A Royal Gift

Soon we will be beginning a new year – 2023. We anticipate at least one big event – the coronation of King Charles III and his Queen Consort, Camilla. In England in the past, years ending with 23 have not tended to produce memorable events – unlike, for example, years ending in 15, 66 or 88.

In 1823 however an event occurred which, while not dramatic or attracting great public attention, has been of lasting benefit to the nation, especially to researchers and writers. King George IV gave the library of his late father, King George III, to the nation.

George III had set out to create a new royal library, sending agents to book sales in Britain and on the Continent, sometimes buying up entire collections from private individuals. By the time of his death in 1820, the library consisted of many thousands of printed books, pamphlets, manuscripts and maps. Among other items there was a Gutenberg Bible and a first edition of the Canterbury Tales, printed by William Caxton.

After it was given to the nation, the King’s Library was initially housed at the British Museum, in a room now known as the Enlightenment Gallery. The British Museum also created a new home for its own collection of books and manuscripts. The Round Room, in the Great Court of the Museum, was opened in 1857. It was used by, among others, Karl Marx and Arthur Conan Doyle.

In 1998 the King’s Library and the British Museum Library moved to the new, purpose built British Library on Euston Road, close to St Pancras Station. The King’s Library is still, as the gift specified, housed separately, in a tower which runs up through the centre of the building, seen by all visitors.

The British Library’s catalogues, and many other useful resources, are available online, and anyone may apply for a Reader Pass to use the reading rooms at the Library. The British Library has also become a popular drop in and meeting place. The Entrance Hall, cafes (from which one can look at the King’s Library while drinking one’s coffee), shop and at least one exhibition are all free to enter without a ticket and without booking.

Two hundred years after it was given to the nation, the King’s Library is today seen in ways which George III and George IV could never have imagined.

Winter Weather

Freezing temperatures and snowfall have led to disruption for many travellers today. This is nothing new, of course. A stagecoach in the snow is a popular Christmas image, but in the age of the stage and mailcoach, heavy snow was not a cosy and sentimental affair. It was not unheard of for a passenger travelling on an outside seat (which was cheaper) to be found to have died of cold at the end of a journey.

On the night of 25 December 1836, there was heavy snow over much of the country. On 27 December, the Times reported that ‘not a single mail due at 6 o’clock yesterday morning had reached the Post Office [in London] by half-past 8; they then began slowly to arrive…. At noon, the following mails were reported to have been seen stuck fast in the snowdrifts at Hockley-hill, near Dunstable – viz., the Manchester, the Holyhead, the Chester and the Halifax. Waggon-horses were put to the Chester mail to draw it out from the snow; but the fore-axle gave way and left the coach behind. The bags were forwarded by a post-horse….’

‘The Devonport mail arrived at half-past 11 o’clock…. The storm commenced when they reached Wincanton, and never afterwards ceased. The wind blew fresh, and the snow and sleet in crossing the plains were driving into their faces so as almost to blind them. Between Andover and Whitchurch the mail was stuck fast in a snowdrift, and the horses in attempting to get it out were nearly buried….. In the open parts of the country all trace of the mail road was lost, and the coachman was obliged in several instances to travel by guess, or trust to the instinct of his horses.’

The Dover Mail returned to London, having not been able to travel beyond Gravesend.

The next day, 28 December, the proprietors of the Swan With Two Necks, in Lad Lane, in the City, and other coach operators, determined not to allow any more coaches to depart for the country until they had better news of the state of the roads. As well as the anxiety for the coachmen and passengers who were stranded on the road, there was also the inconvenience to businesses caused by the delays to the mails.

From Rochester in Kent it was reported that ‘the oldest inhabitants do not remember so heavy a fall of snow as we have had; it has been blowing a hurricane from N.N.E, which has drifted the snow in some places at least 40 feet. During the night, a number of vessels has been driven into the harbour with loss of anchors, masts, bulwarks, etc.’

‘Last night the mail, which was proceeding to London, was regularly blocked by the snow, and 300 men were immediately sent to make a passage through the snow, principally sappers and miners [Royal Engineers], and after some hours they succeeded in reaching the mail, when the letter bags were taken out and forwarded to London by express; the coach cannot at present proceed further.’

