The Quest for PY Betts

Written and presented by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons

Part Two

In 2023, and again in 2025, the Friends of Wandsworth Common heard a wonderful talk by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons on local author PY Betts, and her memoir People Who Say Goodbye. Published in 1989 (when "Betts" was around 80), this extraordinary work covers her memories of Wandsworth Common childhood during and shortly after the First World War.

I enjoyed these talks so much that I asked Stephen and Sue if I could adapt them as a kind of "guest post". The first part was published here earlier this month.

As we saw, the writer Christopher Hawtree had come across the enigmatic "P.Y. Betts" (who had successfully concealed her gender behind her initials) when he was researching a short-lived magazine, Night and Day, edited by Graham Greene. In the British Library, Christopher had unearthed her only novel, French Polish (1933). But who was she? What had happened to her? How could Christopher make contact?

Christopher wrote an article in the Observer about his initial findings, and (astonishingly) heard from someone in the House of Lords who had been at school with Betts — and knew where she lived . . .

Stephen:

So, let's return to "The Quest for PY Betts".

As Christopher Hawtree's research revealed, Betts progressed on to St Paul's Girls' School in the 1920s and then took up a career as a writer and travelled extensively through the 1930s.

Here are some records of a transatlantic voyage she made to and from New York in 1937, when she would have been aged 28 and writing for the short-lived magazine Night and Day. You can see that she was referring to herself as a "writer" and that she was still living with her parents in Magdalen Road.

Sue:

She entered the Land Army during the Second World War and then settled in rural Wales.

She gave her reasons for moving away from Wandsworth in a letter she later wrote some years later:' "I did not want to live like that, always short of space and time and breathing recycled air."

And in 1987, she was still there, in Wales . . .

Christopher Hawtree takes up the story:

A little later, Veronica Wadley of the Daily Telegraph readily agreed that I should travel to Wales for an interview. This was quite a journey, without signposts through narrow lanes with high hedges in a motor car at low gear; when I did see anybody and asked directions, there was astonishment that I was going to visit P.Y. Betts ("we've heard of her but never seen her!").

Eventually I got there, at one end of a long track where I was greeted by a goat of an uncertain disposition and, after a struggle between tyres and mud, parked beside a low, thick-walled cottage from which, followed by a cat and dog, Betts emerged with pails in hand to feed others of the various animals which lived upon her tranche of hillside.

There was something marvellously heartening about her conversation borne of long experience (and visits by the mobile library where she put in for so many new books); she was savvier about the world than those who are eternally, wirelessly connected. All of this I wrote up, and it appeared complete with a photograph of her beside one of those animals: a seemingly stray peacock.

Sue:

One token of Christopher's visit was a signed copy of French Polish that Betts gave him. You can see the dates, over 50 years apart.

Christopher:

One morning I received a telephone call.

A woman said, 'Mr. Hecht would like to speak with you'.

'All right', I replied, puzzled, curious.

This turned out to be Ernest Hecht, the owner of independent publisher Souvenir Press, whose outwardly elegant office, chaotic within, was opposite the British Library on Great Russell Street. He had chanced to see the Telegraph piece — and wondered whether Betts would like to write a second book, one about the upbringing she had described to me.

This was an inspired notion, to which she readily agreed, and she wrote it — People Who Say Goodbye — through a Welsh winter.

I asked Graham Greene if he would give a quote for the cover, which he happily did, and, one way and another, the book got about.

It was read in eight instalments on national radio, which, one Saturday, also sent an interviewer to her, while Dirk Bogarde, who had found it in a Chelsea bookshop, made it one of his books of the year.

She died in her nineties, after a stroke which meant that — after living alone for so long — she had, ever pragmatic, to agree to a carer in that cottage where, as I found on another visit, there were now fewer animals, but her spirit was still vivid — as it remains, so wise, so funny, and this sequence of events always makes me thankful that I had made the initial foray to the Reading Room.

Sue:

And what of the title of Betts's memoir: People Who Say Goodbye?

Stephen:

Well, this is explained in the following passage, late in the book, when Betts is talking to Clement, who has been her piano tutor:

As usual, Clement was by himself at the piano. I told him I had passed the entrance exam and so should not be coming back for any more coaching. He doodled a bit on the piano, looking at me . . . .

[Clement] "Will you be coming back to see us?"

[Betts] "I shouldn't think so. In a way I should like to, but the way things are, I don't expect I shall."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I've seen that people who come to say goodbye usually don't come back."

"When did you begin to notice this?"

"It came on gradually, from when I was about five, right up to now. It's true, you know."

"You were young to notice that is how things are."

"Fairly young, I suppose, yes."

"Do you remember the people who don't come back?"

"Yes. I remember them all."

"Will you remember me?"

"Of course I shall. If I live to be eighty I shall still remember you here playing the piano . . . playing the 'Dance of the Blessed Spirits'."

— "Dance of the Blessed Spirits", from Gluck Orfeo ed Euridice, played by Tarek Refaat.

Stephen:

And in her old age she did indeed remember Clement, and all the other people who passed, however briefly, through her young life.

And she preserved them forever in this wonderful book.

Thank you.

PB:

At this point, assuming this was the end of the evening's talk, the audience burst into wholehearted applause.

But, happily for us all, this was not the end . . .

The Quest for Christopher Hawtree

Sue:

We thought our quest for PY Betts was complete. But it led us to wonder what had happened to Christopher Hawtree.

And so another quest began.

I think we had somehow, rather by association, not really considered the possibility that Christopher Hawtree might himself be "still there" somewhere today — and so it proved to be. It was Stephen, who — quite late in the day — decided to extend the quest and gleefully reported: "He's alive! And living in Hove!"

This was wonderful news as I had recently moved from Wandsworth Common to Brighton. It turned out Christopher had previously been a local Councillor, and I eventually tracked him down via a visit to the Green Party HQ . . .

. . . serendipitously located next to the "Arka Original Funeral Parlour" (which seemed a nice Bettsian touch). And a couple of weeks ago, we met and spent a charming evening at . . .

. . . The Colonnade bar outside Brighton's Theatre Royal, when he turned up with a photocopied manuscript of French Polish! He said he would like to attend our talk, and we are delighted to present as our finale . . . Mr Christopher Hawtree, to whom we are all beholden for this lovely book:

Chistopher Hawtree [for it is he]:

Thank you, Stephen and Sue, for organising this marvellously staged evening.

I'd just like to raise a glass to Betts and to Ernest Hecht who, in his own right, was an amazing man. He was an astonishing, independent publisher.

He did a lot for charities and published all sorts of strange books, including Chariots of the Gods and Arthur Hailey. And he stayed solvent in a very valuable premises opposite the British Museum. And it's thanks to him; he had the great idea of Betts writing this book.

I think it's still in print. It's gone through many paperbacks and different incarnations, and as Sue said it was read on the radio and Graham liked it very much. When he said, "The most amusing book of chilhood memories I can remember reading ", Betts wrote to me in one of her brilliant letters, "Well, at his age, he can't remember anything beyond last week", which was typical of her wit and her letters.

And I'm just amazed. I could easily have not gone to the British Library, and therefore not read her novel.

I wanted to track down everybody who appeared in Night and Day as much as I could. And it just goes to show how one little thing can lead to another and another and another. And here we are today. It's brought me full circle to Wandsworth Common.

Another part of the serendipity is that Night and Day magazine is remembered because it came to a rapid end after just six months. It was underfunded, but it's still popularly thought that it collapsed because 20th Century Fox sued it on behalf of the 9-year-old Shirley Temple, whom Graham Greene had reviewed in no uncertain terms — he had detailed the sexual subtext in her performance in Wee Willie Winkie (1937), directed by John Ford.

And, by great coincidence, at the same time as PY Betts's book appeared, there appeared the equally good volume of memoirs by Shirley Temple which she wrote herself called Child Star, in which she ended up agreeing with Graham's review of her film.

So at one extreme we have PY Betts, and on the other, that same autumn, Shirley Temple.

It's just astonishing to me that it keeps on going, this story. So, well done to both of you for organising this evening. It's just great that you have given this further fillip to the PY Betts's story and I think she'd be amazed. She was modest but also very savvy. She was nobody's fool, but in the best sense of the phrase.

Stephen:

When you finally got to meet her, what was she like?

Christopher:

It was wonderful. It's a cliche, but it's as though we'd known each other all the time. We just talked about not only the past which came up a bit in her speech — I didn't use a tape recorder or anything and, just as she went out with the pails to feed the animals, I scribbled down all the notes of what she'd said.

