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February 8, 2010

In the Eye of the Beholder: My 18th Century

Today's post is something of a digression, but bear with me if you can.  People often ask why I am so fascinated with the 18th century, and history in general.  There is no one short answer to the question, but if pushed I would say, 'the people' and I use the objects and documents to get to them.  

Sometimes I'm stopped in my tracks by words or images that encapsulate the appeal of history for me and they might not even be from Georgian London.  This image of Robert Cornelius standing outside his Philadelphia shop in 1839 is one of the earliest surviving daguerreotypes from America.  He was 30 (and so born in my period of interest, or that's my excuse), and experimenting with the new equipment in the autumn sun.  The survival of this extraordinary image closes a gap of almost two centuries with a bang.  Cornelius isn't some styled dandy approving every brushstroke of a portrait or a miniature: he's just a bloke standing in the street trying out his new camera.

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February 4, 2010

Mystery Object #1

This one isn't that hard.  Clue: Samuel Pepys may have carried one in his pocket.  Answers in the comments please.

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February 1, 2010

Princess Serafina: London's First Recorded Drag Artist

This post is the first in a short series on the history of homosexuality and transgender people in 18thC London to celebrate LGBT History month.  I like to think the blog constantly celebrates every individual who contributed to making London one of the greatest European cities of the 1700s but this is my small addition to an excellent cause.  

On the 5th of July 1732 Thomas Gordon was indicted for robbing one John Cooper, of Number 11, Eagle-court, the Strand.  The two men had taken a walk together in Chelsea Fields 'to a secret place', and Gordon had threatened Cooper with a knife unless he gave up all his clothing and his jewellery and changed it with Gordon's.  At first, it appeared to be one of those robberies that happens late at night on Clapham Common, between two previously unacquainted gentlemen.  The vast majority of such crimes are never even reported let alone prosecuted even in these 'enlightened' times, so the fact that John Cooper brought this to trial in 1732 is quite astonishing.  The trial that followed was to be even more incredible.

Gordon had left Cooper with the words that if he 'charged him with Robbery, by and by', he would in turn tell the authorities Cooper had given him the 'Cloathes' as payment for 'Buggery'.  (Cooper's clothes are closely detailed as fine masculine apparel, and this fact was to become central later on.)  Bizarrely, the two men walked back to Piccadilly together, where Cooper shouted for two passing men (it must have been about dawn by this point) to restrain Gordon.  Bundling him into yet another all-night pub, they had a shouting match in which Cooper accused Gordon of theft, and Gordon made good on his threat to announce to his detainers that he had been paid for services rendered.  

Modern readings of this minutely-documented trial are based around Cooper's outrageous alter-ego, but there are valuable insights to be gleaned from the reception the news of male prostitution garnered in the Piccadilly pub: the two men who had detained Gordon were unfazed, but told Cooper that if he were proved a liar and if it was simply a sex transaction gone wrong, then he would be liable for their time.  Cooper agreed to reimburse them if he was not successful in prosecuting Gordon.  From the quality of his clothing, and his confident demeanor, Cooper was neither poor nor ignorant, and was certainly not fazed by the threat of being outed, even if he was aware that his temporary employees were not quite on his side, as they would later trip him when Gordon escaped.

The case came to trial, and both stuck to their stories.  Such tales were not uncommon in the 18thC, but it was a rare for them to have their day in court, and those present watched avidly as an odd tale unfolded.  The keeper of the Piccadilly alehouse testified that the men arrived in his establishment and argued about the loose change that had been in the pockets of the clothes they had exchanged, and drunk at least four pints of beer together.  Edward Pocock, who had stumbled upon the pair at their 'secret place' in Chelsea Fields testified that the two were putting on their clothing when he chanced across them, and behaved very 'loving'.   He also begged some forgiveness for his accuracy as he had been drinking and was so drunk upon returning home that he fell asleep in his clothes.  Well, it had been a public holiday after all.

Tom Gordon was widely acknowledged by the witnesses as a bad lot, and this is probably why he ended up at trial.  John Cooper was a fixer for the richer members of Gay London when they desired an assignation: when they fancied a drummer boy, or a market labourer, Cooper was the man to 'smooth the way', with fine words and the soft clink of a guinea or two.  I think there is little doubt he was homosexual, although his gender-specific behaviour is more interesting in context.  Jane Jones the laundress came to the witness box, and casually referred to Cooper, the prosecutor, as 'Princess Serafina'.  The adoption of female names was not unusual in the gay subculture of Georgian London.  Jones agreed with the general opinion of Gordon as a bad lot, but was sad that a simple case of 'Sodomity, what ever that is' had to come to court.  

