks. The River Princess is owned by a charity who plan to use it to provide training for those who want to work on the water as well as educational trips. These will allow people, especially school groups, to see the natural and built history of this fascinating area of London.

Open House (1): Margaret McMillan Park

2011-09-18T15:03:00.000+01:00

As the park is literally on my doorstep, I had a gentle start to Open House weekend. Margaret McMillan Park was transformed last year; today I'd hear from the architects, BDP, about the process behind that transformation. Any concerns that a tour of somewhere I already know well might be dull were unfounded. The insight into the design background was genuinely interesting.

Leading from New Cross Station to the market and the Albany Theatre on Douglas Way, the park doubles as a significant thoroughfare for pedestrians and cyclists. However, consultation had indicated that many local people found it uninviting: it was overgrown, run down, and felt unsafe. The brief, then, was to transform the old park into something more inviting.

The project was made more challenging by a tight timescale, just nine months from commission to completion. In this time, almost all of the existing park was ripped out (most trees were kept, however) and replaced with an entirely new design.

To encourage people to enter the park - and realise that it even is a park - two key changes were made. First, a straight, wide path leads through so its role as a route between High Street and station is clear. Second, large shrubs, hedges, fences and so on were removed so that the area is opened out. Borders are marked by low granite benches rather than high, overgrown hedges; the playground is a natural part of the park rather than a separate, fenced-off section.

So that people might linger, the architects included both granite and wooden benches, and some picnic tables. During consultation, residents were actually dubious of these (and I wouldn't have disagreed) but in fact, they work well. The park is used by more, and more diverse, people than used to be the case. Our tour guide was particularly pleased that many locals buy lunch at the market and eat it here - so much so that extra bins had to be added soon after the park opened.

The park's most distinctive feature is its vertical posts. These are of treated oak, set into concrete, and designed both to give the park its own identity and to divide it into 'rooms'. (I'm not sure about the latter...) Although a lot of people expressed concern about how well they would survive, they are proving durable. Indeed, the longevity of the park has been considered throughout: not only were materials chosen to last and plants carefully chosen, but a ten-year maintenance plan was put in place and adopted by the Council.

This concern for the future was particularly reassuring. There were a number of local people on the tour, and I'm sure we were all pleased that this newly-attractive space should remain so for some years to come.

Open House preview

2011-09-16T13:50:00.006+01:00

This weekend is London Open House, and in an attempt to make the pace a little more measured I've booked two boat trips this year. However, there will still be plenty of time on foot and here are some SE8 highlights.

First, two guided walks. I'll be joining the very-local Deptford town centre with BDP. Meet 10am at the eastern entrance of Margaret McMillan Park, Watson Street for a ninety-minute tour of Deptford's recent regeneration projects including the market square in Douglas Way and the park itself.

You can also walk Pepys Park with BDP, meeting 12 noon at the base of Aragon Tower. (If you do, Deptford Dame would love to hear the explanation for the wonky lights!)

The Stephen Lawrence Centre, Brookmill Road is open 10am to 3pm on Saturday; there are first-come first-served tours at 11am and 1pm. While the Laban Centre - or, to give its full title, the Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance - is also open for guided tours, these need to be pre-booked by email.

There are also some Deptford homes to visit. 2 Ashmead Mews, a former stable building converted into an architect's home and studio, offers tours every hour from 11am to 5pm on Saturday. They begin with a talk on 'Living Cities, Changing Rooms'. (Access between 40 and 42 Ashmead Road).

A short walk away is Connearn Studio, a small artists' studio in a residential garden at 4 Friendly Street. There are regular tours between 10-5 Saturday and 1-5 Sunday.

To search over 700 properties throughout Greater London, click here; for a look at some of my previous visits, click here; and for a fascinating glimpse behind the scenes with a volunteer, click here.

Forty-shilling fine threat

2011-09-14T19:22:00.003+01:00

When you're a successful food-and-drink market, and somebody suggests opening a new food-and-drink market next door, you might feel you have grounds for objection. When you're as venerable as Borough Market, those grounds can be pretty special.

Vinopolis are seeking permission to open a food and wine market a very short walk away from their older neighbour. Borough Market have an unusual weapon in their armoury, however: an Act from 1756 which threatens a forty-shilling fine for

any poulterer, country chapman, lader, kidder, victualler, gardener, fruiterer, fish-seller, or any other person or persons, [who] shall sell, utter or put to shew or sale, by way of hawking, or as a hawker, or otherwise, any beef, mutton, lamb, veal, pork, poultry, butter, cheese, fish, fruit, herbs, oatmeal or other victuals, or provision whatsoever, in any private house, lane, alley, inn, warehouse, street, stall, common passage or other place or places whatsoever, within one thousand yards of said Market.