And she not only spoke about growing up in Wandsworth, which she records so well in the book, but she was very alert to what was going on in contemporary Wales — all these surviving hippies in the hills nearby who moved into caravans and carried on living in the spirit of the 60s.

Thank goodness for mobile libraries. The one at Lampeter was not far, that went all the way up all those lanes, as I did in my Citroen 2CV — and that was an ordeal. It somehow got around this long track and up the pathway, the long pathway to her cottage, where she only got electricity in 1970.

Stephen:

Sadly, People Who Say Goodbye is currently out of print, but second-hand copies can be bought online. It is also available through our local libraries' Libby app. (As a last resort, I have a spare copy which I would be prepared to lend. I can be contacted via history@wandsworthcommon.org.)

Here are a couple of reviews of the book online:

— Stuck In a Book: People Who Say Goodbye

— I Prefer Reading: People Who Say Goodbye, PY Betts

And don't forget the video of the original talk:

At this point, the talk really did come to an end.

My thanks to Stephen, Sue and Christopher for two wonderful evenings, and for agreeing to my adapting it as a Chronicle of Wandsworth Common.

Chronicles

September 2025

The Quest for PY Betts

Written and presented by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons

Part One

Seventy years ago, when Wandsworth Common was still a countrified suburb, the author of this enchanting book, a satirical writer of genius during the 1930s, was growing up there, observing with absolute clarity the behaviour and conversation of the adults around her. She did not always understand the implications of what she saw and heard, but she remembered it and recreates that vanished world with startling immediacy.

In July 2023, Friends of Wandsworth Common were treated to a thoroughly delightful talk by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons on local author P.Y. Betts, and her marvellous memoir People Who Say Goodbye: Memories of Childhood. The quote above comes from the publisher's cover copy to the first edition (1989), and is absolutely spot on (though it's now just over a century).

This was videoed for posterity by John Crossland and is available on the Friends' website. Well worth watching.

In 2025, Stephen and Sue repeated the talk, which I enjoyed so much that I asked if I could adapt it as a kind of "guest post". They very kindly agreed.

What follows is almost verbatim, but with occasional tweaks to adjust for differences between spoken and read words. With few exceptions, quotations are from P.Y. Betts herself. These are highlighted in a tinted box, preceded by giant open quotation marks, as here:

There were so many trees. There was such abundance of fresh air. It was incidental that much of the fresh air blew in from the domain of madness, crime, wounds and death, each of which required a large acreage of living space, if living is the word.

The Quest for PY Betts

Written and presented by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons

Stephen:

Hello. I'm Stephen Midlane, chair of the Heritage Group of Friends of Wandsworth Common. Welcome to the latest in our series of heritage talks.

I'm delighted to welcome Sue Delafons, one of my co-editors of the Wandsworth Common Story. As well as introducing Sue, I'm also joining her as a double act in explaining the fascinating journey we've undergone in our "Quest for PY Betts".

Let me hand over to Sue to explain further:

Sue:

As Stephen explained, he and I are two of the authors behind The Wandsworth Common Story. This came from our love of and fascination with Wandsworth Common — and one of the wonderful things is the abundance of material it has generated for walks and talks and further research.

I wrote the article on P.Y. Betts and her wonderful memoir People Who Say Goodbye— and here I must give credit to Philip Boys who originally drew her to our attention.

[PB: Thanks, Sue!]

We soon found that her voice was so evocative and captivating it exploded outside the original 250-word article limit — so we couldn't resist including vignettes throughout our book.

This is her memoir of a young girl, Phyllis Yvonne Betts, growing up on Wandsworth Common during the First World War — she was just five when the war broke out in 1914.

(From now on, we'll refer to her as "Betts", which is how she preferred to be known.)

It's infused with insights and perceptions of the society of the time — in transition from the Edwardian era — with the practical and often humorous everyday events around the Common in the foreground, but also the shadows of the global stage at a time when "people who say goodbye" tended not to come back.

So it's a period piece; but much more than that, it's a really delightful book. Her words are so fresh, honest, penetrating, funny, poignant. We hope to give you a flavour of this through readings during the talk.

Stephen:

And, of course, she is often writing about places around Wandsworth Common still familiar to us today.

Yet nowhere does she say exactly where she was living, or where the events took place, or who she is describing. But because we know the author and our area that we can decode where and what — and often even who — she is writing about.

Here was an opportunity for some real detective work — to explore the historical background to the locations featured in her book and to track down the family and friends whom she brings to life.

This was the "Quest" that we want to share with you.

(A note about the images we're going to show: many of these depict the exact location that Betts is talking about, but in some cases the pictures are purely illustrative of the places and activities she describes.)

The setting

Sue:

But first, the story of the book's origination — how People Who Say Goodbye came to be written in the 1980s, many decades after the events it describes. It begins with journalist Christopher Hawtree:

And this is a story of discovery in itself.

During the evening, Stephen will read Christopher's narrative, interspersed with me reading selections from Betts's book, and supported by findings from Stephen's local research.

Christopher Hawtree was a journalist and writer who, back in the 1980s, undertook his own quest for PY Betts. This is his account of where his research led him, taken from articles he wrote for the publishers Slightly Foxed in the early 2000s:

Christopher Hawtree:

At a desk beneath the dome of the British Museum Reading Room, as sombre PhD types on either side of me pored over earnest-looking volumes, I had to restrain myself from yelling for joy at item NN 20963, the catalogue number for French Polish by PY Betts.

It was her only book, a novel published in 1933.

It looked as if nobody had opened it for some while — perhaps for more than 50 years.

It was 1985 and I was at work on an anthology of the rare weekly magazine Night and Day, which in 1937 had sought to be an English incarnation of the New Yorker. But after six months it had come a cropper.

Many of the magazine's contributors, such as John Betjeman and Alistair Cooke, and indeed the editor Graham Greene himself, were to become very well known.

Yet often as interesting were those of whom little if anything was later heard, among whom was PY Betts. She wrote entertaining pieces for the magazine, including a "Snob's Guide to Good Form":
"In eating, perhaps more than in any other social activity, it is important to realise that the opposite pole to good form is not bad manners, but gentility".

Certain foods are "good or bad form according to the time of day at which they are eaten. Kippers and bacon and eggs are poor form at breakfast but completely sophisticated between midnight and 6 am."

"Communism and Fascism are both a la mode."

"Lemons are socially acceptable at any meal."

This anticipated Nancy Mitford's "U" and "Non-U" by two decades.

The same spirit was evident in French Polish, the story of a group of lascivious girls at a Swiss finishing school. The plot seems less important than its characters' off-the-wall observations and comments.

"I guess if you thought a little more about sex, your circulation would be a whole lot better, there's nothing like sex for keeping a girl warm."

And

"Have you ever noticed that people who are quite disintegratingly beautiful in the nude are often dreadfully pedestrian in clothes?"

Here was somebody with a distinct take on the world. I could not get P.Y. Betts out of my mind. What could have become of such a talent?

Try as I might I could not discover anything much about her, and lamented this en passant in the long introduction to the Night and Day anthology.

A review of this in the Observer referred to the mysterious disappearance of "the great PY Betts".

Soon after, the mystery was solved by Lady Eirene White, who got in touch from the House of Lords to say that she had been at St Paul's Girls' School with Betts (as she was known). And that after growing up near Wandsworth Common during the Great War, Betts had travelled around the world in the 30s, writing articles as she went.

Sue:

When war broke out, she joined the Land Army in Lincolnshire. But tired of marauding American servicemen, she felt an urge for retreat, and, in 1944, she moved, alone, to a remote small-holding in the middle of Wales.

And she was still there . . .

We are going to return to Christopher's quest later. But now to the book itself: People Who Say Goodbye: Memories of Childhood (1989):

There were so many trees.

There was such abundance of fresh air.

It was incidental that much of the fresh air blew in from the domain of madness, crime, wounds and death, each of which required a large acreage of living space, if living is the word.

Stephen:

So where were these "domains" that P.Y. Betts was referring to: Madness? Crime? Wounds? Death?

This map, from the 1890s (so roughly 20 years before she was writing about) shows us the various locations, all within striking distance of the Betts's house (which is marked with a red dot):

Madness — the Asylum, just off Burntwood Lane;

Crime — the Prison;

Wounds — the Royal Victoria Patriotic Asylum (used a hospital in World War One);

Death — Wandsworth Cemetery on Magdalen Road.

Here they are in more detail, from the 1916 Ordnance Survey map:

The County Lunatic Asylum is today known as Springfield University Hospital.

Wandsworth Prison.

Notice that the detailed layout of the buildings is not shown on the map and that it's still being referred to as Her Majesty's Prison — a sign that maps cannot always be trusted!