On a different note, Mary Holder was the proprietress of the alehouse where the two men drank together, and Mary Poplet was the landlady of the Two Sugar-loaves in Drury Lane where they finally ended up after their quarrel.  Poplet, who was a neighbour to John Cooper and his official employers, the Tulls, gave this account of his character:

I have known her Highness a pretty while, she us'd to come to my House from Mr. Tull, to enquire after some Gentlemen of no very good Character; I have seen her several times in Women's Cloaths, she commonly us'd to wear a white Gown, and a scarlet Cloak, with her Hair frizzled and curl'd all round her Forehead; and then she would so flutter her Fan, and make such fine Curt'sies, that you would not have known her from a Woman: She takes great Delight in Balls and Masquerades, and always chuses to appear at them in a Female Dress, that she may have the Satisfation of dancing with fine Gentlemen. Her Highness lives with Mr. Tull in Eagle-Court in the Strand, and calls him her Master, because she was Nurse to him and his Wife when they were both in a Salivation (salivation was a mercurial cure for syphilis); but the Princess is rather Mr. Tull's Friend, than his domestick Servant. I never heard that she had any other Name than the Princess Seraphina.

Three more women of the neighbourhood were to give evidence, and all knew John Cooper as Princess Seraphina, and all knew he had fallen out with Tom Gordon.  It seems little more than an argument about sex that got out of hand, so to speak.  Tom Gordon was known to turn a trick or two, and the Princess was known to enjoy the company of a gentleman, or two.  The case is quite unique in terms of the 18thC, and one can only imagine the sniggering upon the sidelines.  There are however, some facts that stand out in this case, and are worth serious consideration in terms of 18thC attitudes towards transgender individuals.  The female witnesses uniformly refer to the Princess as 'she'.  John Cooper earned his official living as a nurse, an exclusively (as far as history is concerned) female occupation.  He regularly wore women's clothes, and was clearly tolerated, if not wholly accepted within his home community.  He was certainly sufficiently at ease in female clothing to sally forth in such to balls and social events, where he hoped to meet the 'fine gentlemen'.

 

Tom Gordon was acquitted, but I think this is more to do with the fact that it was almost certainly a sexual engagement that had ended in a quarrel.  That John Cooper felt secure enough within his own environment, and the justice system, to pursue a conviction is telling.  He may well have felt forced into a corner, but I think it unlikely he would have taken the case to court over a suit of clothes if he had felt his life were at risk.  After the trial, John Cooper drops out of sight, something for which I think he was probably very grateful.  Apparently he was fond of the masked balls in Vauxhall Gardens, where it was the rage for the men to dress as women and vice versa, and that's where I like to think of him, with her curls and her fan, taking a break from his day job of nursing London's sick.

 

p.s. I would advise anyone interested in the primary texts of 18thC LGBT history and its scholarship to visit http://rictornorton.co.uk/ as a valuable and free online resource for the study of history and sexuality.  More details on the things going on this month to raise awareness can be found at www.lgbthistorymonth.org 

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Filed under  //   Criminal London   Fashionable London   Gay London   Strange London  

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January 31, 2010

The Warwick Vase: The History Behind the Norman Brookes Challenge Cup.

Today Roger Federer, the most successful male tennis player ever to grace an international court raised a solid silver trophy.  It's big, handsome and just a little bit ugly; it's the Warwick Vase.

Most sporting trophies started life as the nearest big lump of cheapish and suitably gaudy silver that came to hand, but the Warwick (as it's known) is a little different.  The 18th century saw the heyday of the Grand Tour, and the English enthusiasm for the antiquities of the ancient world.  Rome was a particular focus for the young men who travelled to the Continent and whilst there they met up with various people who both showed them the sights and acted as agents for procuring a little, or a large piece of history to take home with them.

 

One of these fixers was Gavin Hamilton.  Ostensibly an artist, he was a skilled negotiator and succeeded in getting some astonishing antiquities out of Italy during the late 18thC.  The marble Warwick Vase was found in marshy ground on the site of Hadrian's Villa at Tivoli in 1771, and Hamilton rapidly secured permission to excavate it.  It was in a poor state of repair and mostly smashed, but it has the diameter of a modern paddling-pool and was exceptionally rare.  Hamilton got it out of the ground and with the help of the famed artist Piranesi and a large block of Carrera marble, reconstructed its original appearance (see the image in the gallery).

