Notes on the Restoration of King Charles and the Flashing Whores of St James's Fair

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It is easy to look at history as a set of dates with events chalked up next to them, but in a city as vibrant and organic as London, nothing happens out of the blue, as a commonplace book of the 1660s recently revealed, giving a tiny snapshot of the streets of Restoration London. 

Charles's return to England would come in late May, 1660, when he was sure of his welcome, but the signs were on the streets much earlier.  In March, an odd event occurred on the Royal Exchange, when a 'kind of painter' appeared in broad daylight with a ladder, which he erected next to the statue of Charles Ist.  The writing on the statue was thus: Exit Tyrannus, Regnum Ultimus Anno Libertatis Anglicae Anno Domini 1648, Jan 30.  With a pot and brush, the painter 'washed the writing quit out, threw down his pot and brush, and said he should never do him any more service in regard it had the honour to put out rebell's hand wrightinge out of the wall'.  The painter then came down, took down his ladder and went away, 'not a word said to him'.  Imagine everyone stopping to stare on the busy Royal Exchange, with someone defacing a public monument: quite a thing.  Later that month, the Thames watermen were seen wearing their large arm badges bearing the coat of arms of Charles Ist, a united act of defiance.  From the 13th of April, members of the aristocracy who had been living abroad were seen on the streets in London.  I love the fact that they were recognized, and also knew they would be recognized.  On the 8th of May, with Charles not not even in the country, he was 'proclaimed in Westminster', and 'Bow Bells could not be heard for the noise of the people'.

Charles returned to England on the 29th of May, on what became known as Oak Apple Day.  The following night, one John Adler puts on such a display of fireworks over London that he is knighted.  Aubrey recorded maypoles being erected all over London as a mark of celebration.  The largest was in the Strand, near St Mary-in-le-Strand church, where is remained for over a decade as a reminder, before being felled by the high winds of 1672.  The theatres re-opened and by November, playwrights could not keep up with demand for new material.

By the following year, London was back into the heady swing of things, and Charles's fun-loving reign was underway.  St James's Fair, which had suffered during the Interregnum, was returned to its appointed place in the summer calendar and ran for the full fortnight.  The London fairs were boisterous places, with everyone across the classes clustered together, but this particular fair went down in the book as one to remember, with arrests for lewdness and infamy.  My absolute favourite are the whores Charles ordered the Lord Chamberlain, who in turn ordered a Robert Nelson Esq., to detain: Tory Rory, Mrs Winter, Jane Chapman, Rebecca Baker, Anne Browne, Elizabeth Wilkinson, Rachel Brinley, Mrs Munday, Alice Wiggins, Nell Yates and Betty Marshall were arrested for 'impudence' and 'discovering their nakedness' to the crowd, including the King and his party when drunk, 'which they often were'.  There is no record of the subsequent fate of these ladies, but knowing Charles they were probably let off with a stiff warning, after he'd stopped laughing.

'Crowly, who is now grown a great lion and very tame': The Tower Menagerie

It has long been traditional for foreign dignitaries to make gifts of the exotic creatures of their kingdoms to the countries they visit.  In this way Britain acquired a polar bear from Norway in 1252.  He was at first allowed to roam about the Tower of London, but when he became huge his keeper was given a muzzle and a chain and they were sent to spend their days outside, fishing and bathing in the Thames.  Many of these animals were a burden to the recipient, and often quietly hived off to parklands where they lived out shortened lives.  However, by the time England had begun to squabble over a fair proportion of the globe under Elizabeth Ist, the animals were arriving thick and fast.  Ever the public relations guru, Elizabeth improved the menagerie and had it opened to the populace on high days and holidays.  

