Items Deserving Notice, November: Museum Macabre

Ah, a dreary month is November. Good society is largely at home in the country. Those in town must find things to occupy their days and evenings. I have heard that Mr. Sheldon’s lectures on anatomy commence the first Monday in November in the evening at the Royal Academy’s rooms at Somerset House. Tickets can be had for free from any of the esteemed artists and architects that serve as Academicians. Unfortunately, many of us who frequent Nineteenteen would not be allowed to attend. We’re women, you see. Learning about anatomy wasn’t deemed appropriate for our tender sensibilities.

[Grumble, grumble, kick the wall, grumble some more.]

But there are other ways to learn about anatomy, be it of an animal nature or the human body. We could, with permission of the curators, visit Dr. John Hunter’s museum under the care of the Company of Surgeons.

Dr. Hunter was considered one of the premiere anatomists in Europe during his lifetime, which ended in 1793. He collected and preserved hundreds of specimens of animals and human tissue, some of it deformed or diseased. He also developed models in wax and had artists such as George Stubbs paint detailed pieces of the various subjects of interest to him, including North American Indians, Inuit, and a yak.

In glass bottles and cases, he presented almost 14,000 preparations, from the simplest forms of life like a shrimp up to man himself, embalmed or preserved in spirits. Hunter arranged them by parts: those used for motion, for bodily function, for reproduction of the species, and for maintenance and protection of the young. Specimens from the animal kingdom included a rhinoceros from Egypt, a giant beaked squid brought back from Captain Cook’s voyages in the Pacific, and ostriches from Australia. He had some of the only skeletons of whales in Europe. Not content with the animals still living, he also collected fossils of extinct animals.

Perhaps most interesting, or disturbing as the case might be, were the specimens of the human form. Anatomists required human cadavers to perfect their art, yet procuring such specimens often involved unsavory pursuits like grave robbing. Thankfully, Mr. Hunter’s fame was such that he was often provided with cadavers to experiment upon. His collection included everything from dwarfs to giants, all standing appropriately for study.

The Hunterian Collection is still available for tour at the Royal College of Surgeons in London. And women are welcome.

Public Spectacles, Amusements, and Objects Deserving Notice, August: Doggett's Coat and Badge

August could be a sweltering time in London in the nineteenth century.  Anyone who could got out of town, to their country estates, to the seashore, to the Lake District.  The Picture of London, which for many years was an annual volume of places to see and things to do in the capital, called the month a “dull season for amusement.”  So what was a young lady or gentleman to do if the family chose not to rusticate?

On August 1, one might head to the Thames for the annual race called Doggett’s Coat and Badge.  It had been instituted in the 1700s by Thomas Dogget, an Irish comedian who also jointly managed the Drury Lane Theatre.  In keeping with the times, he endowed a wager:  a crimson coat and a silver badge to the winner of a rowing race up the Thames, from The Swan at London Bridge to The Swan at Chelsea, a distance of 4 miles and 7 furlongs that could take anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours to row, depending on the tide and the weight of the boat. 

Only six men could compete, and only if they were watermen within the first year of finishing their apprenticeships. You could put in your name and the Fishmongers Company, who had agreed to administrate the race, would draw the name of the six lucky rowers.

And not just any rowers.  Watermen were like taxi drivers.  Their job was the row people from one side of the river to the other in boats that ranged from sculls to heavy-bottomed wherries.  Many had set routes or locations from which they rowed: Wapping Old Stairs, Westminster, and Putney, for example.  One of the winners was from Pickle Herring.  I want to find that spot. 

The Thames is a tidal river, meaning that the current and depth changes constantly over the day.  Rowing upriver could be extremely challenging.  People crowded the bridges, flocked to spots that overlooked the river, even thronged on larger boats and barges just to watch the prodigious feat.

The winner got his own parade and a banquet at the Fishmongers Hall.  And the badge?  It was a huge piece of silver, about the size of a dinner plate, that you wore on your upper right arm.  It was engraved with symbols representing the House of Hanover, as Doggett had been a big supporter of King George.  The race is still run today, although generally in late July.  Below is the picture of the winner from 2010, Daniel Arnold, along with previous winners, courtesy of the Fishmongers Company's press release.

As you can probably tell, then as now, winning was considered quite the honor. 

Especially if you were from Pickle Herring.

Public Spectacles, Amusements, and Objects Deserving Notice, July

Pardon me for jumping the gun by a couple days, but Marissa and I will be on vacation next week, so I couldn’t post the July amusements then, and we have something special planned for the week of the July 10—the launch of The Captain’s Courtship! Please come back for games, prizes, and a general good time! And if you’re looking for something to do on Tuesday, July 3, please stop by the Love Inspired Historical Group on Goodreads and join me for a special Q&A session on the book.