 

Sir William Hamilton, husband of Emma, was the buyer of the pieces and he had it repaired, with the replacement segments hewn from a block of Carrera marble.  William Hamilton was not only a collector, he was a speculator and he wanted to sell the vase when it was restored.  He hoped to raise some interest from the recently established British Museum but they could muster neither funds nor enthusiasm for the gigantic piece.  In the meantime, Piranesi published his famous book of Classical designs in 1778, securing the reputation of the vase.  Still no buyer was found, and Sir William deemed it too large to sit in any house he could ever afford.  He sent it to his nephew, George Greville, Earl of Warwick.  George was cash-rich, but wasn't going to set the intellectual or artistic world alight.  He initially placed the vase on the lawn in front of Warwick Castle, where the fashionable set visited to see it.  He then had a faux-Gothic greenhouse built to house it, and described it as 'Grecian'.  

 

The Warwick Vase would remain at the castle for the next two centuries.  It came to symbolize the Grand Tour, early civilization and sophistication, and sheer grandeur.  The symmetry of the vase, its proportions and detail appealed to the Regency taste, and the aristocracy clamoured for George to allow them to copy it.  He finally agreed and the Royal Goldsmiths and Jewellers Rundell and Bridge were commissioned to create solid silver versions in varying sizes, to be used as ice buckets and wine coolers.  Paul Storr, the finest ever English silversmith created the most exceptional versions in the second decade of the 19thC.  The Vase was made in cast-iron, stone and also marble, for homes and also for gardens.  There are cast-concrete versions available in posh garden centres instead of gnomes.

 

During the Victorian period, many different versions, sizes and proportions of the Vase were produced, but only the most faithful and accurate are highly valued today.  In 1978, after a disastrous century for the Warwicks, the castle was sold to The Tussauds Group and many of its works of art were sold off.  The Vase was not highly valued enough for a London museum to raise the funds to buy it.  This was probably a grave mistake.  They allowed it to be sold to the Met in New York, but then the government refused to grant it an export license.  It was resold and it is now housed in the Burrell Collection in Glasgow.  

 

   
Click here to download:
The_Warwick_Vase_The_History_B.zip (369 KB)

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January 27, 2010

Learning to walk in style, the 18thC way-

I came across this photograph today of a beautiful little baby-walker, made around 1715.  It works exactly as the modern plastic version does and they aren't particularly heavy either.  This is a very fine version by a skilled cabinet-maker, and would have been for a baby born to wealthy parents.  They are quite rare as pieces of furniture and turn up only occasionally.  They are usually purchased by collectors of 18thC curiosities.

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January 26, 2010

'Brass money, broken or whole': The Counterfeiting Trade of Georgian London, Part 1

In Georgian London, fake coin was a problem.  There were no banks willing to take in the fake brass shillings you had accidentally picked up in your change at the market.  The problem central to counterfeit money, and interference with the currency itself was to do with bullion, and the growth in international trade.  England minted coins in both gold and sterling standard silver.  These coins had a set value, but they stayed in circulation for a long time, and over the decades, the bullion prices changed, so the actual value of the metal was either lower, or higher than the face value of the coin.  If the value was lower, it was cheaper to 'buy' coins and make them into silver dishes, spoons and forks and so on, than it was to buy the bullion to make them.  So coins began to be taken out of circulation that way, and also, the price of bullion on the Continent rose, and clever merchants shipped English coin to Europe where it was purchased to make objects.  The English Civil War and the Commonwealth had not helped, and by the 1670s, John Evelyn recorded that there were not enough coins around to pay for simple household items and food.  This is unthinkable in modern times, but it provided the perfect opportunity for fakers.  As long as no one looked too closely, and simply continued to pass the money around the system, it was worth the face value.  A secondary trade in fake money sprang up along side the bullion trade, and both preyed upon English money.

Those further down the trade, and without resources or skill often turned to coin clipping.  The edges of Britain's modern 'silver' and 'gold' coins are milled to prevent this crafty exercise, but in the 1660s and 1670s, there were even Elizabethan coins swimming about in the system, their fine edges ripe for trimming and polishing back up.  Coin clipping allowed poor but daring people to build up enough shavings to take to a smelter and have changed for money.  This of course, meant that the smelter had to be in on the act as well, but he was just another component of a complicated network with one foot either side of the law.