In 1603, James Ist overhauled the menagerie again, providing much larger cages for the animals, running water 'for the Lyons to drinke and wasche themselves in,' and a viewing gallery so that visitors could look down upon them in safety.  Lions were the obvious choice as a gift for England, being as fond of them as an emblem as we are. During the Georgian period the Tower contained up to eleven lions at any time, although sadly the cubs tended not to survive the shedding of their milk teeth for some reason.  As lions of similar origin (Bengal and Cape seem to be the two clearest labels) were housed together, the females were regularly pregnant, and therefore their temperaments were naturally changeable.  The male lions were regarded as the tamer of the two and Samuel Pepys records going to the Tower on the 11th of January 1660 to see 'Crowly, who is now grown a very great lion and very tame'.  When young, all the lions were allowed out to play in the Tower grounds, much to the amusement of the visitors, who patted and played with them.  The Duke of Sussex was particularly fond of a brother and sister who had been fostered by a goat, and he visited often to see them.  In 1729 the cost of 'seeing the lions' was threepence, a figure that rose to ninepence by the end of the century.  Dead cats and dogs were used to supplement the feed of the big cats and free entry could be had for anyone bringing one of either.  In 1741, the guide to the Tower included an introduction to the lion Marco, his wife, Phillis and their son Nero.  The lions roared at dawn, and before their feed arrived, which consisted of eight to nine pounds of raw beef daily, excluding any bones and any dogs or cats.  Given the acoustics of the Tower, this must have been quite a racket, and audible for some distance.  On Sunday, the Tower was closed to visitors, and the keepers noted that the lions would often roar all day until someone came and paid them some attention.  

Other big cats kept in the menagerie included tigers (Dicka was recorded as a cub in 1741), leopards (a single Willa in the same guide), 'hunting-leopards' as cheetahs were known, lynx and ocelot.  Visitors commonly agreed that the ocelot was the prettiest cat, but that the cheetah the most affectionate.  The cheetahs were led about the grounds on leashes in pairs for exercise and as a spectacle.  There appears to have been a great deal of respect for the natures of the animals, and 'responds to kindness' is regularly noted.  Animals that did not show any such response included the famous grizzly bear, Old Martin, who was an old man in 1823, but still regarded his keepers as 'perfect strangers' and would no doubt prove dangerous should he be allowed out.  Allegedly, Martin died in 1838, aged well over a hundred years old, but I imagine this was Martin mark two or three.  Other dangers included the hyena and the jackals.  I'd imagine they were pretty ripe in summer as well.  The disconsolate solitary mongoose was made happy by the addition of a friend, and the two slept together, interlacing 'their limbs and tails in a singular fashion' so that they can each see over the other's back, 'and like that fall comfortably asleep'.

The area I would happily avoid would be the monkey enclosure, or 'The School of Monkeys' as it was known in the 18thC, which lay in an outer yard near the Lion Tower.  Chimps occasionally cannibalize the young of their most vulnerable mothers for fun, baboons are vicious and the smaller the monkey, the more it looks at you as if it wants to kill you as soon as you turn your back.  A marmoset in a drummer jacket would not have been my pet of choice; I'd have spent all my time hiding from it.  The visitors to the Tower didn't always like the monkeys either, particularly the baboon, who 'becomes disgusting in habits as he advances in age.' In 1753, the guidebook issued a warning about one of the baboons had become expert in throwing missiles and would 'heave anything that happens to be within his reach with such Force as to split Stools, Bowls and other Wooden Utensils in a Hundred Pieces'.  Not only were the baboons disgusting in their habits, they 'were gay, playful and docile; but as he grows older he becomes intractable, malicious and ferocious'.  As far as I can discern, there were no apes in the Tower Menagerie.  The monkeys were removed in 1810 for 'one of them having torn a boy's leg in a dangerous manner'.

There was usually an elephant in the menagerie, and it was almost always an Indian one.  The English understanding of the temperament and requirements of the elephant seems to be very limited from the documents I have seen.  They were largely judged to be inferior to a dog or a horse in understanding, yet they were observed to play by spraying things with water from their trunks, and Mr Cops, one of the better, and later keepers at the Tower was convinced of their 'wisdom'.  Quite how they found out that elephants are 'fond of wine, spirits and other intoxicating articles' is probably best consigned to the past, but the elephant rations contained a gallon of wine daily until the closure of the menagerie.

The bird house must have been unspeakably noisy, with macaws, cockatoos, eagles, owls and all manner of ornamental and song birds and sadly, some seabirds, who must have suffered due to their large size and the confinement.  It was noted that few developed their full plumage in captivity.  

