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History and Social Media

There is a traditional image that goes along with being interested in history and let's be honest, it's not a good one: packed lunches, sensible shoes, no make-up....I know, I know.  At parties, when people ask me what I do, I lay a small bet with myself (and always win) that they'll say, 'That's interesting'.  They don't mean it.  You can tell by the way their eyes slide towards the exit. 

When I started the blogging, I had (and still have) a great pile of research that I just wanted to share.  I knew it wasn't boring, and really wanted it to reach people who were interested.  No prior knowledge needed, or sensible shoes.  There have been moments when I tested both my knowledge, and my mettle (the body-snatching post) against fellow historians; the ensuing debates have been almost as rewarding as the email I received from someone who had found reassurance and perhaps a little perspective from the posts on gay culture in the London of the 1700s.  

Social media, primarily the Twitter contraption, but also Facebook have been instrumental in getting Georgian London out there.  Perhaps people only want to read one post, or are interested in a single aspect of this fantastic city's eighteenth century.  Others seem to love the whole subject as much as I do.  What represents years of often boring, and certainly bum-numbing work in libraries and archives is now a shiny thing I can show to people who 'get it'.  Imagine my delight and surprise to find that there are literally thousands of you!  The internet and social media have done this for me.

I'd love to hear your comments on how your internet/Twitter or Facebook community has helped you, either sparking a new interest, finding like-minded people, or furthering your knowledge.  And thanks.  Again.

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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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London on Ice

The English obsession with weather means we have one of the oldest sets of climate records in the world.  They reveal a very different London than the one we know now.  In the 21stC, London and particularly the City, possesses a distinct micro-climate created by the buildings, the heat and gases they produce and the underlying geography.  Why is it always windy in Farringdon, and at Bank?  Why is it bizarrely still in Paternoster Square?  Why is the air quality on Holborn regularly the worst in Britain when it has less standing traffic, and certainly fewer buses than the King's Road?  Who knows, but one thing we do know is that London is much warmer than it was three centuries ago.  Hundreds of thousands of centrally heated buildings and offices spill heat into the air, meaning if it does snow it doesn't settle and it never gets cold enough to really freeze.  Three hundred years ago, the City of London froze regularly between December and March, and the 1690s recorded six winters when the temperature was consistently below 3'C for more than three months; definitely the sort of weather when a man like Samuel Pepys would have worn two shirts, a waistcoat and a jacket.  

The streets weren't salted, but many were paved so they became treacherous in freezing weather.  Horses had sacks tied to their metal-shod feet, and 'slippers' fitted to the wheels of their vehicles to prevent dangerous sliding.  Working men wore hobnailed boots, sometimes with sacking tied over them (with the studs poking through) for a bit of extra grip.  Many gentlemen would resort to them in freezing weather, although the sacking was unlikely.  Women did not wear pattens in icy conditions (I have tried on a pair of pattens and attempted to walk around in them, and I am not convinced anyone wore them in the street let alone worked in them as they are lethal).  Where the streets and passages were just mud or dirt and on the banks of the Thames, duckboards were put down for people to walk over.  It was not uncommon to find vagrants, or unfortunates who had frozen during the night, including one man in the Fleet ditch, discovered standing upright, but dead and solid.  The price of coal rose, and the poorest Londoners had to cut wood from the common land, if they hadn't already.

Before Bazalgette's Embankment the Thames was a wider, slower river with gently sloping muddy banks, again covered in duckboards, which must have been very slippy in wet and icy conditions.  The bridges were shored up with wide wooden 'sparrows' which trapped debris and slowed the current, making it easier for ice to form.  Sets of stone steps jutted out to the water, where people could hop on and off the little boats plying their passenger trade.  When the Thames froze all river traffic stopped, but some people were not quick enough to get out of the water: in the hard winter of 1771 the Thames began to freeze and 'a waterman...had his boat jammed in between the ice and could not get on shore, and no waterman dare venture to his assistance.  He was almost speechless last night and it is thought he cannot survive long'.  The couple of days it took for the Thames to freeze completely must have been a dangerous time.  The watermen, some of London's poorest workers would have wanted to keep trading as long as possible and some traded their lives for the opportunity of one last fare.  