'Coinage offences' were taken very seriously by the courts, and especially so during the coin shortage of the 1670s.  Women caught clipping were burnt, and men hanged.  The making of fake money was a skilled job: there were dies to carve, and striking coins from hard mixed metals was no easy job.  The fakers often clipped their forgeries to make them appear more convincing.  There are also notes from trials recording how fakers made rare dies of early coins, presumably to produce fake collectible coins, and probably from high quality metal.  

Shopkeepers were supposed to destroy any fake coin that came their way, but often passed it on.  The 'Broken Money Men' patrolled the streets, with their cry of, 'Brass money, broken or whole.'  They were supposed to pay a nominal sum and slice it with shears in front of you, but they paid a little extra for the good fakes and everyone saw what they wanted to see.

With so many fakes around, it was no wonder William IIIrd, in 1696, decided to give English money a makeover through recoinage.  Old money was taken in, and new, less-easy-to-fake money put into circulation.  Millions of pounds worth of money was put out between 1696 and 1698, effectively re-valuing the pound.  Silver continued to be variable as far as bullion was concerned, and even the raising to Britannia standard of all domestic and ornamental plate between 1696 and 1720 didn't stop coin clipping.  In 1816, it was decided the only way to stop the fakery and cheating was to make silver coins with far less silver, making them worth only their face value and this measure was relatively effective for the next century until the Great War pushed bullion prices into the stratosphere.  More on other fakery another time.  

p.s.  The slang for something fake, or fakery in Georgian London was spanish.  

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Filed under  //   Fake London   Trading in London  

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January 22, 2010

'The Life, Spring and Motion of the Trading World': A Very Brief Account of Georgian London's Foreign Import and Export Trade

London, like Venice was a trading hub, and throughout the documents of the 18thC, London is compared with her Italian counterpart in all things apart from our 'superior' manner of government (they let 'tradesmen' govern in Venice, can you imagine?).  I am inclined to think that our import and export business was slightly less glamorous than that of the Floating City's, but perhaps familiarity has bred contempt and a fine piece of cheddar was as highly valued in Venice as parmesan cheeses were in London.  

This blog post is a very brief overview of our import and export trade in the mid-18thC and reflects the abundance of foreign goods available in London, and thus throughout England.  I think it is hard to over-estimate the extent to which the ordinary people of London were involved in 'trade' and to the extent they identified themselves as 'tradesmen'.  The expansion of the Empire beneath the Tudor family's reign had opened up parts of the world formerly inaccessible to the English people, and the writers of the 18thC certainly looked back on their medieval forebears as ruder cousins, lacking sophistication and knowledge of the world.  Trade brought not only goods to England's shores, but new ideas, schools of thought and scientific developments; our own advances were also traded as part of the ongoing development of the civilized world.  This air of enthusiasm, excitement and potential is lost to modern London where we are little more than a hub for financial services, and an exporter of bad cars, worse actresses and Newcastle Brown Ale.

England was beaten only by the Dutch for international trade, 'a country not much bigger than Yorkshire, and with a soil naturally barren'.  However, the legacy of the Spanish was a superb navy, and they were 'mighty in traffic'.  The wealth of the Dutch merchants was thrown into sharp relief in 1747 when the government went to them in crisis: they put over six millions pounds (sterling) at the service of the government in less than four hours.  It is almost impossible to put a modern figure to this sum, but it's more than a billion pounds.  In cash.  With those sorts of amounts, it isn't hard to see how the Netherlands convinced the poorer countries of the world, possessed of valuable commodities, to trade with them over any other nation.  Britain had struggled with long and sapping wars, and the countries with which it traded were in decline.  They had one large advantage over the Dutch though: the plantations.  The tobacco, sugar and other byproducts of the American and Caribbean plantations were vital to keeping England, and London, wealthy.