It's unlikely that the argument would be legally watertight (after all, you'll find a lot of places including inns which sell food nearby). However, as the market trustees have pointed out, it's a strong indication that Parliament didn't want Borough to get an unexpected competitor next door.

Markets have never been able to set up just anywhere and were usually established by charters. Borough Market dates back to the thirteenth century, but was closed by Parliament in 1755 because of the traffic congestion it caused. Local residents raised money and bought a new site (still used today), hence the need for legislation in 1756.

Market rules can seem to be a historical curiosity: the list of fees on display at Knaresborough (pictured) is no longer accurate! However, as Borough have demonstrated, these ancient provisions are not necessarily redundant just yet.

Read the full story of the market dispute on the LondonSE1 website.

Ghost signs (64): sobriety

2011-09-13T15:08:00.000+01:00

When I began photographing ghost signs in Brittany, Dad was baffled at my interest in bits of old paint. Soon, though, he was stopping the car willingly so I could photograph them, and then asking what they were. Now, he has sent me a sign from Plestan which he spotted and photographed himself.

The sign is a palimpsest, but the key message can still be deciphered: 'Sécurité sobriété' (safety and sobriety). This anti-drinking campaign began on Parisian public transport in 1955. Within a few years, it spread throughout France and the roadside signs emphasised the dangers of drink-driving.

The earlier advert is a design with a blue ground and a large glass; the slogan is at the bottom. (A similar sign with a different slogan can be seen here). The wording inside the glass reads 'Votre voiture est sobre - faites comme elle': roughly, 'Your car is sober - be the same'. The slogan was familiar to drivers in 1966 [PDF], so this sign probably predates that. Research published that year found that the signs were difficult to read, so either their message was lost or they were counterproductive in terms of road safety!

That research seems to have had an effect as the second version is much more emphatic. The slogan is emblazoned in heavy black letters across the top of the sign. It appears to be the 'falling glasses' design here, suggesting that the black cross and square also faintly visible belong to a third advert.

Altogether, not a bad first find!

Books, glorious books

2011-09-12T16:49:00.001+01:00

A reminder that the Lewisham Literary Festival is now underway. I visited yesterday, and enjoyed a really friendly event with the bonus of great cake! There's plenty more on throughout the week, with tickets available on the door; most events are in Hither Green, a short ride on the 225 from Deptford and Lewisham.

Particularly London-y events include Fiona Rule talking about Docklands and three recent books on the city in Londonist About London. Unmissable!

Find us near the pump...

2011-09-11T10:24:00.008+01:00

I love this little newspaper advertisement from 1702, because it reminds us not only of Deptford's manufacturing past but also of the difficult of giving addresses before street numbering.

AT Deptford in Kent, is a covered Ropewalk having all conveniences belonging to it to be let, or the said Ropewalk with some Houses to be sold. Information may be had if desired of Mr Tho. Sewel at Mrs Gerrards in Bishpsgatestreet near the Pump at the corner of Threadneedle-street.

In fact, the first known street numbering in London was only six years away - in Prescot Street, Goodmans Fields. The idea took off later in the century, with many streets numbered but each in its own sometimes idiosyncratic way. Greater standardisation of London numbers wouldn't happen until the mid-nineteenth century, thanks to the Metropolitan Management Act 1855. It allowed the Board of Works to control both naming and numbering of streets. The Post Office saw its chance to make postmen's work less complicated, and put pressure on the Board to simplify addresses.

Although designed to make postal deliveries easier, street numbering must also have been a real benefit to anyone trying to find an unfamiliar building. No longer did they have to follow complicated and ultimately vague directions referring to local landmarks or pictorial signs!

As for a ropewalk, it was indeed a place where ropes were made. The long, narrow covered path would be used to twist long strands into a length of rope. The standard length of a Royal Navy rope was 1,000 feet so the need for a special space is evident - although our ropewalk was probably producing material for private ships. Deptford, as a hub of maritime activity, would have had a huge appetite for the completed goods.

This activity is often recreated at one of Brittany's historical events, the Bread and Harvest Festival at Plouguenast, where I took the photographs below. The ropemaker is first testing the individual strands, before twisting them together in a single strong rope. (Read more about the process here.)

The Thames Festival

2011-09-10T16:38:00.000+01:00

A reminder to those of you in London that this weekend is the Thames Festival. As I found last year, it's very varied with some parts better than others so checking the programme here is a good idea.

I'm hoping to visit tomorrow. For now, here are some images from previous years to whet your appetite.

Lost property

2011-09-06T20:58:00.004+01:00

Baker Street has several claims to fame: Sherlock Holmes of course, but also the more utilitarian Lost Property Office. If you lose a treasured possession on London transport, this is the place to go.