The Royal Victoria Patriotic School

As you can see from the map, this was set up as a school for "Orphan Daughters of Soldiers, Seamen and Marines of the Realm". During The First World War it had been converted into the 3rd London General Hospital, for troops injured in the conflict.

Wandsworth Cemetery, Magdalen Road

This was much smaller than it is today. Notice it had two chapels: one Church of England, the other Non—Conformist.

We'll look at each of these institutions in more detail in due course. But first, we turn to Betts's home life and what we might call the "Domestic Domain".

The Domestic Domain

Our suburb was a favoured one on account of its wide roads and many open spaces.

Not only was there the Common, there was a nursery garden full of flowers, threaded with footpaths . . . there were enchanting glimpses through wrought-iron gates of the secret gardens of the big houses in the road between the two commons where my grandparents lived."

Stephen:

The "road between two commons where my grandparents lived" was Nightingale Lane. We will hear more about her grandparents and their household later.

Betts and her family were living on the other side of Wandsworth Common:

Our house in London was at about the middle of a long, very wide road lined with (then) young plane trees.

Here is a picture of the foot of the road from about 1900, before the planting of the plane trees, so just before her house was built: The foundation stone of the Baptist chapel on the right is dated 1898 [1899?].

And here it is again, a few years later, probably around the time that Betts was born, or shortly after:

The top of the road near the Common was the 'better' end, going down past our house and other houses like it . . .

and then more steeply downhill to a stretch not built on, a vague area of slightly messed-up open spaces, a Board school with its shrieking playground, and the cemetery.

Stephen:

Betts is talking about Magdalen Road, which was laid out in the 1870s by Magdalen College, Oxford, linking Garratt Lane to Trinity Road. (Hence Betts probably pronounced it "Maudlin Road".)

The pink-tinted area is the land owned by Magdalen College, Oxford, c.1900, framed by Wandsworth Common, Garratt Lane, the SW Railway and Burntwood Lane.

The college had owned this large swathe of land since the 1840s and developed ambitious plans for the whole area to be developed as a fashionable Garden Suburb, the Magdalen Park Estate.

However, after the First World War further development stalled and the land below Ellerton Road was purchased by Wandsworth Borough Council to create social housing — which became the Fieldview and Openview estates.

The Betts family lived at 51 Magdalen Road, marked here with a red dot:

Here's what it looks like today. (Thanks to a renumbering of the houses in the 1920s, it is now number 77.)

The Betts family were probably the first occupiers of the house as it was part of a newly-built terrace erected c.1906 by local builders Holloway Brothers.

This is the drainage plan submitted by Holloways at the time showing the row of houses from number 27 to 55:

The Betts family consisted of PY herself, born in 1909, her brother Eric, five years older, their parents Arthur and Beatrice, and (usually) one servant.

The 1911 census shows us that Arthur was a clerk in a Building Society and that, at that time, Beatrice (or Bea) had a 22-year-old live-in Mother's Help, Jessie Elland [sp?].

Arthur and Bea had been married in St Luke's church on Thurleigh Road in 1903 and Phyllis Yvonne was christened there on 4th July 1909.

Both ceremonies were conducted by the influential Vicar of Battersea, John Erskine Clarke.

Betts paints vivid, and (generally but not always) affectionate portraits of her family, friends and assorted characters with whom she came into contact.

About her parents, and their first maid:

I knew that some mothers lied to their children about wounds and death, but I should have been ashamed to have had a soft centre mother like that.

My mother was rather unlike other children's mothers in her ways, but though she could be embarrassing I was quite proud of her, and of my father too, because they were bold and good-looking.

I should not have liked the funny-looking parents who fussed about everything that some children had.

Clara had been my newly-married parents' first little maidservant, a fourteen-year-old up from Somerset.

Later, when Clara leaves to get married:

At home, minus Clara, we were 'without'. 'Without" meant being without domestic help and was accepted verbal currency among ladies who customarily employed . . . .

My mother revelled in this deprivation. She had long striven to sink socially, and now here was her chance.

We ate in the kitchen.

About their family doctor (whose surgery was on Northcote Road, on the other side of the Common):

In his dress, which was immaculate, Dr Biggs was a relic of a former generation. I knew nobody else who dressed like Dr Biggs. He was snuff-coloured all over. He wore a frock coat, a long wrapped-over affair, with trousers of the same colour and spats. His waistcoat had pearl buttons. He always wore wing collars . . .

Outside the house, during his visits, waited Dr Biggs's brougham with his coachman. Other doctors already did their rounds by motor car but Dr Biggs was a carriage and horse man to the last. That was the nicest thing about him.

One supposes that his horse, when it was out of sorts, was doctored with the same brown physic and red physic that were all his patients ever got, but in somewhat larger doses.

The area around the Betts home was more open then than now:

Our house backed onto a field of eleven acres bounded by gardens of houses built four sides of a square. It was a real meadow with hedges and ditches and many big trees.

In the summer hay was cut there and after the hay sheep were turned in to graze. Usually there was nobody there, at most two or three children from the neighbouring houses, playing . . . "

Playmates:

I had become friendly with a girl who lived in the next road to mine. Her name was Marion Morris. Her experience was limited in that she seemed never to have done anything naughty, never fought with anybody or even climbed trees . . . .

Her father was manager of Price's factory in Battersea and he often brought home reject candles. She would give me some small coloured barley sugar Christmas ones if I liked.

Our friendship strengthened.

Stephen:

As we've seen, Betts's grandparents lived on Nightingale Lane. Their house was Sherbrooke Lodge, located opposite the top of Endlesham Road. Here it is in 1870, quite isolated on the north side of the Lane, and with a fairly substantial garden behind:

Here you can see how the area had developed by the 1910s, when Betts began to visit:

This is the site today, with Sherbrooke Lodge replaced by a modern block of flats. But notice the fine tree. I'm sure this once stood in the front driveway of the Lodge:

Though we were not forced to go to church, our Sundays were not without their burden of duty. We were expected to accompany our mother on the weekly walk across the Common to visit our grandparents for tea.

The house was a substantial Victorian one with two entrance gates and a sweep-around drive, probably quite similar in size to no.101 on the other side of the road.

It was covered with creeper that was not, however, permitted to straggle. A flight of steps led up to a storm porch, closed in winter, and the front door. The brass door furniture was brightly polished. In summer a striped awning shielded the paintwork from the blistering action of the sun.

There was a brass bell-pull with echoes in the depths of the house, followed by the approaching footsteps of the parlourmaid. We would say 'Good afternoon, Alice', in answer to her greeting.

Stephen:

Betts's grandfather was Edward Wood JP, the manager of the Temperance Building Society. (This was the firm that Betts's father, Arthur, worked for.)

In 1911, the household consisted of Edward; his wife, Elizabeth; two daughters, Ada and Ethel; a son, John (known as Jack), and two servants:

Grandpa was immaculate. Everything about him was clean and fastidious. His well-kept hands were shapely. His speech was impressive — when Grandpa spoke, people listened. His articulation was crystalline. All in all Grandpa was a well-polished specimen.

It was hard to believe that he had started life in a miner's crowded cottage in Nottinghamshire and had had no schooling after the age of eleven.

Sue:

Aunts Ada and Ethel also lived at Sherbrooke Lodge.

There was a period, not so long past, when almost everybody had an aunt called Ethel. I even knew one or two who not only had an aunt called Ethel but were themselves called Ethel and were themselves aunts — Aunt Ethels that is.

There was something about the name that not only brought on aunthood but was somehow marriage-repellent. Ethels did not breed much. Perhaps that is why they have become comparatively rare.

Although Aunt Ethel may have looked like Lord Longford in drag, she had been sought in marriage, though only by a curate.

This offer had been refused.

Stephen:

We now return to where the Betts lived on the west side of the Common, Magdalen Road.

On the other side of the road from us there were only two houses, built close together. They were bigger and older than the modern houses on our side. One was the undertakers; the one next door was a small private school.

So, on the left here we have the undertakers, and on the right, the private school:

These two houses were built by local builder James Carmichael; the first in 1898 and the second a few years later. They continued the Oxford University connection by being named "Balliol" and "Oriel".

The undertaker's family lived over the shop, which had a big front showroom with a display of coffins and artificial flowers under glass domes.

Behind this there was the joiner's shop where the coffins were made.

There must have been a mortuary too, because in later years, when refrigeration became common, my mother had the bright idea of getting round the undertaker to store her furs in the cold room there during the summer — it was so much handier than the Army and Navy Stores.