Merchants tended not to deal in one commodity; it was too risky.  Instead, they would deal in the produce of one country, hence Virginia merchants (tobacco and wood), and French merchants (wine and foodstuffs).  England imported wine, sugar, flax, hemp, cotton, rums, copper and iron ore amongst other basic products such as indigo for dyes.  It also imported a large quantity of fish from America, but it was deemed fit only for the Levant.  England exported made-up clothing, furniture, cutlery, haberdashery, clocks, glassware, toys and all manner of 'fancy goods'.  The rule of thumb is that England imported raw products, but exported finished products of a relatively high standard.  The upper-classes of Ireland had a strong 18thC, and were buying heavily from the London markets, but the poor remained very poor, often arriving in England with little more than a strong back and a desire for gin.  Robert Campbell made an acid note of the English attitude to the Irish, 'The balance paid by Ireland in exchange of goods, and the money spent by their gentry and nobility in England, amount to at least one million sterling per annum, which is a greater advantage (relative profit) than we reap from all our other branches of commerce; yet we grudge these people the common privileges of subjects, despite their persons, and condemn their country, as if it was a crime to be born in that kingdom from when we derive the greatest part of our wealth'.

Exports of fancy goods to Denmark and Sweden are recorded, in exchange for woods and minerals, although this trade was apparently dying out by the late 18thC.  To Turkey we sent lead, tin and sugar, and received carpets, coffee, and silks.  Tin and wool were sent to Portugal, and wine, olive oil and ready money were received in return.  To the East Indies, we sent woollen clothes, hats, firearms and silver bullion, but imported gold, diamonds, spices, drugs, tea, porcelain, china, silk, cotton, salt-petre and various other goods.  It was judged a very profitable branch of England's trade, and no wonder.  The less savoury aspects of our history are also recorded in our exports of guns, swords and cutlasses to Guinea, 'in exchange for negroes to work on our plantations, gold dust, and elephants' teeth'.

This is a broad subject for a blog post and does not take into account the 'triangular' nature of the slave trade.  I will tackle it in more detail in future but until then, I quote Campbell again, in what has to be one of the greatest comments on the English relationship with France, ever:

We export to France scarce anything but lead and tin, some tobacco to Dunkirk and some salmon from Scotland but we import wine, brandy, silks of various sorts, cambrics, laces of thread and of gold and of silver, paper cards and an innumerable quantity of trifling jewels and toys; for all which we pay an annual balance of one million and a half.  In reckoning up the imports from France, I should have mentioned pride, vanity, luxury, and corruption; but as I could make no estimate by the custom-house books of the quantity of these goods entered, I chose to leave them out.

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Filed under  //   Black London.   French London   Immigrants   Indian London   London's Food   Muslim London   Trading in London  

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January 20, 2010

Best Cutt Bone and Seconds of Same: The Role of Whaling in the Fashion Industry of Georgian London

 

Whaling: however you look at it, modern sensibilities tell us it's a bad thing (unless you are from Japan, where if it has fins and isn't a plane it's going on the menu).  In the 18thC, smaller populations and lack of technology meant it was only possible to hunt something to extinction within a restricted habitat, like the British wolf and the Dodo.  The vastness of the oceans equated to an endless bounty in the 18thC consciousness, as well as an otherness that could not be conquered.  Whaling was regarded as a perilous occupation, and whatever we now think about the industry, it takes a hard heart not to admire the courage of the men who pursued it, often at the cost of their own lives.

The whale oil industry is most often cited at the reason for hunting whales in the 18thC. Whale oil was highly prized for lamp oil, and beauty products, as well as perfumes and industrial uses (it is an excellent fine oil for lubricating the metal parts of small machinery). However, it is a little known fact that for most of the century, the trade in whalebone provided more than half of the whaling industry's income. Whalebone was the preferred material used for stiffening corsets, stays and trusses. This post looks at just how highly Georgian London valued a good corset.

The whale most commonly landed during the 18thC was the Greenland Right whale; up to 80 feet in length and frequently weighing over 100 tons, it was a formidable opponent.  Whales were still learning about the dangers of man at this proud moment in our history and so did not flee upon sight of a ship.  When the whaling ship sighted its prey, six small boats of around six men each were launched and rowed out to the whale where it cruised on the surface.  It was harpooned by the lead boat, with the other boats rapidly attaching their lines once it was determined the harpoon was secure.  Should the whale choose to dive, and was of sufficient size, strength or terror, it would take the lead boat with it.  For some reason, this happened less often than one might imagine, but the whales did drag the boats along the surface.  As it did so, the men launched further harpoons, or lanced the whale to increase blood loss.  In most cases it appears the whale simply gave up, and lay in a confused and frightened state until it bled out, kept afloat by its blubber and lungs.  The men would then wait with the carcass until the whaling ship caught up with them.  They might be miles away, freeing cold, wet and possibly in the dark if the chase had gone on for some hours.  When reunited, the whale's body was bound to the side of the ship and the stripping began.  Whale blubber was removed in large pieces and packed in ice in the ship's hull.  The most skilled workers were sent up to the head to remove the baleen.