Kangaroos and emus wandered about in the grounds, sometimes confined and sometimes not.  The Royal Park at Windsor had quite a stock of freely roaming kangaroos, and they were breeding successfully at the Tower sometime before 1820.  An aside in an account of the Tower Menagerie of this period notes that there were various parklands around England where kangaroos were present in some quantity, so they were not quite as much of a novelty as I would have imagined.  

By far my favourite account of an animal in the Tower is from the 1820s, when a zebra was recorded in the menagerie.  Zebra are stubborn, and remain wild under all but the most confined circumstances (such as being bred in circuses), and the Tower zebra had retained her character, suffering the indignities of her confined state with a tolerably good nature, provided she got her reward:

The subject of the present article, which has now been about two years in the Menagerie, will suffer a boy to ride her aboiut the yard, and is frequently allowed to run loose through the Tower, with a man by her side, whom she does not attempt to quit except to run to the Canteen, where she is occasionally indulged with a draught of ale, of which she is particularly fond.  

The Menagerie was much improved by Mr Cops, and during his tenure, it became clear that it was no longer acceptable to house animals in such conditions as the Tower afforded.  The menagerie, housed 280 animals by 1832, mainly in the Lion and Tower was finally closed in 1835, when the animals left to form the basis of the collection for London Zoo.

 

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Touching for the King's Evil-

Scrofula, or the King's Evil is a nasty and disfiguring disease caused by the rod-shaped bacteria you can see in the gallery.  It can be a complication of tuberculosis, but in small children is usually a hideous lymphatic infection: the nodes of the neck and face swell and eventually the skin becomes attached to the swelling, hardens and bursts, causing an open wound or sinus.

To have a child suffering from scrofula must be very distressing.  In 1702, Samuel Johnson's parents brought their son from Staffordshire to be touched by Queen Anne in the hopes of curing him.  'Touching for the King's Evil' was a tradition with its roots in the Middle Ages, when monarchs were deemed to be the chosen representative of God.  Their touch was supposed magical and many children and adults were presented to Kings and Queens to be 'cured'.  They came away with a 'touchpiece', a little metal token of the event (Samuel Johnson kept his about his person for the rest of his life).  

The advertisement in the gallery, from the London Gazette of the 20th of April 1668, gives notice that Charles IInd will finish touching for the summer at the date printed.  Although this might indicate Charles didn't want this duty to interfere with his summer plans (or be in a crowded room with the afflicted), it is estimated he 'touched' over 90,000 people for the Evil during his reign.  He was well aware of the power of the ceremony, and how it was valued by the people who took part.  Not everyone was convinced by the tradition though, and William IIIrd refused to 'touch', with one exception, when a man begged him.  William laid his hand on the man's head saying, 'God give you better health and more sense.'

Queen Anne was by far the busiest monarch as far as touching was concerned, and she reinstated it as a ceremony immediately.  Most monarchs laid their hand on the head of the afflicted and wished them better health (this touching of the forehead is all I can find in the early prints).  Queen Anne apparently laid her bare hands on the sores themselves, making her fairly brave if you ask me.  George Ist stopped the ceremony immediately, condemning it as superstitious and touching for the King's Evil ended in Britain (it continued in France until 1825).

 

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The King's Physician, the Theatre Royal and London's first STD clinic-

Time for the 'human interest' story of the week: venereal disease.  For the past twenty five years the world has been obsessed with HIV: a nasty disease, and a very clever one that gives you a decade of appearing normal and infecting other people before it kills you with the common cold.  Syphilis or 'the pox'* was the big concern in Georgian London.  It is a corkscrew-shaped bacteria, preferring a warm, damp environment such as the crotch.  There are three stages of symptoms ranging from unthinkable sores in special locations, to white, fungal-type blooms, to the final stage where it corkscrews into your bones and brain, leaving you grossly deformed and insane.  The first Britons to contract syphilis were the Crusaders but it became widespread when England's naval capability provided international 'travel'. 