Cheaper too, no doubt. Just one or two of my mother's dazzling smiles would do the trick with the undertaker, whose customers were so much less lively than my mother.

Many of the gravestones in Wandsworth cemetery were produced by Buchanan's and the family are themselves interred there.

The company continued in the premises until fairly recently and present-day inhabitants of the area can still remember when a sign on the side of the building overlooking the cemetery carried the Buchanan name.

Recently, the area at the rear where the workshops used to be was developed into new housing but its heritage is reflected in the name "Stonemasons Yard".

The undertaker was William Buchanan, who did indeed supply coffins and funeral arrangements but, as you can see from the census, regarded himself primarily as a "monumental sculptor".

The Domain of Education

The house next door was a small private school, which Betts herself attended for a while. It emphatically did not resemble these images of children sitting straight-backed, arms folded behind their backs, or formally drilled in arithmetic:

On the contrary:

Mrs Stroud's school was a sort of happy bedlam, not at all upmarket. It catered for children of all ages and both sexes, boys of kindergarten age and girls from tiny children to what appeared to be ripe woman-hood.

What made it down-market was that its pupils were drawn almost entirely from down the road. Shopkeepers' daughters went there, well-nourished girls whose fathers wielded cleavers behind butchers' blocks, or kept pubs. These were far from needy; though considered, of course, common. The school swirled with the diversity of the human genetic pool.

This was a private house . . . The pupils were packed into the first floor and the attic that ran from front to back of the house. The place was crammed. There was no room to move. The only game possible in the eleven o'clock break, which perforce had to be spent in the classroom, was Sardines.

Nobody gave a thought to the fire risk. The undertaker's was conveniently placed next door.

Sue:

One of the teachers was a Miss Snead.

Miss Snead was the sort of person you have to look at when they pass you out of doors. She would be in her later forties, tall, thin and rectangular. Her face was a yellowish brown, with dark eyes and black hair above a high forehead.

Seen from the front she appeared to be a sketchily articulated series of oblongs, some longer and thinner than others, the head almost square. But these rectangles were not in parallel with one another, nor did they move to the same rhythm.

There was a touch of wryneck about Miss Snead — the head a little tilted to one side, the face on yet another plane, the lower part pushed forward, the lips stretched in a contained smile over uncountable false teeth.

She was like a cluster of metal mirrors set at different angles, jangling together as they flashed uneasy light into the eyes of strangers.

She could have scared crows.

Stephen:

The "real" Stroud family were actually called Wood. Emmeline Wood was the Schoolmistress and her husband Walter was an optician. Their daughter Molly was 2 years old at the time of the 1911 census.

Betts writes about Molly and we learn that, like many of Betts's young acquaintances, she died young, succumbing to Black Measles in 1915. (Black Measles is a severe form of measles characterized by dark eruptions caused by bleeding under the skin.)

There were two further schools "down the hill".

The small school buildings halfway down that we can see on this 1916 map were replaced [in the mid-1930s?] by the present-day school premises. It was called Magdalen Road school and was initially for infants only. It later became Beatrix Potter.

The school at the bottom of the hill was one of the many "Board" schools that sprang up following the 1870 Education Act. Initially known as Tranmere Road School, it is now Earlsfield Primary.

The Board school was for pupils drawn from the nether regions at the bottom of the hill who were too poor to pay for fees, though some of the more ambitious parents, according to my mother, scraped together fourpence a week to pay for violin lessons.

She was full of a sort of exasperated pity for these needy little aspirants scraping away on their tinny fiddles till their fourteenth birthday pitched them empty-handed into the nearest factory, which was a smelly one.

I never knew what was made there. Something to do with glue, I think, or gas.

Stephen:

The smelly factory that children would move onto from school might well have been the horse-slaughtering business run by Harrison and Barber. They had seven depots throughout London, which killed 26,000 horses a year.

The one on the banks of the Wandle, just off Garratt Lane, was the largest of them and included a complete refrigerating plant in which two hundred and fifty horses could be stored:

No piece of the poor animal went to waste. Meat was set aside not just for cats and dogs, but also for human consumption. Associated industries on site included a chemical manure factory and facilities for bone crushing, glue production and fat melting.

No wonder it was smelly!

The Domain of Madness

Madness was accommodated in the large lunatic asylum, with its own farm, not far from the Common.

In the days of my youth there were not euphemisms for mental disturbance. If you were mentally ill you were mad and if you were mad you went to a lunatic asylum and no messing . . . .

In my own day no especial horror stories came out of the asylum. There were high walls round the grounds.

Stephen:

The Surrey County Lunatic Asylum first opened in 1841 on a 97-acre site bought from Henry Perkins, a wealthy brewer, who had himself obtained the freehold from the 2nd Earl Spencer.

The asylum was intended to serve the pauper population of rural Surrey and could initially accommodate 350 patients.

It was supported by a large farm including a massive kitchen garden near the central kitchens.

In 1895, a separate annexe for "Idiot Children" was created in order to remove children from the main wards within the hospital. John Langdon Down, famous for his description of the condition now known as Down syndrome, advised on the layout of the Annexe.

Sometimes a happy band of more or less presentable inmates would issue forth in the care of their keepers, busily chattering . . . Their enjoyment was intense. They were mostly, if not all, female, with bright excited eyes and frizzy grey hair, darting jubilantly in and outof the parade of shops facing the Common, clutching small purchases.

'They always buy sardines,' my mother said, and it was true: fourpenny tins of sardines gleamed in their hands as they emerged, discarding paper bags, the afternoon light blazing back from their shining eyes.

Stephen:

The parade of shops is, of course, Bellevue Road, and the shop from which they bought the sardines might well have been the grocers at no. 5, run at the time, by Mr Alfred Davis.

During the First World War, part of the asylum became the Springfield War Hospital, and a Neurological Unit was established in the Annexe for patients with shell shock or "loss of mental balance". Along with King's College Hospital on Denmark Hill, it became one of the principal reception centres for those sent home from the front in France.

The Domain of Crime

The façade of the prison was sombrely impressive, a fortress. It had a huge main gate like the gate of a medieval castle . . .

The domain of crime was the prison which, with its ancillary buildings, was as big as a village, whole streets of warders' houses and big houses with gardens for the Governor, chaplain, doctor. There was a cordon sanitaire of open ground around it, leased off to bowls and tennis clubs.

Opposite our house was a rough field with a footpath leading away into the prison hinterland whence sallied forth at times a hooligan family of red-haired boys, warders' children to terrorise clean little prep schoolboys in their grey flannels. Neighbours tut-tutted about these boys, who seemed ripe for imprisonment themselves . . .

On winter mornings before it was light on the day of an execution there would be a clippety-shuffle noise on the pavements outside our house. It was the sound of the leather-shod or hobnailed booted people from the bottom of the hill coming up to watch outside the prison in time for the execution at eight o'clock . . . .

When notice of the hanging was posted . . . a communal collective exhalation would go up from the crowd . . . I thought of this enormous sigh as the last breath of the hanged murderer, all the breath that had ever been in his lungs going out into the world without him.

Stephen:

Wandsworth prison opened in 1851 as the Surrey House of Correction.

It was initially designed to hold 1,000 prisoners, with four wings accommodating men and a separate building which housed women up until the late 1800s.

This view shows the approach from Trinity Road along the now lime tree-lined Heathfield Avenue.

The prison was run by the County of Surrey until it was nationalised in 1878, at which point it became the' hanging prison' for south London. A total of 135 executions took place at Wandsworth prison until capital punishment was finally abolished in 1969.

This is a picture of Kate Webster's execution, the only woman ever to be hanged at Wandsworth, in 1879:

The prison retained a working gallows, tested every six months, until it was finally dismantled in 1993.

During the First World War, the wing that used to make up the women's prison held conscientious objectors (shown here) but also absconding squaddies from the British, Canadian, Australian and New Zealand armies; upwards of 200 Irish Republicans following the Easter Rising in 1916 and spies.

The only spy actually to be hanged at Wandsworth during the first World War was this man, Robert Rosenthal:

Eleven other men convicted of spying were initially held at Wandsworth until they were transferred to the Tower of London and shot by firing squad.

The Domain of Wounds

The walking wounded from the military hospital wore bright blue jackets and trousers of a hairy flannel that was not pressed or tailored like a uniform. It had a cosy look about it, more like a bed jacket. Their shirts were white and their ties were bright red. They were hatless.

They humped about on crutches or on two sticks. They wore an arm in a sling or were minus a leg or bandaged round the head. Some showed no visible signs of injury. On fine days they lurched and hirpled about the Common. Most of the benches would have tw o or three wounded soldiers in their hospital blue, resting, when the sun was shining.