The jaw of the Right Whale is up to 18ft long, about 12ft high and 8ft wide.  It is lined with baleen plates, the ones at the front being the same height as the jaw (the largest recorded up to 15ft) and more than a foot wide, but only half an inch thick.  The interior of the baleen is lined with coarse hairs to filter the plankton the whale feeds upon.  These plates were removed by men with specialist tools.  Any damage such as nicks, cuts or cracks seriously affected the value.  The baleen to oil ratio of any catch was reckoned at about 1:20, but with over half the income coming from the baleen, it was the prized asset.  It was carefully packed for the journey home.  

The whaling ships pitched up as close to the City of London as they could, where the main warehouses, dealers and shops were between Three Cranes Wharf and Throgmorton Street.  The dealers descended upon the ships and examined the catch, then the whalebone was removed for processing.  Whalebone processors are often dismissed as low-skill workers.  This seems unlikely, given the value of their raw material, and that there are men whose occupations were solely to make the extremely sharp stripping, cutting and finishing tools for the whalebone industry.  The bones were cut to standard lengths, and could be further finished by the stay-makers by trimming, steaming and shaping.  The Throgmorton Street area was known for its 'Bone-Shops' where bundles of expensive whalebone could be purchased.

Stay-making was a complex job, and required both men and women to run a successful shop.  A new set of stays was an investment, and a woman would only make that investment about once every three years, although maintenance was ongoing.  She would attend the stay-maker's shop, where she would be measured, in her shift, by the stay-maker.  She could request the presence of a lady, or that the lady did the measuring, if she wanted to.  She would then sit and discuss the shape she wanted with the stay-maker.  She might show him a print, or a portrait, or describe an actress or new fashion.  The basic pattern for stays is much the same throughout the first three quarters of the 18thC, until they become shorter towards 1800.  The stays of most ordinary women were sewn by seamstresses, who fashioned them from brown linen and stitched them with packthread (and extremely strong thread, about the gauge of heavy nylon thread for a sewing machine).  When the basic shape was constructed to the required measurements, the stay-maker would drawn out the lines for the channels in which the whalebone would sit.  He would then steam and set the whalebone into the required shapes, accommodating the flare of the hips or achieving the rounded waist look, and the seamstress would sew the channels.  To give an idea of the strength of the garment, and the whalebone, it was deemed impossible for a woman to 'stuff a corset', as female hands are simply not strong enough to force the bone into the channels.  The customer returned and the fit was tried.  If it was suitable, she would choose materials both to cover and to line the stays.  Less well-off women did not have them covered, only lined.  The lining was usually light linen, often doubled on day-wear and tacked in, so that it could be replaced at regular intervals.  Stays would lace at either the front or the back; no good having a back-lacer if you were a confirmed spinster with no one to help you in or out of it.

Breaking in a new pair of stays was a big job, and another of the reasons women preferred to keep the same pair and have them re-lined regularly.  New orders were relished by the stay-makers, but maintenance provided a large part of their income.  They made alterations for weight gain/loss and pregnancy, as well as for growing girls and changes in fashion.  Extant diaries belonging to stay-makers show their high regard and close confidences with their female customers, who clearly trusted their integrity and talent.  They discussed the pretty materials that would make the best show and match an existing wardrobe.  In their new whalebone stays, their whale ambergris-fixed scent, and their whale spermaceti lip-gloss the ladies of Georgian London must have looked a 100 guineas.

Outside fetishism, there is no modern equivalent to an 18thC stay-maker and this is a shame.  A greater shame is that whaling did not die out with corsetry.

For the bones of this article, I am greatly indebted to the pioneering scholarship of Lynn Sorge-English.

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January 18, 2010

Public transport in Georgian London and the capital's first recorded parking tickets

I should like to know more about Henry Kent: he was a printer by trade and had an office at No. 21, Finch-lane, near the Royal Exchange.  He produced small, cheap books that were regularly updated and are an absolute mine of information for anyone interested in the little details of Georgian London and 18thC life.  His publications reveal the diverse interests of the London population, and also reveal that modern assumptions about bigotry or ignorance amongst the people of three centuries ago are as ridiculous as assuming modern London has in some way achieved enlightenment.  The subjects of his booklets include: arithmetic, a better understanding of Christian and Jewish religious festivals, fishing, guides for young book-keepers and schoolmasters new to their jobs, tourist guides, a larger book of tables for calculating interest and a medical dictionary, so 'that any Person may know the Nature of his own Disease.' 