Items found on the Underground, Overground, buses and taxis all make their way here - over 200,000 of them last year. When Time Out visited the store rooms below the office, they found pushchairs, wheelchairs, voodoo masks, and a whole tray of false teeth. As someone who excels at losing things, even I am impressed at people leaving their dentures on the bus! Pathe News' visit in 1950 can be seen below:

The Lost Property Office has been reuniting Londoners with their umbrellas and parcels since 1933. If you've lost something, contact them on 0845 330 9882 or online, or visit in person at 200 Baker Street. However, unclaimed items are sold or donated to charity after three months, so don't delay!

Ghost signs (63): underneath the arches

2011-09-05T21:31:00.007+01:00

This ghost sign in Morlaix, Brittany is pleasant but unremarkable in itself. However, its location is eye-catching: a little way in front of the nineteenth-century railway viaduct which dominates the town.

There are traces of an earlier sign showing through. At the bottom, the words chauffage central, zinguerie, plomberie are legible: central heating, pipe or zinc work, and plumbing.

Seaside sails

2011-09-02T20:42:00.003+01:00

Today was perfect seaside weather in Brittany, which is where I saw these colourful windmills.

Lantern houses

2011-08-31T22:14:00.007+01:00

The fifteenth and sixteenth-century houses of Morlaix, on the northern coast of Brittany, are unique. Wealth from the linen industry and maritime trade combined with traders' experience of Spanish homes in Cadiz to give birth to the maison a pondalez (gallery house), also known in French as maison à lanterne or lantern house.

While a house arranged around an open central courtyard might be well-suited to southern Spain, it obviously needed some adaptation to the colder, wetter climate of northern France. There were also space limitations for Morlaix's terraced townhouses. The result was a house with rooms facing onto the street and further rooms at the rear; between them was a courtyard covered with a 'lantern'. This high central room had a large granite fireplace, while an oak spiral staircase and galleries linked the front and back rooms. The pillar supporting the spiral staircase was usually richly carved.

Some of these houses were also shops: the front room on the ground floor would be the commercial premises; the higher rooms, back of the house and courtyard were the private residence.

Two traditional houses survive and are open to the public. I visited one of these, on the inaptly-named Grand'Rue. It is actually very narrow, and now pedestrianised; there is even less space between the overhanging upper floors of the buildings. However, most are enhanced by wooden carvings, often of saints. They are perhaps the best exterior clue to the extraordinary oak-and-granite interiors hidden within.

Further reading: the other house open to the public, La Maison de la Duchesse Anne, has an interesting site with a great deal of historical detail about these houses.

Take a letter...

2011-08-30T17:58:00.004+01:00

There are often quirky displays at Brittany's farming festivals. On Sunday at Plouguenast, there was a collection of old phonographs including an early Dictaphone. A far cry from today's tiny voice recorders, this hefty device included a long tube down which to speak.

The groundwork for dictation machines had been laid by Edison, who invented a method of recording voices onto tinfoil discs. He saw business dictation as its main application (rather than the music recordings which would soon dominate the industry). However, tinfoil cylinders were difficult to use: the move to recording on wax made such devices much more practicable. Patents for the new wax technology were granted to Alexander Graham Bell's Volta Laboratory in 1886.

Dictaphone was originally part of the Columbia Gramophone Company, known today as Columbia Records, although it separated from them in 1923. From the Dictaphone's launch in 1907 until the introduction of new technology in 1947, the device recorded voices onto wax cylinders - long after discs became more popular for reproducing music.

The bulk and expense of Dictaphone's early equipment perhaps explains why many business people preferred to dictate to a shorthand secretary for some decades to come. Only with the much later development of light, inexpensive equipment which allowed easy dictation both inside and outside the office did the shorthand notebook begin to gather dust.

From the archives: Deptford and fingerprints

2011-08-29T19:36:00.003+01:00

Deptford has a little-known place in legal history. A horrific crime on the High Street led to the use of a then-novel form of evidence.

Although their murders are forgotten today, the killings of Deptford residents Mr and Mrs Farrow were notorious at the time – and the subsequent trial involved the first use of fingerprints in a murder case.*

Early on Monday, 27 March 1905, 70-year-old Thomas Farrow was found dead in the oil and paint shop he managed at 34 Deptford High Street. He had been killed by half a dozen blows to the head, inflicted with a blunt instrument. His wife Ann was unconscious in the bedroom with similar injuries, and would also die five days later. There was a clear motive for the murder: every Monday morning, the owner would visit to collect the week’s takings of about £12. Sure enough, the cash box was empty – except for a dirty fingerprint.

Witnesses had recognised two brothers, Alfred and Albert Stratton, at the scene of the crime around the time of the murder. The evidence against the Stratton brothers was circumstantial: mainly that they had been seen leaving the shop at about 7.15 on the morning of the murders. (There was also a questionable confession from Albert to a gaoler). However, towards the end of the trial came evidence from Detective Collins, the Met’s expert witness on fingerprints.