When they looked up as I scudded past them on my scooter, they did not look sad. They smoked cigarettes and seemed contented enough. But these were the ones who were not going to die.

Stephen:

The "military hospital" was the 3rd London General Hospital, housed in the Royal Victoria Patriotic School. The school had been built after the Crimean War to educate orphaned daughters of servicemen. It needed considerable alteration in order to be suitable for its new function but by the time the first patients arrived in September 1914 it was up and running as a hospital of 200 beds.

There was soon a need for more accommodation and hutted wards were built in the grounds. This area became known as "Bungalow Town" and by 1917 housed 1,600 patients. You can see it spreading over what we now know as the cricket field, next to the Skylark café.

Patients usually arrived by train. Initially they were picked up at Clapham Junction station but later at a special temporary station, here at the bottom of the picture.

Over the course of the war more than 62,000 patients were treated at the hospital.

The Domain of Death

Down this road on winter afternoons came the military funerals . . . These were the funerals of the soldiers who had died of wounds in the military hospital up the road . . . They went at a measured pace, the hooves of the horses . . . clopping soberly by. Behind the pairs of horses came the gun carriage with its coffin draped with the Union Jack. There were mounted soldiers, khaki-clad, useful-looking riders without ceremonial trappings . . .

The procession would go by, down the hill into the wintry afternoon with its faint foggy smell that gripped your throat if you were out in it. It was the smell of coal fires and winter. The sky, when the cortege had gone out of sight, would be smoky grey with red streaks over the low-lying ground beyond the cemetery.

Those afternoons were very quiet. I would wait.

Then faintly the bugle would sound, final and sad, the lamenting never-coming-back notes of the Last Post.

It seemed to me a dark, smoky, red slash of sound against the quiet grey of the London winter evening coming down.

Stephen:

Wandsworth cemetery, which lay only a few yards from Betts's home, had been opened in 1878.

There are 475 servicemen of the First World War buried in the cemetery from all over the Empire. There are South Africans, Australians, New Zealanders, one member of the Indian Army, and a number of Canadians.

A particularly moving group of graves is that containing soldiers and one nurse from Newfoundland.

All so very far from home.

At the beginning of the war, when I was small, there had been several young subalterns who had come to the house to say goodbye to my mother before they went away to fight . . . One had a sword. You could see he was happy. You could see he loved having a sword to wear. Just for a moment you could see he was not quite a man yet, only a big boy like the scouts who sometimes made dens of branches in the field.

At the end of the war, suddenly, I remembered him, half a lifetime away. I asked my mother:' That soldier who came to say goodbye at the beginning of the war, what happened to him? He had a sword.

'' That must have been Colin Cowper. What a good-looking boy he was! . . . He was killed in the autumn of 1914. He was only twenty.

I saw the sword drawn in his hand, saw him hit and saw him fall, saw the bright sword fall from his hand, point down into the mud, and be lost like a spoon in a jar of jam. There it had fallen and there it lay still, rusted, the bright sword.

This was a time of sadness and weariness among the grown-ups.

After four years of a heart breaking war there was scarcely a family not touched by loss. Three younger cousins of my father' s, brothers, had all been killed.

In neighbours' houses there were so many photographs of dead young soldiers looking out from silver frames. I used to look and look at the eyes of these soldiers, wondering what they had seen . . .

As for those at home, life had gone grey for them, Everybody was tired and few were well nourished.

When the great influenza epidemic struck, its victims offered little resistance. Those who died were often in the prime of life. Those who survived suffered from terrible depression.

I lay in bed one early morning and considered my situation. All around were gloomy grown-ups, always grumbling about something. They seemed abstracted and anxious if not actively disagreeable . . .

I found I was humming under my breath. The humming came up louder.

Click on the score to hear the music.

It was Sleepers Awake, splendid and heartening.

I hummed louder — I had no idea of the words — only the invigorating notes sang out, full of hope and courage. From his bedroom my father shouted at me for God's sake shut up. I shut up, but only slightly.

I still sang under my breath and felt suddenly wonderfully cheerful. Things were not so bad, really . . . .

Life was not so bad if one did not take it too seriously. One could hand it out as well as take it.

Sleepers Awake!

Stephen:

This resilient and spirited attitude towards life and her determination not to "take it too seriously" stood Betts in good stead in future years . . .

At this point, let's take a break.

Sue:

We thought our quest for P.Y. Betts was complete. But it led us to wonder what had happened to Christopher Hawtree. How had he come to meet Betts? How had he persuaded her to write a book? What had happened to her?

And so another quest began . . .

Chronicles

August 2025

Part Two

What Lies Beneath?

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In last month's Chronicles (July 2025) I mentioned how Thomas Hardy became acquainted with the great Victorian natural scientist Thomas Henry Huxley at glorious garden parties at Knapdale, not far from Wandsworth Common at today's Tooting Bec.

Thomas Henry Huxley: "A great Med'cine-Man among the Inqui-ring Redskins" by "Ape", Vanity Fair (28 January 1871).

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Huxley is often referred to as "Darwin's Bulldog" for his robust defence of the theory of evolution by natural selection, then under seige. Huxley's reputation was chiefly made by his apparent* trouncing in a debate debate at Oxford in 1860 of Battersea-born ("Soapy Sam") Wilberforce (1805-1873), Bishop of Oxford and son of the anti-slave-trade MP William Wilberforce.

Widely known as "Soapy Sam" (thanks to what Disraeli memorably called his "unctuous, oleaginous, saponaceous" manner), Wilberforce was born "between the Commons" in Broomfield House (renamed Broomwood House, hence Broomwood Road).

[* I say "apparent" because the reality is rather different. At the time, both sides were able to claim victory. Wilberforce was a much more intellectually capable opponent than posterity generally admits. If you want to know more, email me and I'll send some good references.]

Battersea-born Samuel ("Soapy Sam") Wilberforce (1805-1873), son of the anti-slave-trade MP William Wilberforce. By Ape, Vanity Fair, 24 July 1869.

Some time ago, I discussed the possibility that Samuel had participated as a boy in Beatings of the Battersea Bounds. Here's a map of the 5 Houses on Bolingbroke Grove — and nearby Broomfield House, where Wilberforce was born:

The "Five Houses" and Broomfield (later renamed Broomwood) House shown as an inset on H.N. Batten's A Plan of Clapham with the Common & its Environs (1827).

Across the bottom, "Wandsworth or Battersea Common". Bolingbroke Grove (unnamed) runs parallel to a small river, the Falcon Brook, with bridges at either end across Battersea Rise and Nightingale Lane. I am indebted to historian of Clapham Mike Tuffrey for sending me photographs of sections of this map from which I patched together a composite — thanks, Mike!

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And now back to Thomas Henry Huxley . . .

A couple of years before the Hardys arrived on Trinity Road, Alexander Macmillan published Huxley's pioneering work of popular education, Physiography: An Introduction to the Study of Nature.

Like many of his most brilliant contemporaries (such as the mathematician-engineer Henry Moseley, and our local hero John Buckmaster), Huxley was devoted to improving educational opportunities for the working and lower middle classes, not just the elites of the day.

I don't know whether Thomas Hardy knew and read Huxley's book, let alone was influenced by it, but it seems to me that it resonates with Hardy's own outlook: the awesome powers of Nature acting not just at the macro-level — planetary, continental or national — but also at the everyday and seemingly insignificant levels. In short, that the general and universal is best understood through the individual and the local.

In place of Hardy's Wessex microscosm, Huxley's focus is on the Thames Valley. (Huxley was born not far away in Ealing, West London.)

It was necessary to illustrate my method by a concrete case; and, as a Londoner addressing Londoners, I selected the Thames, and its basin, for my text . . .

In very broad, but, I hope, accurate, outlines, a view of the "place in nature" of a particular district of England, the basin of the Thames; and to leave upon their minds the impression that the muddy waters of our metropolitan river; the hills between which it flows; the breezes which blow over it; are not isolated phenomena, to be taken as understood because they are familiar . . .

He follows this with a sentence that is dangerously long but worth unpicking:

On the contrary, I endeavoured to show that the application of the plainest and simplest processes of reasoning to any one of these phenomena, suffices to show, lying behind it, a cause, which again suggests another; until, step by step, the conviction dawns upon the learner that, to attain to even an elementary conception of what goes on in his parish, he must know something about the universe; that the pebble he kicks aside would not be what it is and where it is, unless a particular chapter of the earth's history, finished untold ages ago, had been exactly what it was.