My favourite of his books so far is The Shopkeeper's and Tradesman's Assistant, printed in 1768.  It is an alphabetical list of every destination that could be reached from central London, either by wagon, coach, carrier or coasting vessel (little ships that literally hugged about the coast).  It is exactly one hundred pages long and contains a table of fares for the carriage of goods at the back, as decreed by the Lord Mayor (including prices for the delivery of 'grocery' within the City of London).  The goods listed include almonds, olive oil, rum, potash (for soap and glass), currants and raisins, figs, natural sponges, mohair and rice.  For me, it is an invaluable little primary document containing huge amounts of information about logistics, but also goods, services, trade and traffic.  The first page reveals that the book is designed to aid tradesmen, 'and others who have Occasion to write, or send Goods into the Country'.  From this declaration, and the fact that there are over 1300 destinations listed, including Abergavenny, Barton-on-Humber, Leith, Lostwithiel, St Andrews, Stockbridge and Walsall, we aren't just talking about the main metropolitan centres.  It is quite clear that goods, people and papers could be carried direct to almost anywhere in Britain, from right in the heart of London.  

In reading the book, it becomes clear there wasn't any of this 'changing' business, and no wrong platforms either, because every single coach, wagon or carrier left from a pub; to get to Braintree you went to the Bull in Bishops-gate, where the coach left every day at five in the morning (Sundays included) and took you the 42 miles for 7 shillings.  To get to Battersea (in Surry, I might add), you were directed to the boats at Queenhithe and the Hungerford Stairs, which departed throughout the day.  There are numerous listings for areas such as Richmond which now count as Greater London.  You could go to Windsor by 'Flying Machine' no less, although I am pretty sure it flew along the roads rather than above them.  Coaches ran throughout the week to every part of England, Scotland and Wales.  To some very rural destinations such as Plaxtol in Kent, it was a wagon only service, but you could negotiate for a passenger if you wanted to.  For 'coasting vessels', you were directed to a quay, or to the pub at the end of the quay, where you might enquire as to the tide or the departure of the boat, or pass the time until it was time to board.  The whole thing sounds exceptionally civilized.  

This little book also throws up a couple of very interesting little facts, and the Lord Mayor's 'rules' at the back make fascinating reading.  For instance, it was illegal to drive a cart or 'car' (and yes, that is where we get it from) within the City of London if you were under 16.  Every owner or owner-driver of a wheeled vehicle used for commercial premises had to have 'his or her' name printed in lettering at least three inches high in a visible place.  In Georgian London, the cost of a parking 'ticket' was between 5s and 20s and was incurred for the following offences:

- That every Cart be allowed between seven Feet and one Inch, and no more.  And if any Cart shall at Any Time be worked in the public Streets in London, or the Liberties thereof, of greater Length, the same may be seized and sent to the Green yard, and the Owner thereof shall for every Offense forfeit and pay the sum of 20s.

- If the Driver of any Cart shall leave his Cart in the Street or Common Passage in the City by Night, he shall forfeit for every Time he shall offend in the Premises, 5s. besides making such Recompense to the Party who shall sustain Damage thereby, as any Justice of the Peace in London shall direct.

- If the Driver of any Cart or Car shall feed his Horses in the Street, save with Oats out of a Bag, or with such Hay as he shall hold in his Hands, or in a Basket, or leave his Cart or Car or Horses in the Street, without having some person to look after the same, the Owner of every such Cart or Car shall for every such Offence forfeit and pay the Sum of 5s.

- All wagons must be pulled at a walk, any faster speed was punished with a fine of 10s. 

Manuals such as these provide valuable insights into the trade of the capital, and daily life, showing us at once a Georgian London that was intricately organized and deeply complex.  Pre-conceived notions of lack of mobility, scarcity of exotic goods and particularly a homogenized population are simply blown out of the Thames by handbooks such as this one.  All available for one shilling at 'any of London or Westminster's book or pamphlet shops'.