And now onto the various ways young ladies and gentlemen could find to amuse themselves in the great metropolis of London in July.

Amusements, alas, are starting to thin, for the Season begins to wind down in earnest in July. The Drury Lane and Covent Garden theatres often closed for the season in June, and the Opera House closed in July. The British Museum closed the end of July and didn’t open again until October. And for many years, the King (or Prince) closed the Parliamentary session sometime in July or early August, leaving the aristocracy less reason to stick around, particularly as their more palatial, cooler, more comfortable country houses beckoned.

But if your papa was one to stay in London all year, by virtue of his profession or inclination, you still might find some things to entertain you. For example, mighty ocean-going ships were often launched during the summer months. You might see the advertisement in the newspaper and hasten down to Deptford to watch the behemoth slide into the Thames for the first time. The ships all turned out to congratulate the newcomer, as it were, flags flying. Quite the spectacle!

But even more popular were the cricket matches at Lord’s, where admission could be had for about 1 shilling. Cricket had already gained a loyal following by the nineteenth century, with club teams and professional teams flourishing. You see, young men learned cricket at school and university. They naturally wished to keep playing when they left those hallowed halls. Many joined cricket clubs, where they played against other clubs for fun. Part of that fun, it seems, involved considerable side gambling. According to the Lord’s website, more than 20,000 pounds was bet on one game alone!

Lord’s Cricket Grounds came into being when the Marylebone Cricket Club members found their games being thronged with riffraff. Seeking exclusivity, they asked Thomas Lord, who played for the White Conduit Cricket Club, to find them a private ground. The Lord’s Grounds were moved twice before settling in the place we know today. Yet the crowds followed them, requiring the construction of a pavilion and refreshment stalls. Between matches, sheep were allowed to graze on the grass to keep it at a short length.

Two of the more eagerly anticipated matches were the Eton versus Harrow match, with young gentlemen from those schools taking part, and the Gentlemen versus the Players matches. This second type of match involved a team of players from the cricket clubs competing against players from professional cricket teams. The cricket club players all came from the aristocracy, gentry, or upper-level professions such as physicians or barristers. The professional players generally came from middle or lower-class backgrounds. Crowds were huge, competition fierce, and games often went on for three days!

And some people think major league baseball is thrilling!

Where the Boys Were: The Four-Horse Club

Some things never change, and one of those is the preoccupation of young men with going very fast. We already know that fast, “sexy” vehicles are not a modern phenomenon: today’s Porsche was the 19th century’s high-perch phaeton-and-four.

So where were the boys of the 19th century who liked to go fast?

It seems to have been a not-uncommon event for dashing young men who fancied they knew a thing or two about “handling the ribbons’—that is, driving a team of horses—to bribe coach drivers to let them have a go at driving stagecoaches (much to the dismay of the passengers!) So popular was this pastime in the 18th century that one group of well-born hell-raisers started calling themselves “the Four-Horse Club”.

Fortunately for the poor stagecoach passengers of a few years later, young men decided that driving their own coaches might be more amusing (though it was still fashionable to imitate professional drivers in dress and, alas, in use of profanity), and in 1807 a group of them founded the Bensington Driving Club (BDC) in Bensington, Oxfordshire. Because membership in that club was limited to 25, a second driving club was established a year later and took over the name of Four-Horse Club (FHC). Membership was limited by several things—birth and social standing, ability to afford to belong, and, of course, driving skill. To be asked to join one of these very exclusive clubs was an enormous honor.

Members of these clubs gathered somewhere in London (the Four-Horse Club in Cavendish Square), then drove in procession to a pub some 20 miles from the city where they would dine, then drive back the following day. The Four-Horse Club used to alternate its destination between two pubs until one of them distinguished itself one hot summer’s afternoon by providing a change of chairs part-way through dinner, so that members might cool their posteriors!

The rules of the Four-Horse Club were very strict: only barouches were permitted, painted yellow; harnesses had to be silver-mounted, and horses (originally bays, though this rule was relaxed) had to wear rosettes. Drivers wore coats that reached to the ankles with three tiers of pockets and mother of pearl buttons as large as five shilling pieces. Their waistcoats were blue with yellow stripes an inch wide, their breeches of plush with strings and rosettes to each knee. It was fashionable that the hat should be 3 1/2 inches deep in the crown. Very strict, too, were the rules of the bi-weekly outings held in May and June: the order of the procession was always the same, and members were to keep to a strict trot and not attempt to pass each other. No drag-racing for these boys!