In short, to learn about the Big Picture — the universe, ultimate causes, or long chapters of the earth's history — Huxley urges us to look up close at what is immediately at hand, that we can perceive directly: at what occurs in our parish, or in the existence of a pebble. I like that. It could act as the epigram for these Chronicles.

You will not be surprised to hear that Wandsworth Common and surrounds feature prominently in Physiography (at least in the first edition of 1877). Let's look at a few examples.

Here's one.

Huxley has drawn a section across the Wandle Valley, with Wimbledon Common in the west, Wandsworth Common in the centre, and Clapham Common in the east.

[I have added a caption locating the Falcon Brook, which now runs beneath Northcote Road and Falcon Road.]

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[Huxley, Physiography, p.280.]

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Here it is seen that the surface of Wimbledon Common is covered by a bed of gravel spread over the London clay. On descending from the summit of the common to the valley of the river Wandle, the gravel is seen to be abruptly cut off and succeeded by the underlying clay; but, on going up the opposite slope of the valley, the gravel again appears, at about the same level, and covers the surface of Wandsworth Common; and similarly the gravel will be found on the surface of Clapham Common.

[Huxley, Physiography, p.139]

To help you visualise this, I've drawn just such a line on an Ordnance Survey Geological Map from 1913. The yellow strip in the middle is the alluvium alongside the River Wandle, with the gravel mass of Wandsworth Common, tinted chestnut-brown , immediately to its east.

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In fact, Huxley has borrowed this cross-section (indeed much of his explanation of local geology and landforms) from the great Clapham-born geologist Joseph Prestwich (1812-1896).

Here's a page from Prestwich's marvellous The Ground Beneath Us, Its Geological Phases and Changes: Being Three Lectures On the Geology of Clapham and the Neighbourhood of London Generally (1854-1856).

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Joseph Prestwich's lectures were given to the Clapham Athenaeum, a club founded in 1841 as the "Clapham Literary and Scientific Society" to discuss "subjects of general interest among the young men resident in the neighbourhood".

[Did young women, such as Henrietta Wollaston, attend too? I don't know. Minutes of its "Proceedings" are held by the Lambeth Archives, so there may be an answer there. See National Archives.]

At this time, Prestwich was a wine merchant in the City, but such was his absorption, energy, and brilliance that he went on to become Professor of Geology at Oxford University.

Here he is in (much) later life:

Joseph Prestwich (1812-1896).

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[I had firmly intended to write something more about local-boy Joseph Prestwich, for example about about his young life in the area, which he records in an entertaining memoir — about his schooling, his walks along Lavender Hill, his time in a Wandsworth school, and his love of the Wandsworth Fair. But I became so absorbed in the research that I will have to delay saying anything more for another time. In the meanwhile, have a look at his Wikipedia entry .]

One the geological origins of Nappy Valley

Here's another example from Huxley's Physiography (p.137). It shows how the valley betwixt and between the Commons was formed by millennia of erosion by the mighty Falcon Brook:

Nappy Valley, Battersea. Tell a lie, his original caption actually says "Grand Canyon, Colorado". But Huxley's argument is that the principle is exactly the same. Both have been formed by the erosion of rocks by rivers.

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Going down . . .

Prestwich and Huxley also take us deep underground, using discoveries from the latest boreholes being dug around the capital. These were being dug not for scientific reasons, but because of the need to provide water to the houses and new institutions (such as Wandsworth Prison) being built in the area. Thanks to his geological prowess, Prestwich became the leading authority on water-bearing strata in the London area.

Here is Prestwich's remarkable cross-section of the ground beneath Holy Trinity Church, on Clapham Common:

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Big beasts . . .

Before we leave Huxley for a while, I just can't resist showing his illustration of the mammoth. Cuddly, isn't it.

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Again, it's an image borrowed and adapted from Prestwich.

Prestwich, Three Lectures, p.32.

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These reminded me of the first-ever image I used in the first-ever talk I gave about Wandsworth Common, by Zoom:

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And here's another impression of who you mght have bumped into when you were walking your dog over the Common in winter:

Woolly-mammoth (Mammuthus-primigenius). Illustration by Mauricio Anton.

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I wasn't being entirely serious. But then I suspect neither was the author of this piece in the local Guardian in 2013, which starts "Some of the world's leading mammoth experts are flocking to Wandsworth after construction workers digging the controversial Thames Tunnel unearthed prehistoric teeth, bones and tusks."

"Flocking to Wandsworth"? Really? Why?

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The ground-breaking discovery, thought to be from a woolly mammoth, was made this morning when diving teams began work under the Thames near Putney Bridge.

It has long been known that herds of the huge animals roamed the area that is now London and would have congregated on the banks of the river to drink . . .

[Your Local Guardian: Ancient mammoth tooth found under Thames at Putney Bridge.

So the world's leading mammoth experts were "flocking to Wandsworth" to see the "ground-breaking" (ho-ho) find. Really? Why?

The paper goes on to suggest that any DNA that could be extracted and used to re-create a mammoth.

Scientists believe it may be possible to clone one of the creatures within five years after finding "well-preserved" bone marrow from a thigh bone.

Yes, but this was a tooth, not a bone. Ah, but have a look at the date. Is it a spoof? I still don't know.

I tried digging into blogs of the period:

On 6/9/2013 mudlark76 wrote:

Yes . . . there was a lot of confusion at the time about whether this was or was not an April Fool's story — not helped by the fact that the local newspaper embellished the story with the usual rubbish about DNA and cloning.

Some reports mentioned other bones and tusks. Some didn't. All very unhelpful and I'm still not 10% sure — although the find wasn't reported in the NHM bulletins as far as I know (or at least not yet).

If it was an April Fool's joke it was an ill-advised choice of topic given that mammoth fossils including teeth have been reported from the London gravels (albeit rarely) in the past. For your find, my money would still be on Palaeoloxodon rather than Mammuthus taking frequency of finds into consideration.

[The Fossil Forum: Link.]

I'm not qualified to judge. I must ask Pamela Greenwood, our local expert on all things archaeological and palaeontological. Any thoughts, anyone?

22 August 2025: Mike Tuffrey responded:

As for the April Fool or not — great fun. Professor April Yumorina is a good one. WikiCommons says "Yumorina, Ukrainian: Гуморина is an annual festival of humor held in Odessa, Ukraine on and around the April Fools' Day since 1973."

PB: Wow, quite an elaborate hoax for a local newspaper, then — but that does seem to settle the question!

But there definitely have been mammoth finds in our area.

Here's a prime specimen of "An English Woolly Mammoth Tooth" found in the Wandsworth area in 1886, at auction at Christie's in 2016:

Christie's, 19 October 2016.

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I've tried to enlarge the label. Can you read the text? Let me know if you can improve upon my transcription:

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Molar tooth of the Mammoth
or recently extinct Giant Elephant
(Elephas primigenius) once living
in South Britain especially the
Thames Valley in time of Early Man.

This tooth weighing 9lbs in dry state
was found Decr 1886 in the bed of
the Thames near Wandsworth Brew
ery about 16 ft down Between the
shore line and [illeg. — low water mark?]

This tooth belongs to [Wintour F. Gurney?] F.G.S. [Fellow of the Geological Society]
of Chiswick W. [?] 1917.

Another memorable mammoth . . .

There used to be a mammoth tooth on show in the Wandsworth Museum, which many of you will remember:

"Woolly Mammoth Tooth
Mammuthus primigenius [sic?]
Wandsworth area
15,000BCE

This adult Mammoth tooth was found in Wandsworth. Mammoths were common visitors to the region in the Ice Age.

Loan courtesy of the Museum of London.

[Specimen no. illegible.]

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But again, we have to ask exactly where in the "Wandsworth area"?

The "Museum of London" (or at least the part once housed in the Barbican) has been closed for several years, which I greatly regret. But it's due to re-open next year as the London Museum at the former Smithfield Meat Market.

So far as the former Wandsworth Museum is concerned, I know lots of people are working extremely hard to catalogue and photograph all the items (of which there are more than 25,000). Eventually there will be a website. This alone will be immensely valuable. But with effort, money and luck there will also one day be a super new Wandsworth Museum that everyone can visit.

Map of the Month:

Ordnance Survey, Geological, (1: 10,560, 6 inches to the mile), 1913.

For understandable reasons, this month's map is geology-related and dates from the early 20th century. As we shall see, modern maps are very little different, though some (but not all) of the terms used to describe geological deposits and layers have changed. Here's London as a whole:

[London nVIII.SE (6 inches to the mile). OS revised: 1913, Geological Survey surveyed: 1912, Published: 1936. NLS: Link.]

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Here is Battersea and Wandsworth east of the Wandle:

Click on the image to see the map in more detail.