Fingerprint identification was a fairly new science and needed to be explained to the court. Collins began his evidence by outlining the history and methods of fingerprinting at Scotland Yard:

I have been employed in connection with the Finger Print Department since the formation of the finger print system in 1901—previous to that I was employed for two or three years on the anthropometric system, which was a system based on certain body measurements and embodied for part of the time finger prints—I have studied the works on the subject by Mr. Francis Galton and Mr. Henry—so far as I know, those are the only works on the subject of finger prints—at Scotland Yard we have now between 80,000 and 90,000 sets of finger prints, which means between 800,000 and 900,000 impressions of digits—in my experience I have never found any two such impressions to correspond—in comparing the impressions we proceed to classify them first by types and sub-types, and then by counting and tracing the ridges—that is when we have complete prints of the whole finger; we then compare what are called the characteristics—in my experience, if the type or sub-type or the number or tracing of the ridges differ, they cannot be the prints of the same finger—if those matters agree we then proceed to compare the characteristics—in my experience, the highest number of characteristics which we have ever found to agree in the impressions of two different fingers is three —that occurred, to the best of my belief in two instances; it may have been three, but not more—we have never found as many as four.

He then explained how he had matched the bloody fingerprint to Alfred Stratton’s right thumb. There were eleven matching characteristics and no differences, so he concluded that ‘from my experience I should say that it is impossible that those can be prints of two different digits’.

Unsurprisingly, such controversial new techniques did not go unchallenged. The defence were advised by Henry Faulds, one of the pioneers of fingerprint identification: while convinced of the value of fingerprints, he disapproved of the way Scotland Yard used them, particularly in basing identification on a single print. They called as a witness Dr Garson who had been employed by the Home Office to organise the identification system (when it used a whole range of anthropometric measurements; it moved to fingerprints alone in 1901). Garson testified that he had had Inspector Collins as a pupil in one of his classes. He then went on to present an analysis of the fingerprints in the case, suggesting that in fact there were significant differences between Alfred’s and the one found on the cash box. However, his evidence was clearly less compelling than that of Inspector Collins (it didn’t help that he had written to both sides offering to give evidence for them): the brothers were found guilty of murder and executed.

Faulds’ doubts did not disappear after the trial. He felt that fingerprints had their place in record-keeping: one full set of prints could be matched to another to confirm a prisoner’s identity, but that was a very different thing to using latent prints for identifying criminals. (Unlike prints carefully taken in ink at the police station, latent prints are often incomplete, distorted or unclear). In particular, he believed that Scotland Yard’s ‘experts’ were unscientific. That same year, 1905, he complained in a pamphlet that identifications were made by ‘subordinate officials untrained in scientific observation.’ More fundamentally, he pointed out that it was assumed but had not been proved that no two fingerprints were alike (in fact, it still hasn’t been proved). However, such doubts did not prevent fingerprint identification from growing in importance, and it remains a significant form of evidence in the criminal courts today.

* Fingerprints had been used in a trial for the first time three years earlier, when Harry Jackson was convicted of burglary after leaving his fingerprint on a newly-painted windowsill.

Smiling eyes

2011-08-27T09:42:00.000+01:00

Is this postbox, in Waterloo Station, London's friendliest?

London, 1940s

2011-08-26T09:19:00.005+01:00

After spending last week looking at the Festival of Britain, I enjoyed watching these film clips which show London in the same period as it left the 1940s. The first is a tourist film, which covers the usual attractions but also mentions bomb sites near St Paul's and has transport and dress now long-gone.

The second shows daily life away from the tourist sights. It was filmed in St John's Wood in the late 1940s.

Lewisham Literary Festival

2011-08-24T16:20:00.000+01:00

The programme has now been released for the inaugural Lewisham Literary Festival. It runs from 9-16 September, in various venues around Hither Green and Lewisham, and aims to be "less 'literary' and more 'festival'".

There is a huge range of authors and activities. The festival opens with a book swap, and continues with plenty of fiction, non-fiction, poetry and children's events. I'll definitely be going to a few, and I should think there's something for most tastes. See the full programme here.

Finally, if you're a budding poet aged 14 or under you may want to enter the poetry competition. Submissions in any format on the theme 'Lewisham' will be judged by a panel of poets.

Ghost signs (62): Oxo and buses

2011-08-23T16:51:00.005+01:00

This sign in Harrogate is fairly obviously for Oxo stock cubes. On a closer look, it is actually a palimpsest: the large 'Oxo' has been painted over an earlier advertisement which included an image of the box. On the side is their slogan 'it's meat and drink to you'.