By the Elizabethan period syphilis was the new leprosy and by the end of her reign Elizabeth had put into place a system of local relief to help people disabled by the disease.  Elizabeth's measures to care for the poor continued throughout the 17thC but as the population became increasingly urban, diseases began to concentrate upon the towns.  Syphilis was no different.  Of course, the natural reaction was to blame the whore you caught it from, which is a bit like putting your 'hand' in the fire and then blaming her because it's still hot.  The law-makers of the time were aware of the women who ended up literally sitting in the streets after becoming so sick they could not support themselves by any means, but it was a thorny subject.  Their solution was the 'foul' wards in hospitals, but it was unsatisfactory, both for patients and carers.  Traditional remedies were the poisons arsenic and mercury, either applied directly to the affected parts, or administered in a manner of unappealing ways.  No matter how unpleasant, these cures did not work, and only the natural remission of the disease between stages lead physicians to declare one third of their patients 'cur'd'.

William Bromfield was a doctor In Holborn.  His father was a Doctor of Medicine at Oxford and his maternal grandfather had instructed Isaac Newton in anatomy and been William IIIrd's private physician.  In 1744 he was elected Demonstrator of Anatomy at Barber-Surgeon's Hall (a better job than it sounds) and 1755, he became Vice-Surgeon to The Prince of Wales.  In 1746, Bromfield began to rustle up a committee to raise money for a hospital concerned only with venereal disease, to be advised by doctors from St George's Hospital (where, co-incidentally, Bromfield had just been elected Surgeon).  He was concerned at both the implications of housing the infected with other patients and the moral implications of housing prostitutes and men of 'low moral character' both with each other.  Hospital boards had started putting patients of 'low character' in yellow outfits, giving rise to the name 'canaries' for those afflicted with venereal disease, but that was soon recognized as inhuman and stopped.  

It is interesting to note that as early as the 17thC, a clear distinction was drawn between prostitutes and 'lewd women'.  Historians often lump them together but prostitutes were recognized as a necessary part of society, and of male life.  The average age of a first marriage during the 18thC remained fairly steady at around 26.  If we take 16 as the beginning of sexual maturity that leaves a decade of abject frustration, or recourse to whores.  It is likely all but the shyest or most devout men would've made some arrangement with one, or a few of London's estimated fifty thousand prostitutes. 

Bromfield's charitable society was well-patronized, and on the 31st of January 1747, the original London Lock Hospital opened in the fine setting of Grosvenor Place near Hyde Park Corner (it is the building on the bottom left extreme of the map image, just behind what are now the gardens of Buckingham Palace).  The engraving in the gallery is a bit hazy, but the large signs on the front read 'London Lock Hospital. Voluntary Contributions.'  A Lock Hospital was the old name for a lazar house, thought to come from the French word for rags: loques, and soon there were more opening across London, utilizing old lazar and workhouses.  Of course, you had to have a bit of God in your 'cure', so there was a zealot chaplain (Wesleyan Martin Madan), but the care given out was of a high standard, whilst all the time acknowledging that a true cure was not possible.  Bromfield was nothing if not resourceful when it came to getting money out of his rich clients for his needy poor: he rehashed at least one old play, The City Match, by Jasper Maine and it was performed at the Theatre Royal in 1755 specifically to raise money for a separate hospital chapel (which gave its name to Chapel Street, SW1).  William's brother Thomas was the 'visiting apothecary', charged with dispensing the drugs they did have available.  They also established an 'asylum' in Knightsbridge for women who did not want to go back to prostitution.

Many people see Georgian London as a very inhospitable place to be poor or sick, and whilst there is some truth to this, it is necessary to see that the hospital was acutely aware that almost half the prostitutes they helped had been raised in local workhouses, and saw no alternative to their way of life.  The London Lock Hospital was pioneering in providing healthcare and help for a hitherto marginalized section of society.  The Hospital treated men as well, but it appears with rather less sympathy.  Bromfield died in 1792, popular with his clients, but less so with the rest of the medical population, who weren't impressed with his championing of the venereally afflicted.  His hospital and asylum eventually moved to the Harrow Road where they had better facilities, but by then it was the Victorian period and a solution to prostitution and its attendant problems had been found: Tasmania.

* The pox usually refers to syphilis, rather than smallpox.  

 

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