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January 17, 2010

The Importance of Foundation Garments: A peep up the skirts of Georgian London

 

Any girl worth her salt knows underwear is of vital importance.  I am not particularly interested in fashion, as anyone who has ever met me will be able to testify, but I am interested in daily life and the observations of costume in this post are based on my knowledge of Georgian London as ordinary working wear has not survived in any great quantity.  Beautiful silks and tabbies in patterns too complicated to be easily changed with fashion were packed away and passed down to others and have now made it into museums, but ordinary wools, linens and cottons were cut down for smaller sisters, babies and eventually, rags.  If you know more about 18thC fashions than me, please do comment and correct any inaccuracies. 

The female inhabitants of London in the 18thC had the top half sorted as far as underwear went.  They wore a calf-length shift of fine linen which could be of elbow or 3/4 length on the arms.  Over that went stays.  Stays were usually made of calico and 'boned' to stop them buckling when one bent down.  Some of them are only boned on either side of the laces to prevent tearing (more usually for younger girls, or pregnant women) and serious tight-lacing was more common during the Victorian period, and stays can be tightened or loosened within reason.  Constant lacing throughout childhood, even of a modest sort created an enviably defined waist and inch measurements for young women were often in the low twenties.  I doubt working women such as shopkeepers and housemaids laced themselves up very tightly, but firmly enough to give support (and they also do marvels for the posture and general shape).  Stays are remarkably form-fitting and surprisingly comfortable, without the lumps and bumps created by bras.  If you were reasonably well off, a petticoat would have gone over the shift and the stays.  If you worked inside, it could be pretty; if you worked outside, it would be shorter and plainer, and so out of the worst of the filth, but washable if it did get soiled.  Over the top went the gown.  It might be cut away to show the petticoat, or it might not.  Or you might wear a masculine style jacket and a skirt.  For a long time, women tied a fat cloth sausage, known as a bum-roll just beneath their waists and put the skirt on over it.  This made the skirt full without thick layers beneath, and hid the shape of the hips.  A maid or a food retailer would then have an apron tied about her waist with the front flap pinned firmly over her chest.  Various accessories such as shawls or a gauzy fichu could be used to fill in a bold neckline during the day, or in modest company.  

The majority of stockings in London were hand-knitted until the end of the Georgian period.  The machines were large, complicated and breakable and in the end only marginally more productive than a good hand-knitter sitting at home, who could produce about one pair a day in wool or silk.  Stockings were tied up with garters, usually a silk ribbon or a wool band with a little give in it so that it could be tied tight.  I have tried tying stocking both above and below the knee.  Above the knee is prettier, but gravity is a nuisance and they usually sag.  I'm fairly sure most women would have worn their stockings gartered below the knee, especially those who walked a lot.  Men who wore their own hair long instead of a wig (notable exceptions being Frenchmen, who wore their hair cropped fairly short and almost always went without a wig) would use garters, a token from a wife or girlfriend if they had one, to tie their hair back.  

We have reached the one garment for which there is an alarming lack of 18thC evidence: knickers. Charles Ist wore pants, both long and short, depending upon the weather, as did Samuel Pepys.  Apparently, things were different for the girls.  Titillating pictures of the 18thC reveal the coquette raising her skirts to reveal nothing beneath.  Many costume historians are certain women wore nothing beneath their shifts.  Well, I don't agree.  Little girls wore knickers, boys and men wore knickers; why on earth wouldn't women wear knickers?  It's not as if they were worried about VPL.  Agreed, it's a fine and dandy principle, rendering every lady an available little minx, but commando is not a practical daily option.  If you are anything like me and female, there are also a few questions you might have, which I hope I have answered here.  

Pretty, long knickers exist from about 1800 onwards, usually without a gusset, although lots of material so that when you were wearing them, they didn't actually look 'crotchless'.  It also meant you didn't have to fumble about around your waist for the drawstring ribbons in a dim bog-house.  I think these are the most practical possibility for women during the 18th century, although I am also fairly sure that young couples of modest means probably had 'linen' that they both wore, particularly during the cold weather.  All linens were boiled with a soap mixture to remove stains and keep them nice and white.  All but the poorest people could afford a large enough pan and some soap to boil their linens, which is as effective a way of cleaning them as any other.  I take exception to the accusations of poor hygiene in Georgian London and the assumption that we only achieved any notion of personal hygiene with the invention of anti-perspirant and showers.  More on laundry, bath-houses and Georgian deodorant next week.

 

   
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