Guest Blogger Sarah MacLean: Anything but Rotten!

First, I have to say how incredibly excited I am to be guest blogging here at Nineteen-teen! I’ve been a clandestine reader for AGES…where was this blog when I was in high school and secretly hiding my Regency novels inside my Geography book?!

As you know from my interview earlier this week, I write Regency romances, set in London and focused on British aristocracy, collectively referred to as the ton (the word came from French, literally meaning “tone” but used to describe people of fashion). Young women of the aristocracy had copious free time to do things like visit their friends, shop for dresses and ribbons, pretty themselves for the marriage mart and tool around Hyde Park.

Hyde Park is gorgeous—an enormous park in the center of London, covering more than 350 acres. I've been in love with it since a morning walk I took there at 6:30am on my first day in London a few years back. It has a fantastic history…for the Tudors fans in the crowd, Henry VIII took the space (which belonged to Westminster Abbey) in the early 1500s to use it for deer hunting. It belonged to the Crown for years, and then, finally, under Charles I, was turned into a public space. I could go on and on about its history without ever getting to the 19th century...here's a quick overview.

The King or Queen of England’s official seat is St. James Palace, but William III (who ruled with his wife Mary in the late 1600s) preferred the landscape of Kensington Palace, which at the time was far enough outside of London that it felt more rural. Because he had to travel back and forth from Kensington to St. James, he commissioned a private pathway that ran the length of Hyde Park and lit the path with 300 oil lamps, creating the first artificially lit road in England. William used the pathway all the time, and it was christened Route de Roi, which means “King’s Road” in French. Either the English couldn’t pronounce it, or they simply didn’t care that much…because that road is now called Rotten Row.

By the mid 18th century, Rotten Row was much more than a King’s private pathway. It was where everyone, EVERYONE would go to see and be seen. The road itself is a dirt pathway, so that was reserved mostly for horses and curricles or phaetons. Along the side was a length of green...and that was where ladies and gentleman of the aristocracy took their meandering (and I like to think gossipy) walks. It depends on what you read, but definitely by the mid-1800s, this was THE place to be, for both women and men, during the early afternoon--the fashionable hour. Charles James Apperley said of it:

"On any fine afternoon in the height of the London season…he will see a thousand well appointed equipages pass before him…Everything he sees is peculiar, the silent roll and easy motion of the London-built carriage, the style of the coachmen - it is hard to determine which shine brightest, the lace on their clothes, their own round faces, or flaxen wigs - the pipe-clayed reins - pipe-clayed lest they should spoil the clean white gloves…not forgetting the spotted coach-dog, which has been washed for the occasion…such a blaze of splendor…is now to be seen nowhere but in London."

For young women, Rotten Row was one of the places where they had a chance to show off and check out the rest of society--from women wearing the height of fashion to men in new and extravagant curricles. It was on Rotten Row that the ton got a look at those couples who were courting, the rakes who were on the lookout for wives or mistresses, the Prince Regent himself. When young ladies were on the marriage mart, a ride on Rotten Row--either on her own mount or inside his curricle with a chaperone at a discreet distance--was a broadcast to all and sundry that she might soon be off the market. Outdoor excursions gave young women a chance to spend time with the gentlemen who were courting them without risking their reputations.

Of course, the best thing about Rotten Row is that it makes for pretty neat fictional food. My favorite scene in my whole novel is one where the heroine and hero ride in his brand new curricle on Rotten Row to see and be seen. The history of Rotten Row is enough to send your imagination running away...without you!

Thanks for spending the week with us, Sarah, and best of luck with The Season! Don't forget that everyone who comments on either today's or last Tuesday's post will be entered in a drawing to win a signed copy of Sarah's book!

Winter Fun, 1814 Style

Once upon a time (well, before 1831), two interesting facts were true: London Bridge was located somewhat further downstream on the Thames than it is now, and a climatic bump in the road called the Little Ice Age (ca. 1300-1900 AD) held most of Europe in its chilly grip.

So what do these facts have to do with each other?

Plenty, as it turns out! These two circumstances resulted in rare but wonderful phenomena known to Londoners as Frost Fairs. Especially hard winters would freeze the Thames hard enough so that it would support foot traffic…and of course, London’s citizens rushed to enjoy the novelty of strolling across the river wherever they chose to, rather than being forced to use bridges or boats…and where curious and excited Londoners thronged, other Londoners determined to make a fast shilling or two followed. Enterprising tradesmen opened stalls on the ice selling everything from warming (or intoxicating!) beverages to food to books and toys, while others opened games stalls, rather like a country fair.