And here is Wandsworth Common . . .

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The colours indicate various surface deposits (sometimes called "Drift"). Notice how Wandsworth and Clapham Commons are similarly coloured (mainly chestnut-brown), as are parts of Islington in North London (and even larger areas in Essex). This is because they share a similar kind of gravel (which at this time was referred to as "Boyn Hill Gravel", after a suburb of Maidenhead where its particular mix of ingredients was first recognised).

The map distinguishes a number of different gravels (on which more below), plus clay, alluvium, and silt (sometimes called "brickearth"). Notice how clearly London's rivers stand out. These are associated with (yellow-tinted) alluvium — typically fertile deposits of clay, silt, fine gravel and sand carried down by running water and distributed over the adjacent land.

Key

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Henry Mayhew visits the Surrey House of Correction . . .

Henry Mayhew

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At some time in the middle of the 1850s, Henry Mayhew undertook a remarkable rail journey from central London to Wandsworth Prison which (given the many changes he perceived as he travels through city, suburban and rural landscapes), he likened to "the ascent of a mountain in the tropics, and gradual passage through the several atmospheric layers of different climates". (I assume in this he's following Alexander von Humboldt's 1807 discoveries about the vertical zonation of plants.)

Image source

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[This] reveals, as we rise above the plains, the mountain sides prismatically belted, as it were, with the rainbow hues of various zones of fruits and flowers — the same as if we had passed along rather than above the surface of the globe — from the brilliant and glowing tints of vegetable nature at the tropics, to the sombre shades of the hardier plants and trees peculiar to the colder regions, even till we ultimately reach, at the peak, the colourless desolation of the poles themselves.

But this journeying upwards through the various botanical strata, as it were, of the earth is hardly more peculiar and marked than is the rapid transition now-a-days, while travelling on some London railway, from town to the country; for as we fly along the house-tops through the various suburban zones encircling the giant Metropolis, we can see the bricken city gradually melt away into the green fields, and the streets glide, like solid rivers, into the roads, and cabs and busses merge into wagons and ploughs, while factories give place to market-gardens, and parks and squares fade gradually into woods and corn-fields.

Perhaps this change, from civic to rustic scenery — this dissolving view, as it were, of the capital melting into the country, is nowhere better seen than in a half-hour's trip along the Southampton rail [to the prison at Wandsworth Common].

I'll discuss his odyssey in more detail another time, but for now I'd like to note one his findings in the prison itself, the well. In this case, of course, the strata are deep below ground, rather than elevated high above it.

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The Pump Room at the Surrey House of Correction

(Not to be confused with the Pump Room at Bath.)

Notice in the top right quadrant of this contemporary engraving a small rectangular building standing alone near neat vegetable plots. This stands on top of the prison well, and houses the pumps.

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The pump-room at Wandsworth Prison. (The Criminal Prisons of London and Scenes of Prison Life, by Henry Mayhew and John Binny (1862), p.405.)

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The prison, as Mayhew and his co-author John Binny note, is:

supplied by water drawn from an artesian well, 480 feet deep, immediately beneath the pump-house . . . The pump-house is an oblong building about 54 feet long and 32 feet broad. The machinery runs along the centre of the building.

There are twelve stalls on each side, each of them furnished with a handle connected with the central machinery, which, when set in motion, conveys the water into cisterns on the roof of the prison.

The prisoners are employed on these machines an hour at a time, and during that period rest three times for five minutes, so that they are kept working forty-five minutes . . . The number of revolutions performed at the pumps the day before our visit was 4703, which is about the average number."

[London Museum: Link.]

Incidentally, this is not to be confused with "crank labour" in Wandsworth's initially individual cells, which was designed to be effortful but utterly pointless; in short, to break the spirit. It did not supply water to the (then innovative) flushing lavatories in each cell — see one in the right hand corner.

There is a debate whether the lavatories were deliberately removed to create the space for "doubling up" — two prisoners to be housed in each cell. Possibly, but in any case the lavatories didn't work.

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Let's look more closely at the prison as shown on our geological map, which shows a deep well within the prison walls:

Here's how Mayhew describes this well in an article on his visit to the prison (probably in the mid-1850s). The prison, he writes, is:

"supplied by water drawn from an artesian well, 480 feet deep, immediately beneath the pump-house . . . The pump-house is an oblong building about 54 feet long and 32 feet broad. The machinery runs along the centre of the building.

There are twelve stalls on each side, each of them furnished with a handle connected with the central machinery, which, when set in motion, conveys the water into cisterns on the roof of the prison.

The prisoners are employed on these machines an hour at a time, and during that period rest three times for five minutes, so that they are kept working forty-five minutes . . . The number of revolutions performed at the pumps the day before our visit was 4703, which is about the average number."

[London Museum: Link.]

In 1849, when the builders of the Surrey House of Correction dug down nearly 500 feet (150 metres) down to find a reliable source of water, what did they find ?

Prison well

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Which means:

— ⊙ (circle with dot in the middle): Borehole.

— W: Water.

— (L.M. 233.): London Memoir, The Geology of London, vol II, 1889, p.233.

— L+ 75 ½: Height in feet of the top surface of London Clay above Ordnance Datum (i.e. mean sea level at Newlyn, Cornwall).

— C- 257: Depth in feet of Chalk (surface) below Ordnance Datum.

Thickness of strata in feet:

— MADE: 1½ ft [an “artificial” surface made by humans from e.g. imported soil, spoil from digging, broken bricks and refuse].

— GVL: gravel = 23 ft.

— LC: London Clay = 247½ ft.

— WRB: Woolwich & Reading Beds = 48 ft.

— TS: Thanet Sand = 37 ft.

— CK: Chalk = 126½ ft. [does this mean the layer of chalk is only 126½ feet here — if so, what lies beneath? The key says “Chalk up to 231 feet”.

Here's a similar listing of the strata, downloaded from the BGS site. Notice the well ceased to be used in 1911.

Are there any any signs of it today? I must ask historian of Wandsworth Prison Stewart McLaughlin.

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Finally, here's an up-to-date map . . .

For simplicity, I've labelled the different deposits. I won't go into any detail about the different surface deposits today, but the main point is that our local Commons — Wandsworth, Clapham, Tooting, Wimbledon — are as they are because all are topped by a cap of infertile gravel. It is this that made them Commons or uncultivated "wastes" in the first place (perhaps 1000 or more years ago) and kept them that way until the present.

SW-London-Geology-Viewer-BGS-tweaked-head-1920px-min.jpg SW-London-Geology-Viewer-BGS-tweaked-head-1024px-min.jpg

Our area as seen on the British Geological Survey's wonderful "Geology Viewer". Great fun to explore.

Modern names for rocks are sometimes different from those used in the 1913 map above. Gravels vary in their age, height above sea level, and their particular makeup. They differ, for example, in the average size, roundness or angularity of the small stones they're made up of. They take their name from "classic" sites in the Thames Valley where the particular mix was first described.

Unlike solid bedrock strata, on hills (such as Wandsworth, Clapham, or Wimbledon Commons) the oldest gravel layers are usually at the top of the pile. (Don't ask me why — at least not yet.)

Surface features
Layer after layer of sediments were laid down over our area, and cut into chiefly by rivers and streams.

The very top layer, where present, is often called Artificial ground, Made-ground, or just Made — i.e. "human-made".

Much of this is deposits of soil or landfill debris spread on the natural surface. On the Common, this can be up to about half a metre deep, but is usually shallower (or even absent). I often wonder when and how soil was added all over the Common. Where did it all come from?

Layers of Gravel can be up to 10 metres thick, but usually five metres or less. Huge amounts were stripped away in the nineteenth century, chiefly for making roads and buildings. The ponds on Wandsworth Common were once gravel pits.

There are several different sand/gravel layers in our area, laid down from more than 300 thousand years ago to the end of the last Ice Age about 11,700 years ago. The main ones in our area are:

Gravel 1 — Lynch Hill Gravel — the oldest.

Gravel 2 — Hackney Gravel.

Gravel 3 — Taplow Gravel.

Gravel 4 — Kempton Park Gravel — the youngest.

Head — a mixture mainly of sticky clay with silt, sand and gravel all jumbled together by the downward movement of material from higher layers.

Silt (sometimes called "Brickearth") — Langley Silt — clay and silt.

Alluvium — clay, silt, sand and gravel — formed since the end of last Ice Age.

Beneath all these deposited materials are the much older "Bedrocks".

These are London Clay, a layer of clay and silt up to 150 metres thick that formed around 50 million years ago.
Below that, 30 metres of Woolwich, Reading and Thanet Beds of very mixed materials, including shells, vegetable remains, clay, pebbles, sand, and flints.