Look up, and there are fainter traces of another advert for Harrogate Carriage Co. This company was acquired by Harrogate & District Road Car Company in 1924. Despite the less-than-snappy name, you may not realise that what they actually did was own buses (originally steam buses). It's not clear whether the name changed in 1924, but following a merger with a Bradford company in 1928 they became the West Yorkshire Road Car Co. By 1932, subsidiaries such as the Harrogate & District Road had been fully incorporated into it.

From the archives: London's broken bridge

2011-08-22T16:05:00.000+01:00

Since I originally wrote this post three years ago, the bridge pillars I consider here have been promised a new neighbour. Work is well underway on the new Blackfriars Station, which will stretch across the Thames - but an artist's impression shows that the pillars will remain as a curious anomaly alongside.

Just alongside Blackfriars Bridge is a series of pillars, ending with a rather grand crest and the name 'London, Chatham and Dover Railway'. Every time I've done a tour of London, the guide has offered a different explanation - most often they seem to think that the bridge was never finished.

However, the bridge was in fact completed and opened in 1864 to take trains to St Paul's Station - now Blackfriars Station. From the 1920s, use of the bridge declined as much of its railway traffic moved to other stations. Finally, it was too weak for modern trains and the decision was taken to dismantle it as recently as 1985. Since removing the pillars risked destabilising the neighbouring Blackfriars Road and Railway Bridges, they remain in the river to mystify passers-by.

Dodgy bridges weren't the railway's only problem: it was also known for its poor carriage stock and poor punctuality. Its absorption into a new company in 1923 was therefore perhaps a welcome change! In fact, it had already effectively gone through a merger with its competitor, the South Eastern - which ran trains through Deptford - in 1899. However, to avoid paying the stamp duties a proper amalgamation would have incurred, the companies remained separate but were both governed by one Managing Committee which directed them and pooled their incomes. This tax-avoidance scheme remained in place for 24 years until the two railways, the Managing Committee, and various other lines formed the Southern Railway.

Festival of Britain (5): Crown

2011-08-21T15:38:00.000+01:00

As the Museum of 51 highlights, a massive range of souvenirs were sold at the Festival of Britain. One of the most popular was the Festival Crown, a five-shilling coin specially produced for the event. Two million were struck; I'm lucky enough to have one, brought back as a memento by my mother.

The copper-nickel coin has George VI's head on one side; on the other is St George, wearing nothing but riding boots, helmet and cloak, slaying a dragon. A small leaflet inside explains why the crown was particularly appropriate:

FESTIVAL OF BRITAIN CROWN PIECE
The first English Silver Crown piece was minted in 1551. Four hundred years later, on the occasion of the Festival of Britain, the Royal Mint has issued a Crown piece, bearing on its edge the Latin inscription MDCCCLI CIVIUM INDUSTRIA FLORET CIVITAS MCMLI - 1851 By the industry of its people the State flourishes 1951.

If the change from silver to base metal seems a status drop for the crown, it's no worse than a much earlier change. Henry VIII introduced the crown coin in 1526, when it was made in 22-carat gold. However, as the leaflet explains, it became silver 25 years later.

Because of its large size, the crown fell out of common use: generally it was struck as a commemorative coin. The last crown was minted in 1965; six years later, of course, decimalisation meant that crowns ceased to be part of our currency. Commemorative coins of equivalent value (25p) were later issued, but inflation has struck and now £5 coins are minted instead.

Festival of Britain (4): Pleasure Gardens

2011-08-19T13:49:00.001+01:00

My mum was among the millions who visited the Festival of Britain. Aged six, she travelled up from south Wales and still has vague memories of looking around various exhibits. However, what has really stuck in her mind as a magical experience was her visit to the Pleasure Gardens in Battersea Park, a shuttle-boat away from South Bank.

There were all sorts of attractions in the park including a funfair, Far Tottering & Oyster Creek Branch Railway and the Guinness festival clock. Mum's main memory, though, is of the Tree Walk, an elevated wooden pathway through the treetops. She first walked it by day, and again at night when it was transformed by lights and 'like fairyland'.

An anonymous contributor to the Museum of London's collection of Festival of Britain memories has a lovely story about the tree walk:

I an delighted to see the Tree Walk so often mentioned with pleasure. My husband was the Structural Engineer who aided James Gardner in the design of this. When it was erected, some official remarked that it looked thoroughly unsafe. My husband knew better and to prove its strength, sat on a chair under the tree walk while a test load of 8 tons of bricks was loaded on to it. He invited the official to join him but the offer was declined!

Unfortunately, behind the magic was a more familiar story of government parsimony, over-spending and recriminations. The story is told by a Treasury Memorandum: originally, the Gardens were to be open for five years, run by a Government-sponsored company which could borrow £1 million from central government and London County Council. However, treasury officials were unimpressed. As one commented,

The estimates of cost are not worth the paper they are written on. Everyone with any experience must know that there will be a large excess over the estimates, especially if the Government is known to be standing behind the scheme. I feel in my bones that this is not the sort of scheme which Government in this country can make a success of.