Frost Fairs were recorded in 1564, 1608, 1634, 1715, 1739, and 1789. The last and probably best known Frost Fair happened in February of 1814. A cold and very snowy January gradually closed the Thames’ flow, and by February 1st hardy souls were venturing out onto it. The inevitable crowds followed and within a few days drinks stalls, printing presses selling souvenirs cards with “Printed on the Thames” on them, and stalls selling any other item that could be similarly labeled (and sold for inflated prices!) were doing a brisk business. One stall built a roaring fire and roasted a sheep on it (spectators were charged admission just to watch it cook!) then sold it by the slice as “Lapland mutton”. Swings (see them in the middle right of the picture above?), skittles, merry-go-rounds, donkey rides, and even an elephant added to the festival air.

Of course, a thaw was inevitable. By February 7 the river was once again flowing and the Fair a thing of the past. In 1823 London Bridge was re-built further upstream and in 1831 the old London Bridge torn down, causing the Thames to flow more swiftly, so that it never froze over again.

Amusements in London: Exeter ‘Change

All right, I admit it. I am not a zoo person. The sight of animals in cages, however well designed, always makes me feel sad. So I don’t think I would have found the Exeter ‘Change very amusing.

However, thousands of Londoners disagreed. For a shilling, they gladly wandered through the Royal Menagerie at the Exeter Exchange on the Strand each year. The building, which sat where the Strand Palace Hotel is today near Covent Garden, was originally built in 1676 to house a number of shops, such as milliners, haberdashers, and perfumeries. You might say it was the early version of the malls we have today.

Beginning in 1773 until the animals were moved to the London Zoo in 1828, the little rooms on the upper floor were enclosed by iron cages to provide winter quarters for traveling circus animals. By 1814, the owner included a doorman who was dressed like one of the Yeoman of the Guard, no doubt trying to compete with the other royal menagerie, at the Tower of London. The animals changed over time, but included leopards, lions, tigers, monkeys, hyenas, peccaries, nylghau (Indian antelope), camels, ostrich, emus, and “the skeleton of a Spermaceti whale, sixty feet long.” (I have no clue on this one!)

One of the reasons you went to the Exchange was for the scare factor. These were dangerous beasties, just inches away from your tender flesh. Girls were delighted to cling to their escorts or swoon into their arms. Supposedly passersby on the street below could hear the lions roaring, and not a few horses also spooked at the sound. The most popular time to arrive was at feeding time. Rather blood-thirsty, eh?

But by far the star of the show for many years was an elephant named Chuny. Chuny was very clever: he took your shilling and gave it back, picked up gentlemen’s top hats from their heads, and opened doors with his trunk. However, as he grew older, Chuny became violent. His keepers liked to take him on a walk down the Strand every Sunday, and one sad day he ran amok and killed one of his keepers. Soldiers were brought in to destroy him. Legend has it that it took over 152 bullets. Ballads, pictures, articles, and at least one play were created in his memory, with his dramatic death the highlight. Some of the people who had paid a shilling to watch him perform paid another to watch him be butchered and later dissected by the Royal Academy of Surgeons.

Definitely not my taste in amusements. How about you?

Amusements in London: Astley's Amphitheatre

Okay, so my heroine didn’t jump out the window. She thought about it. She even opened the sash and sat on the sill, but the hero intervened before she could screw her courage to the sticking point. So, all is right with the world.

One of the suggestions from our birthday celebration for topics on Nineteen Teen was games and activities as well as cultural institutions for young ladies. I’m not entirely sure Astley’s Amphitheatre would be considered a cultural institution, but it was certainly one of the most popular places in London for young people.

Astley’s Amphitheatre, located on Westminster Bridge Road, Lambeth, was a magical place where amazing things happened, with horses. As you can see from the picture, it boasted an arena and, at 130 feet wide, the largest stage in England at the time. Built in 1784, it held its first show on Easter and its last in October or November each year. Surrounded by 16 small chandeliers, audiences in the three tiers of seating watched while the huge center glass chandelier with 50 lamps was lowered each night through an opening in the ceiling. And as the music from the full orchestra soared, out came the horses.

Astley called his events spectacles, and it certainly sounds like they were, with trick riders, clowns, troops of horses swirling in battle formation, even a horse race and a fox hunt staged in the arena to the calls of “Tally ho!” from the audience. In 1807, he taught eight horses to do country dances, a sight that was so astonishing to his audience that it was replayed in over 100 performances.

Sounds like my idea of fun.