Green and Pleasant Land, Part 1: London

London is an amazing city. Of course the history aspect is amazing...but it’s also a remarkably livable city, at least for me who gets antsy when there aren’t trees nearby. There’s little of the canyon-like effect you get in Manhattan...and the parks are truly lovely. And did I mention the history? ☺

So the five of us arrived at our hotel in Westminster in what is probably an ideal place for sightseeing: we were at the St. James Courtyard hotel, a five-minute walk from Buckingham Palace (and on the same street as the Bluecoat School, about which Regina blogged). The hotel itself dates to the Edwardian era, and is built around a courtyard with all sorts of delightful architectural bits. London abounds in delightful architectural bits, by the way—no walk is ever dull there.

I’m happy to report that the statue of Queen Victoria at her memorial in front of the Palace still looks like a lifeguard (which I’d noticed on my first visit to London about thirty years ago)—for some reason Her Majesty’s nose is lighter than the rest of her, as if smeared with zinc oxide. And Canada Gate at the entrance to Green Park off Constitution Hill is as shiny as ever:

However, I was very sad to see that cows are no longer kept in Green Park as they were during the Regency, despite this reminder of their presence:

I found it a little surprising to see how small St. James’s Palace was, and how “right there” as well—the streets run right alongside it—considering it’s actually the official home of the sovereign (ambassadors are still accredited to the Court of St. James.) It was built by Henry VIII and added onto over the centuries, but still has that sixteenth century feel:

And then we were in St. James’s Street, Masculinity Central of Regency London, home of such places as Brooks’s and White’s Club (and yes, there’s the famous Bow Window at White’s)

What I found interesting (beside all the famous historical landmarks and stores) was the topography. St. James’s Street trends uphill, which I did not know—it’s one of those things that somehow doesn’t get mentioned very often, and which I’m glad I now know. But even more exciting to me was catching sight of King Street off St. James’s. The King Street, home of Almack’s Assembly Rooms? You bet—only, Almack’s is long gone, replaced by (sob!) an office building. But at least I can now say I was there as I scribble away at my Almack’s stories. That's me with Child #1. Yes, he's pretty tall.

What else? We dined at Wilton’s on Jermyn Street, established 1742, and had a wonderful dinner...and a delightful tea at Duke’s Hotel. We carried out a quick raid on Harrod’s and came away with tea and chocolates (alas, the presence of a husband and son necessitated the visit being brief). And we visited the Victoria and Albert Museum (glorious sensory overload—it’s the world’s largest museum of art and design) and Apsley House, the Duke of Wellington’s house at Hyde Park Corner, which was amazing.

No interior photographs permitted, alas, as my little history-geek heart was a-galloping at the eleven-foot tall statue of Napoleon at the base of the Principal Staircase on which it is rumored Wellington used to hang his hat as he went up the stairs (and the painting of Wellington in old age presenting a gift to his godson, Queen Victoria’s son Arthur)...at the astonishing Waterloo Shield, which really has to be seen to be appreciated (Google it!) Wellington came away from the wars with a ton of goodies from grateful European heads of state. And most of all at the Waterloo Gallery, the room where Wellington held his annual dinners to commemorate the battle and which held his collection of Spanish masters. Curiously, among the amazing art collection amassed here are multiple portraits of Napoleon and members of his family. After Waterloo, Wellington would be linked for the rest of his life to the former French emperor—without Napoleon, Wellington would not have been Wellington. That must have been a strange thing to have to live with for the rest of his life—so closely linked to someone he actually never met face-to-face—and he lived nearly forty more years after the battle.

And right around the corner from Apsley House in Hyde Park? Rotten Row, of course!

Next time: visiting Oxford and Windsor

Number One London

Doesn’t that sound like a cool address?  It ought to be where the king lives, or perhaps the prime minister.  But it just so happens to be the former home of the Duke of Wellington, and a fete there was one of the most sought after invitations in nineteenth century England.

Originally built by the famous architect Robert Adam for the first Baron Apsley Henry Bathurst, Apsley House sits at the north side of Hyde Park Corner, with a commanding view over some of London’s busiest streets.  Lord Apsley sold it to Wellington’s older brother, who in turn sold it to Wellington.  The duke had it enlarged and remodeled to suit his needs.

Part of that remodeling involved moving the entrance hall to one side.  Then as now, portions of the house were open to visitors, so a room just off the entrance was made into a museum showcasing some of Wellington’s trophies and mementoes.  Of course, even at the time, his friends remarked that the entire house felt like a museum because so many pieces of furniture, paintings, and plate were in fact gifts for Wellington’s services in putting down Napoleon. 

Napoleon is a large part of the house, beginning with a larger-than-life marble statue of him as Mars, which takes up much of the main stairwell.  Then again, one of the most beautiful rooms at Apsley House is the Waterloo Gallery, named after the battle where Wellington finally triumphed.  Over 90 feet long and two stories tall, the room boasts walls covered in silk damask, gilded doors and ceiling, and mirrored shutters for the windows.  As the story goes, Wellington and his designer argued over how the room would look.  In the end, Wellington insisted on yellow damask for the walls, although today it can be seen in scarlet.  The grand gallery was the scene of many an entertainment, including an annual banquet to celebrate the victory at Waterloo.

Because something that big needs to be celebrated annually in a room that gorgeous in London’s first residence.

And speaking of celebrations, I’m delighted to report that next Friday will see the beginning of a special two-part guest post by Jo AnnBrown, author of this month’s A Bride for the Baron, who promises to tell all about smuggling in early nineteenth century England and the secrets of Robin Hood’s Bay! Join us!

Wanted: Suitably Impressive London House to Rent for the Season

Location, location, location.  I’ve heard it said that’s the most important part of house buying, and as my husband and I consider downsizing, we’re finding it to be true.  But location wasn’t the only factor important to the families who went up to London for the Season in the nineteenth century, that time between Easter and the end of summer when anyone who was anyone ventured up to London for the rounds of parties, balls, and matchmaking among the upper class.  Families who were nobly born had a London house as well as an estate in the country and perhaps a hunting lodge somewhere they might reasonably expect to find small creatures to persecute, I mean hunt.  The rest of the aristocratic families did what many of us do today--they rented or leased.

Much of the land in London once belonged to large estates dating back to the middle ages.  The mighty families who owned these estates later developed them, keeping the land itself, but building houses on it they would then lease to suitably wealthy and pedigreed tenants.  For example, much of Mayfair, that area near Hyde Park devoted to the aristocracy in the early nineteenth century, was developed from lands belonging to the Grosvenor family.  

Some leases lasted only a Season.  Others lasted as long as a hundred years.  As you can imagine, if your family held one of those longer leases, generations would come to consider the house “theirs.”

Within these leased houses were several types.  There was the terraced house, must like today's townhouses, like these in Bath:

Most of these homes had only a few rooms suitable for entertaining.  They were perfect for sitting with a few friends and having a nice coz.  If you hoped to entertain, you would be better served to lease a larger townhouse with a small plot of land, enough for a garden, like Apsley House, home of the Duke of Wellington:

Such houses might boast a gallery suitable for a large dinner or perhaps a small soiree.  If you wanted to host your own ball, you’d have to locate a mansion with more extensive grounds.  This last type was the most rare in London, kept in the family so to speak, and was the most expensive to lease.  They might also be a bit outside London proper, like Holland House:

The larger the home, the larger the upkeep as well.  Larger houses required more servants, more furnishings and artwork.  Gardens required gardeners; stables necessitated grooms.  Sometimes smaller was more efficient.  However, larger was certainly more impressive.

So, what will your preference be, my lords and ladies?  What sort of home would you prefer this Season?