The Thames froze more often than is commonly thought, due to it being fairly shallow, but it froze in chunks as the picture in the gallery from 1677 shows.  Whilst dramatic and great fun, it meant that it wasn't easy to venture out onto the ice, and was unsuitable for one of the famous Frost Fairs for which the Thames is so well-known.  Frost Fairs have been recorded since Elizabethan Times, when it was customary to push a printing press out onto the ice as a test, and if it held, souvenir cards were printed off and sold as a memento of the occasion.  Booths and cook-stalls were set up, selling skates made from whalebone, puppets, gloves, hats and scarves as well as hot chestnuts and pork sandwiches from spits, along with sticky gingerbread and baked apples eaten from newspaper with a spoon.  There were street performers, puppet shows and other entertainments such as singing.  Sometimes, as in 1683, the freeze was so solid that the Thames became a miniature shopping village and the booths were arranged into 'streets'.  I'd imagine the overall feel was like that of the German Christmas markets with their covered, but portable wooden stalls.

The most famous Frost Fair is that of 1814, but I think the one of 1683 sounds more fun, despite the fug caused by the smoke of coal-fires hanging heavy in the air.  The souvenir card in the gallery records the following carried out on the ice (including booths set up as 'branches' of land-based businesses):

The Duke of York's Coffee House
The Tory Booth (?)
The Roast Beefe Booth
The Half way House
The Musick Booth
The Printing Booth
The Lottery Booth
The Sledge drawing coals
The Horne Tavern Booth
The Toy Shoppe
A boat drawn by a horse
A boat drawn on wheels
Bull-baiting and Bear-baiting
Boys sliding (proof that some things never change)
Nine-Pinn Playing
Sliding on Scates

You can see from both pictures there seems to be little or no snow on the ground (but lots of dogs and cats).  Even the earliest Frost Fairs had merry-go-rounds for children, boat-swings and pony-drawn rides, but life off the river probably wasn't quite so much fun. One of the greatest problems during freezes such as this is that the ground froze to depths of two or three feet, making the drawing of water from the wells in the streets difficult, if not impossible and ice had to be gathered and melted, then boiled for domestic use.  One group of people not complaining were the ice merchants who used this weather to fill their under-ground stores and cellars with the cold stuff, packed in straw so that it could be sold in warmer weather.  By the 1720s, the demand for ice had become great enough for dealers in 'ice and snow' to be making a living.  

The thaws, when they came, were sudden and terrifying.  I can find no accounts of booths falling through the ice, so the stallholders were savvy enough to realise when to get out, but there are stories of a ship, moored to the quay of a public house which pulled down both when it fell back into the thawed river in 1789.  There is also the piteous tale in the Gentleman's Magazine in 1763 of a wretch, 'with skaits on..found frozen to death upon some floating ice over against the Isle of Dogs.'

The Thames froze for the last time in 1814 and was solid for four days; solid enough to lead an elephant across the ice near Blackfriars Bridge and erect fairground rides.  The innovations of the Victorian period, such as the new London Bridge and the Embankment caused the river to become narrower, deeper and faster thus ending London's life on ice.

 

   
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Filed under  //   Animals in Georgian London   customs   Georgian London Today   London at Leisure   Sporting London   Strange London  

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A penn'orth of oysters-

Dr Johnson famously purchased oysters for his cat Hodge, according to James Boswell, going out to buy them from the cart so his servants did not have to.  There are many myths surrounding London oysters, including the bylaw whereby gentlemen could not force their household to eat shellfish more than so many times per week.  

Samuel Pepys ate oysters from 'a barrel', but in reality the barrel was about 12 inches high and soaked in salt water before the small London oysters were packed into it for transit.  They would keep like that for a couple of days and were opened for gentlemen to eat as they stood at the bar, small knives and picks being provided for the purpose.  Today was a nice day so I walked on the foreshore and found some nice examples of oyster shells.  The ones at the bottom are the small London oysters of the 17thC, the ones Pepys would have eaten.  By the middle of the 18thC, the London stocks were dying out due to pollution and Thames traffic and other sources had to be found.  Essex began to supply the London trade, with wagons and carts making the trek daily.  The two in the middle are Essex oysters, served from carts pushed along the streets, made hot with pepper and vinegar.  The top one is the large 'Scuttlemouth', a big shell for a small, sweet oyster very similar to the London ones, but sourced from the South Coast and brought daily by trains after 1850.  