The scheme was therefore scaled back to one season; there was opposition to cutting it altogether for fear that would make the Festival too high-brow and the South Bank too crowded.

Unsurprisingly, costs nonetheless soared. The gardens opened nearly four weeks late, at the end of May 1951 - and fortunately were a huge success. Six million visitors had been expected; eight million actually turned up. It was agreed that the gardens would stay open for three years, continuing until 1953 for the Coronation.

After that brief, shining season, things went wrong once more. 1952 saw a huge drop in visitor revenue, and despite a cut in admission prices 1953 was even less successful. The gardens closed and Battersea Park was reinstated, although the council kept a few features and a small funfair. Since they received money from the government for reinstatement costs and were able to lease out the fair, the council were happy - but the Treasury was not, having lost £1.25 million.

The funfair continued for many years. Tragically, the Big Dipper finally closed in 1972 following an accident in which five children were killed. The rest of the fair closed two years later.

Images of the Tree Walk from Wandsworth Council, via ThamesPilot which has more images of the Festival Gardens here, and BBC London's slideshow here.

Festival of Britain (3): Museum of 51

2011-08-17T11:23:00.005+01:00

For most Londoners, the 1951 Festival of Britain is intimately associated with the South Bank complex, so it's appropriate that a temporary museum of the event is inside the Royal Festival Hall. However, one of the most striking things a visit demonstrates is that the Festival extended far beyond this one site.

There were Festival Gardens in Battersea, exhibitions in the Science Museum and V&A, and a 'Living Architecture' walk around East London - with a new housing estate finished just in time. Outside London, associated exhibitions were held in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Belfast and travelling displays toured by lorry and ship.

All that potential travel apparently posed a social dilemma. Among the more bizarre displays in the Museum is a reproduction of What do they talk about?, a map of suggested conversation topics around the UK produced by the Geographical Magazine and Esso. It advises talking about 'the mill' in Yorkshire, 'the pit' in South Wales and 'hoppers and pickers' in Kent.

The displays take us through some of the Festival events, a model of the South Bank's Festival complex complete with Skylon, and recreations of 1950s rooms. I particularly enjoyed the cases of souvenirs of all shapes and kinds. A short visit to the museum will suffice for most people, but it does offer a real insight into what was so exciting about this concreted bit of London in 1951.

Practical info: Museum of 51, Royal Festival Hall, South Bank is open until 4 September. Admission free.

Festival of Britain (2): concrete London

2011-08-16T16:49:00.004+01:00

The best-known London architecture from the early 1950s is probably the Festival complex on the South Bank. However, they were just one example of concrete buildings from the period; our mystery tour took us to another, Stockwell Bus Garage.

A key reason for concrete's popularity was that following the Second World War, more traditional materials (especially steel) were in short supply. The architects Adie Button and Partners and engineer AE Beer rose to this challenge with flair and imagination: the huge space is supported by arched concrete ribs, making it the largest unsupported area in Europe at the time of building. Between the ribs, skylights throw subtle light onto the vast space below.

In 1988, Stockwell Bus Garage was listed at Grade II*; Will Self has argued that it is London's most important building. While I wouldn't go that far, it is certainly an elegant response to post-war shortages.

Back on the South Bank, the key survival from the Festival of Britain is the equally Modernist Royal Festival Hall. It has not been helped by the later addition of foyers to the facade, and is not held in universal affection. Yet it too was built in a spirit of optimism and innovation; the architects were three young men from the London County Council's own works department, Leslie Martin, Peter Moro and Robert Matthew. When the Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, laid the foundation stone in 1959 he commented that

The exhibition and its festivities would pass into history, most of what was shown would be dispersed, its celebrations would become only memories. But the concert hall would remain and around it would rise buildings worthy to take their place with the best of old London and form part of the replanned London of the future.

The Guardian, reporting on the event, reached its own conclusion on the building:

It is not yet possible to see much of the shape of the building, but the illustrations in a booklet given away at the ceremony make it look handsomer than it has appeared in any impressions printed up to now - handsome, that is to say, in a purely utilitarian way, as a huge bus depot might be.

One wonders if they imagined a bus depot such as Stockwell Garage.

Festival of Britain (1): the vintage bus

2011-08-15T16:23:00.005+01:00

It's the sixtieth anniversary of the Festival of Britain this year, and its most lasting legacy - the South Bank Centre - is hosting various events to commemorate this. At the weekend, I was lucky enough to join one of them: a mystery tour on a vintage bus.