1836 was of course near the end of the stagecoach era. The Liverpool and Manchester Railway had opened in 1830. The first section of the London and Greenwich Railway, to Deptford, had opened in 1836. The London and Birmingham Railway, the first long distance railway linking London with a major city, opened in 1838.

On 4 January 1837 the Times, summing up ‘the late severe weather’, quoted from another newspaper: ‘It appears to be now an established fact, that snow offers no impediment to railway travelling. During the past week the trains on the Greenwich Railway continued running without interruption, while the coaches and omnibuses from Greenwich were almost abandoned and much delayed, though furnished with extra horses, by the heaviness of the roads.’

New Women and Summer Fetes

Bicycling was an increasingly popular pastime in the 1890s, with clubs, magazines and popular songs dedicated to it. It was regarded as especially beneficial to women, in giving them increased independence and opportunities for exercise. The woman cyclist was one of the ‘New Women’ of the late Victorian and Edwardian age, more active and independent than their mothers and grandmothers.

Bicycle gymkhanas were frequently held, either as events in their own right, or as part of a fete or other celebration. In Kent in the spring and summer of 1897 bicycle gymkhanas were reported at Broadstairs, Eden Park near Bromley, Cheriton, Deal, Herne Bay, Sibton Park near Lyminge, Ramsgate and Rochester, among other places.

Races (for ladies and gentlemen separately) might include Egg and Spoon, Potato Race, Threadneedle Race, Hoop Race and Tortoise Race. For gentlemen only there might be an Umbrella and Cigar Race and a Victoria Cross Race, in which gentlemen riders were required to ‘rescue’ a dummy. Miss Goodson appears to have been something of a local champion, winning three races at one event and two races at another.

In September 1897 Lady Harris attended a bicycle gymkhana at Rochester:

Lady Harris’s husband, the fourth Baron Harris of Belmont, was the long serving captain of the Kent and England cricket teams, and also very much involved in the administration of the game. Lady Harris’s remarks therefore would have been understood as an enthusiastic endorsement of cycling.

Not everyone regarded cycling so favourably, especially when it came to the participation of women. There were objections to the notion of a woman cycling in public alone – or, perhaps even worse, with a man. There was concern about the possible effects on women’s health. There was disapproval of the outfits adopted for cycling by some women.

One wonders what the detractors would have made of the Gretna Green race at the Sibton Park gymkhana in 1897:

Gentlemen on bicycles rode off at a smart pace, and at a certain point a lady ran into the crcle and jumped up behind each competitor. Half-way round both dismounted, ran to a table, on which were placed pen, ink and paer, wrote their names, again mounted their machines, and raced home. The agility and grace with which the young ladies sprang up behind their companions won many plaudits.

Gazetted

The archives of The Gazette have been digitised and are now freely available to search or browse online here. The Gazette is best known as The London Gazette. It began in 1665 as an official response to ‘fake news’, rumour and anti-government pamphlets that circulated. There were also, subsequently, an Edinburgh Gazette, a Dublin Gazette and later a Belfast Gazette.

As an official publication, The London Gazette was where Army and Navy appointments and promotions were announced – hence the term ‘Gazetted’.

Military and Naval despatches were published. Distribution of Prize money was announced.

In every issue, a substantial number of pages was taken up with dissolved partnerships, bankruptcies and debtors.

There were notices about settled estates, turnpike roads and enclosures of fields and commons. Later in the nineteenth century announcements related to proposals to build railways or tramways or instal gas or electricity networks.

The Gazette offers a wealth of material for browsing with a mug of tea or coffee, for local or family historians, or for novelists loooking for inspiration.

‘Times Past’

I’d forgotten how entertaining nineteenth century local newspapers can be. Reports of local council meetings include one member asking another if he’d like to take it outside, notebooks and papers being thrown – if there are such carryings on at present day council meetings, we don’t hear about them.

This is the Mayor of a certain borough in Kent, when a proposal to construct a sanitation system was under discussion This was in 1869, more than ten years after the Great Stink compelled Parliament to do something about the state of the Thames in London:

The next item concerned a local charity’s plan to build some public baths:

It’s all too easy to lose sight of what one had intended to research, among the reports of council meetings, magistrates’ court proceedings, coroners’ inquests, local entertainments, situations vacant and wanted, and all the other minutiae of life in a provincial town. But there is endless material for the novelist!