Oysters are rich in protein and zinc, and so were a healthy addition to a diet that may sometimes have lacked high quality meat and dairy products.  The foreshore is covered with thousands of these shells, testifying to London's massive appetite for this raw morsel.  It was a food eaten by every level of society: street vendors talk of supplying trays of shucked oysters for dinner parties at grand houses, at the same time as serving the parson his supper of 6 oysters to supplement his cheese on toast.    

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Mudlarking

I found this little chip on the beach today.  It's quite small, but I'm fairly sure it's a piece of a Chinese export porcelain coffee cup, made in about 1715.  It would have been blue and white originally, then decorated in London c.1730 with iron-red to give the effect of more expensive and fashionable Imari.  It's rather fine: the unbroken ones I have are a cheap and cheaply decorated version (probably from a commercial establishment), but sweet all the same.  Anyone with any other ideas?

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Today

The Dogs are a group of boats on the Thames in central London.  They watch the beaches at low tide and make sure the tourists don't drown each other, and escort boats up and down the river.  Guard Dog, Watch Dog, Hound Dog...you get the drift.  Little pilot boats have been performing this service for a thousand years, perhaps more.  

Our 21C river guardians wear t-shirts emblazoned with 'The Dogs' across the shoulders, sit in the stern, play their radio, drink tea, and give me a wave every day when I walk the dog along the beaches at low tide.  I loathe all that 'village in the city' garbage, but the river is a community nonetheless and I like to see these boats puffing up and down with great industry, leading smart newcomers upstream, or nipping the heels of rusting hulks on their final journey to some knacker's yard. And waving, I like that too.

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Today

This is a shard of tigerware I found out mudlarking last week. 

Tigerware (stoneware glazed with salt to give it the pitted 'tiger' appearance) was originally a German invention, but imported to England to be mounted in silver as tableware favoured by the smart set.  Silver-mounted tigerware jugs were most popular between 1570 and 1625.  They could be chilled and kept white wine cold on the table. 

This style of tigerware was revived by Fulham potter John Dwight in the third quarter of the 17C, but was used mainly for heavier bottles, as in the third picture, an example from the British Museum.

Due to its particular characteristics, it should be easy to date this piece (which is about the size of my thumb), but centuries spent washing about on the foreshore have rubbed away the superior and very rich top glaze typical of the Westerland potters, so it's harder to tell.  The evenness of tone makes it more likely to be from the earlier period.  You can see even in the tiny photo here that Dwight's later efforts were unevenly 'tigered'.  

     
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Today

I imagined today to be the last day of summer, and took myself to the Golden Gallery of St Paul's cathedral, above the rotunda.  The railings were replaced in 1834, and since then, nothing has changed.  Beyond the cathedral walls everything has changed, as you can see from the photograph.  

Goodbye summer, see you next year.

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Today

As anyone who follows me on Twitter will know, I like mudlarking.  I'm not a metal-detector-anorak-type mudlark, but still.  Living by the Thames is a constant reminder of the fact London is built upon thousands of years of river commerce.  The Thames foreshore (particularly in the City where I am) throws things up all the time, both natural and man made, from centuries of habitation.  Every day I walk my small nuisance of a dog down on the beach of either Bankside or the North Bank and kick about in the debris.  Amongst the broken clay pipes, 20C pottery, 18C nails and things best not picked up, there are sometimes nice little bits and pieces from another age.      

Today's find is a hagstone which, as everybody knows is both good luck and protects a property from witches.  I like this one a lot, because it is pale and freckly (not unlike me) and most stones on the foreshore are black or grey.  Hagstones made an excellent key-ring in the 17C, empowering your lock against the evil crone intent on cursing your household.  They could also be placed on a window-sill or a doorstep to prevent the witch sneaking inside.  Legend has it that looking through the hole of a hagstone reveals deceit and sometimes, pixies.    

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