The connection between the 1951 Festival and double-deckers may not be obvious, but four shiny new RT buses played an important role in promoting the event. They made a tour of Europe in 1950, exhibiting what Britain had to offer and advertising the forthcoming events. Only one is still roadworthy, and it was that bus which took us on our mystery trip through the capital. This Pathe newsreel shows it with its colleagues at the beginning of their first long journey:

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When they started their original tour in Oslo, only one of the four buses was designed to carry passengers. It gave free rides in the towns they visited, while the interiors of the other three held exhibition spaces and a very sleek and stylish staff space: although the seven men stayed in hotels, this area functioned as a sort of staffroom. Works foreman Frank Forsdick was in charge of four drivers (who were also engineering staff), an electrician and a mechanic. The convoy visited Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg and France. Thousands of visitors came on board: 62,750 in France alone. Amazingly, none of the buses suffered mechanical problems during the journey.

After their 4,000-mile foreign trip, the buses returned to normal service - although they kept their 'GB' plates as a reminder of the overseas adventure. There were a few breaks for special circular tours of London during the Festival, but otherwise RT1702 worked as an ordinary London bus until it was retired in 1972. Three London Transport employees then bought it, and the 1702 Preservation Society has been keeping it on the road ever since. This weekend, it once more fulfilled its original purpose of drawing attention to the Festival of Britain.

Further reading: IanVisits also took the tour.

From the archives: Chunee, a tragic story

2011-08-14T16:13:00.002+01:00

The Royal College of Surgeons' Hunterian Museum lost many of its exhibits thanks to a World War II bomb. Among these was the skeleton of a once-beloved London elephant who suffered a miserable death.

Where the Lyceum Theatre, home to the Lion King, now stands was once Exeter Exchange Royal Menagerie. I heard the story of its most famous inhabitant, Chunee the elephant, and his gruesome death from Chris of One Eye Grey on a walking tour of the Strand area.

Chunee was the star of the menagerie: according to Lord Byron who visited in 1813, he 'took and gave me my money again—took off my hat—opened a door—trunked a whip—and behaved so well, that I wish he was my butler.' By the time he came to Exeter 'Change he was well used to being the centre of attention, having appeared at the Theatre Royal before the menagerie bought him. On Sundays, he would be taken for a walk along the Strand.

However, the hitherto friendly and docile elephant became decidedly grumpy when he developed a rotten tusk. In February 1826, Chunee killed one of his keepers during their weekly walk. It was decided that he had to be put down, and one of his surviving keepers tried to feed him poison. However, Chunee was obviously suspicious and refused to eat it. Macabre scenes then followed: soldiers with muskets came from Somerset House and shot at Chunee while, at his keeper's command, he knelt down. 152 musket balls were not enough to kill him, and his life was finally ended by a sword. The cage floor was deep in blood. His carcass was dissected in public by surgeons, his skeleton exhibited at Piccadilly's Egyptian Hall (later moving to the Royal College of Surgeons, where it was destroyed by a bomb in World War II) and his hide sold to a tanner for £50.

These horrific events led to public outrage and the transfer of the menagerie to Surrey Zoological Gardens. There was even a play dramatising the events at Sadlers Wells. One reaction has left a lasting legacy for captive animals and the city: the Zoological Society of London was formed and still operates London Zoo today, offering far better conditions to its animals than those experienced by the Exeter 'Change menagerie.

Image: cartoon of Chunee's execution, 1826, from wikipedia.

Printer's devil, Minerva's owl

2011-08-12T16:52:00.006+01:00

No one is quite sure why an apprentice printer was called a printer's devil, although there are a number of theories. Perhaps the most popular is that of the devil who lurked in every printer's premises, inserting errors into the type; when they weren't blaming him, more senior printers would blame the youngest apprentice instead. The printer's devil takes a more literal form in this carving on a former printer's shop in Stonegate, York. If there are any typos in this post ... blame him!

The popularity of such visual signs is often connected to illiteracy, but both this and another of Minerva remind us that there were other reasons too. Minerva, goddess of wisdom, sits leaning against a pile of books with her owl at her elbow. Both books and owl remind us that she was goddess of wisdom and drama: hence her place on High Petergate, once known for its bookshops.

It is likely that most customers of both printers and booksellers could have read textual signs (although their servants might not), but these conspicuous carved figures were especially useful before buildings were numbered. Addresses could be given as, for example, 'at the sign of the printer's devil'. The carving was also an advertisement and a way of catching the pedestrian's eye, just as barber's poles continue to be today.

Ghost signs (61): List of Visitors

2011-08-11T18:05:00.004+01:00

If you made a visit to the fashionable spa town of Harrogate, you would want to know who else was in town. (Good company might distract you from the taste of the water!) If you were one of the businesses serving those taking the waters, you would want to advertise the high-toned visitors to be met there. And if you were an enterprising newspaper publisher, you could keep both groups happy by publishing regular lists of visitors.