How to Behave in Society

Books on etiquette were popular in the Victorian and Edwardian periods. Many are available to read on Project Gutenberg or archive.org. The books go into minute detail about morning calls – which were actually paid in the afternoon, between two o’clock and five o’clock. Before noon, the mistress of the house was supposed to be too busy with household affairs to have time to entertain callers. 

There was great detail about visiting cards – their size, the type of card, the information to be printed on them, when they should be left and in what circumstances it was acceptable to send them by a servant rather than leave them personally. 

A lady ‘having a large acquaintance’ was advised to keep a visiting book, in which to enter the dates when acquaintances left their cards, and the dates when she left cards on them in return. ‘Cards should always be returned within a week if possible, or ten days at latest, after they have been left, but to do so within a week is more courteous.’

Ladies were advised as to whether it was appropriate to bow to someone they had met at a friend’s house, or to a gentleman who had been introduced at a ball, if encountering them in the street or the park the next day.  

There were hints on dress – wool or cotton gloves were ‘unutterably vulgar’ – calf or kid were the only acceptable materials – and on mourning. What degree of mourning, for example, should be observed by a second wife for a member of the first wife’s family?

One wonders who these books were intended for. A middle class housewife living in a semi-detached suburban villa with one or two servants would not have the space, the leisure, the money, or indeed the inclination, to spend her time paying calls, leaving cards, planning and giving elaborate dinner parties or dances. 

A young wife from the class of people who did do all those things would, or should, have learned them from her mother as she grew up. 

Possibly a nouveau riche family, wanting to establish themselves in society, might find a book on etiquette helpful. One imagines Mrs Eckaslike and her daughters turning the pages in the hope of discovering what degree of acquaintance they could claim with Lady Topworthy, to whom they had been introduced at a bazaar. 

These books were equally popular on both sides of the Atlantic. While many of the social conventions were similar, there were differences between the United Kingdom and the United States, so if intending to use them for research purposes, it’s necessary to look at the place of first publication, and to read very carefully for internal clues. 

In The Behaviour Book: a Manual for Ladies, by Miss Leslie, published in Philadelphia (date of first publication uncertain, but the author died in 1858), ladies were advised that when a guest in a friend’s house, they should ‘on no consideration question the servants, or talk to them about the family, particularly if they are slaves’.

Date of first publication is important, as social conventions changed over time. Some guides were republished frequently, and may or may not have been updated. 

Manners and Rules of Good Society, or Solecisms to be Avoided, went through at least thirty-nine editions. In the Preface, it is stated ‘In a volume of this nature it is necessary to make constant revisions, and this is periodically done to keep it up to date, that it may be depended upon as being not only the most reliable, but also the newest book of etiquette’.

However, in the 1918 edition there is only a brief reference to ‘the present war’, in the context of the royal family’s relinquishing of its German names and titles. There is also a comment that ‘the Various Periods of Mourning for relatives have within the last few years been materially shortened’.

The book still discusses at length presentations at court, dinner parties of several courses and balls attended by several hundred guests. Court presentations did not take place during the Great War. The U Boat campaign and consequent food shortages and rationing precluded the giving of large dinner parties by 1918. And (leaving aside the question of whether it would have been considered appropriate to hold a large ball) would sufficient numbers of gentlemen have been available as dancing partners?

“Our revels now are ended…”

For me, one of the best moments of the weekend was when, on Sunday afternoon, the Royal Standard unfurled over Buckingham Palace, telling everyone that the Queen had arrived there. It demonstrated that it is possible to convey a message to tens of thousands of people simultaneously, without modern technology.

I was going to write more about pageantry and ceremony, but I decided I couldn’t improve on what I wrote ten years ago on my old blog here. (I can no longer access this blog to edit or see notifications, as I have no idea what e-mail address I used to create it.)

Various English monarchs reigned longer than 25 years, but the first to celebrate a Jubilee was George III, whose Golden Jubilee was marked in 1809.

Queen Victoria’s Silver Jubilee was not such a big event as either of her two later Jubilees, but the town of Maidstone in Kent has a monument commemorating the date.

One of the notable features of Victoria’s Golden Jubilee, and to a lesser extent her Diamond Jubilee, was the number of children, girls and boys, given Jubilee as one of their first names.