That's just what these Harrogate ghost signs are advertising. Above the former offices of the Harrogate Herald, now a pub, are painted signs promising 'List of visitors Wednesday' and 'Saturday'. To the side, the company name (R Akrill) is now illegible; they were also 'general printers'.

Light relief

2011-08-10T23:13:00.003+01:00

If you want a few minutes' London-themed silliness, why not try Race Against Chime? In this game on the Parliament website, you clean the face of Big Ben and answer a few questions about the bell and clock along the way. Just the thing for a coffee break.

Cleaning London's streets

2011-08-09T17:05:00.005+01:00

This morning, London's attention turned to clearing up the mess left by riots. Many volunteers have brought gloves, binbags and brooms to affected areas, a welcome reminder that most Londoners do value their city.

Much of the clearing up, though, was done by the professionals employed by our local councils. By lunchtime, Deptford's most-photographed car had been hauled onto a truck and taken away. Less obviously, road sweepers swept up litter and broken glass, so that for a few hours at least our streets were usable once more.

We usually take swept streets for granted. We may complain that people drop litter in the first place, we may grumble about the time the council takes to clear it up, but we expect it to disappear within a reasonable time. However, in the nineteenth century, the people who cleaned the streets were much more visible. The crossing-sweeper in particular was a periodic focus of public discussion.

London's roads not only had litter and dirt; they also had plenty of horse manure. Crossing the street could therefore have been a deeply unpleasant experience, especially in the days before tarmac, but it was usually made more tolerable by the crossing-sweeper who would clear a way across. Many of us probably have a Dickensian vision of a waif with a broom, but people of all sorts and ages might take up this work. The indefatigable Henry Mayhew categorised them into three groups: juvenile, afflicted or crippled, and able-bodied. The third category was further divided, oddly, into male, female and Irish. He also distingushed between the casual and the regular crossing-sweeper.

However, many commentators saw crossing-sweeping as little more than a form of begging. After all, most of the horse manure was carried away by boy 'street orderlies' employed to dart between the traffic with a brush and scoop to collect it before it got squashed into the road surface. W J Gordon describes their career progression: as they grew into adulthood, they would be promoted to cleaning the street surface with broom, squeegee and scraper. The squeegee was essentially the tool we now associated with window-cleaning: 'a mere slip of indiarubber clipped in a slide and fitted with a handle, and lasting for a year in good wear, clearing away slop and mud so effectually as often to leave but a smooth dry track behind.'

The crossing-sweeper and street-orderly are now gone from our streets, but the need for someone to clean them has not disappeared. We are no longer expected to tip those who sweep our roads, but we still owe them our thanks. Whether there's more violence or not, the road sweepers will be busy making London a much nicer place.

London riots: a long history

2011-08-08T17:58:00.004+01:00

It's impossible to be anything other than miserable about the current London riots. Whatever the causes and context might be, the worst results are being felt by local people themselves. However, there may be a sort of comfort in remembering that London has a long history of surviving riots: here are a few now largely forgotten.

It was apparently a tradition for London's apprentices to attack bawdy houses on Shrove Tuesday. (A reminder that tradition is not always a good thing.) In 1668, these attacks erupted into five days of unrest. Up to 40,000 rioters were involved and the disturbances stretched from Poplar to the West End. Fifteen of those involved in the Bawdy House Riots were convicted on charges of high treason, perhaps inspired by the increasingly political slogans of the rioters; four of them were hung, drawn and quartered.

Deptford saw violent unrest about dockyard chips in 1786 - these were offcuts of wood the dockyard workers were allowed to take home. It proved to be a rather expensive perk, since 'chips' could be up to six feet long. When the dockyard bosses tried to end the perk, workers were so angry that first one party of soldiers, then a second, and finally 'all the troops from the Savoy that could be spared' were needed to restore peace.

In 1809, the Old Price Riots lasted for several months - triggered by a rise in the price of theatre tickets. On the first night, calling in soldiers and police only inflamed the situation; protests then continued nightly but were apparently largely good-natured with little damage to property. (The frugal rioters took to arriving at the theatre only for the second half of the performance, when prices were reduced.) The protests only ended when theatre manager John Kemble reduced ticket prices to their old levels and apologised.

The March 1919 Battle of Bow Street saw large numbers of American, Canadian and Australian servicemen fighting the police following an attempted arrest over a game of dice. Canadian soldiers, unhappy at not having returned home many months after the First World War had ended, would riot again at Epsom on 17 June, killing a police officer.

Perhaps this long and varied history (there's a fuller list here, including many much better-known) will also remind us that the causes of and solutions to riots can be too complex for instant answers. For the moment, let's just hope that London soon becomes calm and safe again.