Which brings us to the Silver Jubilee of King George V in 1935, at which the then Princess Elizabeth was a central figure.

Out and about in London –

and in parts of London that used to be Kent –

there’s nearly always something to see, and to read up on when you get home.

On a bus ride into the City –

The former Royal Arsenal Co-operative Society building in Lewisham. Has the dates 1868 and 1933, 1868 being the date the RACS was established, and 1933 the date of the building. Now converted to flats.

Sylva Cottages, Brookmill Road, Deptford. Built in 1904, following slum clearance in the area.

And adjoining Sylva Cottages, Mereton Mansions, formerly Carrington House. Carrington House was built by the London County Council as a lodging house accommodating eight hundred single men. It was one of many lodging houses that were built around London, often by philanthropic organisations or individuals.

In Tooley Street, a bust of Ernest Bevin, 1881-1951, Trade Unionist, Labour MP and Cabinet minister.

Across the road from Ernie Bevin, one of the blocks that form Devon Mansions, the rear of which is familiar to anyone travelling in and out of London Bridge Station from Kent. Built in the 1870s as model dwellings for the working classes, by a speculative builder, not a philanthropic organisation.

And on a walk around Spitalfields, a statue in Devonshire Square, representing one of the knights of the cnihtengild (knights’ gild) who were granted land to the east of Bishopsgate by King Edgar in the tenth century.

And finally, a rearing horse on top of a building in Middlesex Street – a sculpture by Judy Boyt. A reminder to look up as well as around when out and about.

The City Gate

I don’t write short stories and I very rarely write anything set in the Middle Ages. But this short piece popped into my head, inspired by a couple of things I read.

The City Gate

England 1270

The woman moved rapidly along the street, long legs striding, feet kicking aside her skirt. She wore an old gown and tunic, and a cloak over her shoulder, and carried a long staff. A satchel hung at her hip. Her face was thin and brown, nose and chin jutting, wide mouth set in a grim, determined line. Her dark hair hung loose under her veil. Height for height, stride for stride, she matched almost any man.

‘A Wild woman indeed,’ said a man idling at the side of the road. Young Simon, overhearing, supposed he meant the woman had come out of the Weald. A wild place it was, from all Simon had heard.

She was followed by a train of horses, with men walking alongside holding the bridles. At the rear, another man led two packhorses. They came to a halt at the city gate, waiting for the people ahead of them to pass through. Simon, forgetting for a moment the errand his father had sent him on, stopped also, to look at the horses as they stood in the road. They were fine animals, fit for a lord to ride, he thought. One tossed its head, another pawed the ground, causing the man holding the bridle to speak soothingly.

Two men wearing the badge of the city bailiff lounged at the gate. Women carrying baskets were waved through. Men driving laden waggons were halted and questioned about their loads. Sometimes coins changed hands, or something was taken from a waggon and placed in the gatehouse. Some of the waggoners argued, but most were familiar with the bailiff’s men, and did not waste time on protests that would have been useless.

As the woman approached the gate, the men barred her way with crossed halberds.
‘What is your name? What is your business here?’ the older of the two men asked.
‘I am Helewys of Bevilsdenne.’ She spoke proudly, as if they should know her name. ‘I bring horses to the fair.’
The older man walked slowly along the line of horses, then returned to his place at the gate.
‘Forty shillings,’ he said.
‘For what? On whose authority?’
‘On the authority of Walter Payton the bailiff. For provisioning the castle and keeping the gates and walls of the city. Everyone who brings goods into the city must pay. If you have not the coin, we will take one of the horses. Or two, perhaps.’

Simon knew all about the bailiff and his dealings with the people of the city, and those who came there to trade. He had heard his father and uncles talking often enough. He knew how Walter Payton’s servants, on the authority of Walter, had broken into the house of Gilbert the smith and carried away some of his property. He knew how Walter had distrained the goods of John of Westwood for a debt the said John did not owe. He knew how Walter and his brother Roger, claiming to be carrying out repairs to the castle, had taken tiles and lead and timber and used them in building a house in the city. Men grumbled and complained among themselves, but few dared challenge the Paytons openly. If any did, he too might find his goods distrained for a debt he did not owe, or find himself imprisoned in the castle until he paid a fine so that he might be acquitted.

The woman Helewys was a stranger, though. She did not know these things.
‘Walter Payton? Who is he? From where comes his authority? Who gives him the title of bailiff?’ she demanded.
The older man reached into his jerkin and brought out a document, grubby, much folded and creased. He handed it to Helewys. She unfolded it, handling it disdainfully. She turned it this way and that.
‘Can’t read it?’ said the younger man, taunting. ‘You should leave men’s work to the men. Where is your husband? Why does he allow you to roam like a beggarwoman?’
‘My husband was killed at Lewes in the service of the king.’ She looked at the younger man. ‘I suppose you were still at your mother’s breast then.’
The young man went red. Simon knew that the battle of Lewes had taken place in the year of his own birth; he had heard his father talk of it. It was not surprising the young man should be shamed and angry at what Helewys had said.

The older man said,
‘We will send for the bailiff. He will show you his authority!’
‘Do so!’ said Helewys. ‘Then I can show him the rust on your halberd, the stains of food on your jerkin, the dirt on your boots, the stink of ale on your breath. I can tell him what a fine thing it is that the two of you are the first thing that people see of this city. And you will have to explain to him why you hindered a person acting in the name of Lord Beville.’
‘Lord Beville?’
‘You have not heard of him? You may explain that to your bailiff. Here is my authority, bearing his name and seal.’

She took from her satchel a roll of parchment. Simon edged closer to watch as she unrolled it and held it so the two men could see it. He could see the bold strokes of a pen covering the page in closely written lines. A large red seal hung from the foot of the document. The two men studied it, then muttered to each other. Behind Helewys’s train of horses, more waggons were waiting, the drivers growing impatient. Helewys too was impatient.
‘Come, send for your bailiff, that he might see for himself that I have the right to go on my way unhindered. Or do you not wish him to know how unlearned you are, that you cannot recognise Lord Beville’s seal? What would that matter? All these here already know it.’
Simon heard a few sniggers among the people watching.

Simon had some schooling. He thought of offering to read the document for the men. But he might expect a clout round the head if he did; they would be angry at being made to look foolish by a boy of twelve summers. And his father would be angry if Simon did anything to draw the attention of Payton and his men upon them.

Helewys turned away, rolling the document and stowing it again in her satchel.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘’Will you let me pass? Or must I tell Lord Beville of the discourtesy I have found here?’
Grudgingly, the men stood aside. Not sparing them another glance, Helewys strode forward, her men and horses following.

Simon watched until they were out of sight, then continued on his way. His father would want to know why he had taken so long over his errand, but he would not be angry when Simon told him what he had seen. How Helewys had refused to yield to Walter Payton’s men. How she had made them look foolish. And how Simon had seen her document as she rolled it up. He had seen that there were no letters or words on it, in English or French or Latin. Helewys had fooled them with a piece of parchment covered with meaningless scratchings made with a pen and ink, with a grand seal attached.

Helewys and all the other characters are my invention, but the activities of the Payton brothers are based on fact – a consequence at local level of the weakness of the monarchy and the civil disorder in the reign of Henry III.

Writing a novel backwards

Not literally, of course. But sometimes it’s better not to write in a linear fashion, starting at the beginning and carrying straight on to the end.

It isn’t always possible. Most of Charles Dickens’ works were published first in serial form. He wrote one episode at a time, in advance of publication. He could not go back to change earlier instalments once they had been published, although he might adapt the future development of the story in response to reader feedback.

The most usual reason for writing out of sequence is that one is stuck. Jumping ahead to write a big set piece, or a scene with lots of action or dialogue, can get the creative juices flowing again.

It is also sometimes the case that one introduces characters, or writes a scene, and is not satisfied with them, even when one knows their place or purpose in the overall story. Rewriting and extensive tinkering do not solve the problem; indeed, one cannot identify exactly what the problem is. It is only when one moves on, and writes the next scenes or chapters, that it becomes apparent what needs to be done about the problem scene or character. Then one can go back and rewrite.

A lot of writing time can be wasted struggling with those scenes which will not come right. It is often best to leave them, and move on. In a piece of academic writing, it is quite common to write the introduction last, after the main body of the work is complete. The same method can work equally well with fiction.