And beneath all of the above lies Chalk, up to 200 metres thick, formed between 100 million and 61 million years ago. Over millennia huge volumes of water have percolated down Into this permeable layer that can be tapped by "artesian wells" such as the one beneath Wandsworth Prison.

Chalk often contains layers of Flints. There are no outcrops of chalk in our area, but most of the pebbles and gravels across our Common were once flint, pushed around, broken up, and smoothed by glaciers and flowing water.

There's loads more stuff below the Chalk too, but we've got to stop somewhere.

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Boreholes on the Common

Perhaps, sometime in the future, we can look at other boreholes on and around the Common — most having been undertaken for the construction of wells, sewers, foundations of buildings, high-tension electricity cables, and even the possibility of running a train beneath our feet.

London boreholes as depicted on the BGS website.

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There's a lot more to be said about the fascination of local geology and topography, for example the sculpting of the landforms that underlie our Common and roads, and the durable perception (and reality) that this represents is a "healthy" area. But not now.

Water-Gravel-Siren-Music

A few years ago, I made a 90-second video of water running over gravel on the side of the Avenue path near Bellevue Road:

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Digging deeper

THis list is a bit of a rag-bag at the moment, but I wanted to record some of the resources I'd come across in researching this month's Chronicles.

I'll almost certainly carry on trying to make sense of our local geology. And you may fancy doing the same.

— Learn more (much more) on the British Geology Society (BGS) website.

— Explore the BGS "Geology Viewer".

— BGS Borehole online map and records (GeoIndex Onshore).

— I expect D.R. Bridgland, Quaternary of the Thames (1994) is the bible of local geology. Thorough but very technical.

— Very good (easier, though still often beyond me), is R.A. Ellison et al, Geology of London. Memoir of the British Geological Survey, Sheets 256 (North London), 257 (Romford), 270 (South London) and 271 (Dartford). British Geological Survey. Online here.

— The Geology of London, compiled by Diana Clements. Geologists' Association Guide No. 68. Includes itineraries. I've only seen the introduction in an old edition, but even that was useful. There was a 2nd edition in 2024.

H Barron et al, London’s foundations: protecting the geodiversity of the capital , London, UK, Greater London Authority (pdf).

Over time, I'll add to this list. Let me know if you come across anything you find useful.

Do you know a knowledgeable geologist with an interest in the Thames Valley who could help with my questions on the geology of Wandsworth Common? Do let me know. I'd really appreciate speaking to someone who actually knows what they're talking about.

Chronicles

August 2025

Part One

I had intended to write about rather different topics this month, but things changed suddenly when one of my favourite trees on the Common shed some of its massive branches:

Friends of Wandsworth Common, 22 July 2025:

Very sadly we must report that the ‘boundary oak’ — one of the oldest trees on the Common, marking the boundary of Battersea and Wandsworth parishes — lost a major bough overnight. The area has been cordoned off while tree officers assess the situation.

(Photos: Stephen Midlane)

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Tree experts agree it was at least 250 years old and perhaps as old as 400 (perhaps we’ll now find out). It’s an old favourite of many visitors to the Common and has pride of place on the cover of our Tree Trail. It is also a focus of the annual ‘beating the bounds’ event organised jointly with the Battersea Society.

A lot of the tree remains and we are hoping it will be safe to leave what’s left to continue growing and supporting the biodiversity in that part of the Common.

The Boundary Oak, 22 July 2025. (Photo: Philip Boys)

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Happier times . . .

May, 2018. (Photo: Lewis More O'Ferrall)

November, 2019. (Photo: Lewis More O'Ferrall)

January 2021. (Photo: Lewis More O'Ferrall)

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The Boundary Oak is sometimes called the Elephant Tree, for obvious reasons.

(Photo: Lewis More O'Ferrall)

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(Photo: Stephen Midlane)

Can you spot the Boundary Oak?

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The boundary . . .

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I'd known (and wondered about) this remarkable tree for a long time, but it wasn't until Stephen Midlane pointed out its position on the boundary between Battersea and Wandsworth parishes that I realised its significance. True, we haven't come across any further visual or written evidence, but it makes perfect sense.

[We know of other instances in the area of oaks being deliberately planted on the Common for just this reason, but I can't lay my hands on a better source than my memory at the moment. As soon as I do, I'll add it.]

In the late-19th century, an extraordinary number of boundary posts were erected every few yards to emphasise the parish/borough boundary between Battersea and Wandsworth. (This may seem odd, given how good mapping was by this time.) Previously, boundaries were recognised largely by natural features — streams, for example, or unusually shaped trees.

The Boundary Tree on the boundary between Battersea and Wandsworth, shown on an OS map of 1893. A surprising number of metal boundary posts (circled in purple) are shown. Most have now disappeared .

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The Boundary Oak stands roughly half-way between two (later) posts or markers:

Boundary Tree seen from the post on the Avenue. (Photo: Tim Wren, 2024)

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The same post seen from the reverse angle. Maggie (my wife), Theo and Marlowe (grandchildren) hunting for boundary posts, 31 July 2019.

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Looking the other way, there is a very unusual pair of boundary markers, near the corner of the Toast Rack salient:

Very unusual paired boundary markers separating Wandsworth (1894) and Battersea, c.1910. (Photos: Philip Boys)

Postcard by Dorrett & Martin, whose studio was nearby on Bellevue. I think the Boundary Oak is just about visible in the distance, on the left. (Ron Elam Collection.)

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You can just about see these boundary posts in the distance on the extreme left.

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Our Boundary Oak must have been well-known to generations of beaters of the local bounds. I wish there were more (and more detailed) records of these perambulations, both by Battersea and Wandsworth parishioners.

A few years ago, I transcribed and annotated a wonderful account from 1862. Also a collection of photographs of boundary posts. Looking back at them again, I see I'd left them in a bit of a mess. which I'll try to tidy up. Let me know if you'd be interested.

The Boundary Oak, a.k.a. the "Elephant Tree". Just to the right of the trunk, the boundary post on the Avenue. In the distance, Bellevue Road. (Photo: Lewis More O'Ferrall)

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Beneath the Boundary Oak: me (in heroic pose) addressing exhausted Battersea-boundary-beaters about the history of their route, May 2024. (Photo Tim Wren)

Stephen Midlane, doing likewise, May 2025.

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"Would you know how oak-trees grow . . . "

Cicely Mary Barker, The Acorn Fairy (from The Fairies of the Autumn (1925))

To English folk the mighty oak
Is England’s noblest tree;
Its hard-grained wood is strong and good
As English hearts can be.
And would you know how oak-trees grow,
The secret may be told:
You do but need to plant for seed
One acorn in the mould;
For even so, long years ago,
Were born the oaks of old.

And then . . .

After just a couple of days, the tree people came to assess the damage properly and make the Boundary Oak safer. The ambition, I hear, is to keep as much of the fallen wood as possible, and to carpet an area around the trunk with mulch as a way of keeping the tree better protected from drying out. The outer edge of the mulch matches the canopy — a good guide to the reach of the roots. I think they've done a wonderful job.

Reports suggest that what may explain the shedding is the sudden heavy rainfall that occurred a few days earlier. Coming after a severe extended drought, the boughs took up too much water and broke sunder the strain of the extra load.

(Photo: PB.)

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Do you have special memories or favourite photographs of the Boundary Tree? Please send them to me — I'll add them to a commemorative page I'm putting together.

Chronicles

July 2025

Part Two

Is this the sort of "Harmoniflute" that so agitated Thomas Hardy?

Thomas Hardy chases an organ-grinder down Brodrick Road . . .

I tell this month's story as much for what it says about the soundscape of our streets as the intrinsic fascination of the incident itself. It involves Thomas and his first wife, Emma Hardy (nee Gifford), who lived for three years (1878—1881) on the corner of Trinity Road and Brodrick Road.

In the summer of their first year here, Emma Hardy looks out of the back window and sees Thomas running down Brodrick Road. She is perplexed, perhaps largely because he has fled the house without his hat.

Brodrick Road, off Trinity Road, the presumed route that (a hatless) Thomas Hardy sprinted down. The Hardys' house is now numbered 172 but at the time was usually referred to as 1 Arundel Terrace, or (rather unconvincingly) "The Larches".

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Thomas Hardy, by Herbert Rose Barraud, 1889 (an older Hardy, since it was taken about a decade after the Hardys arrived). There are copies on Wikimedia and the NPG.

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Here's how Hardy's second wife, Florence Emily Hardy (nee Dugdale) described the event her Life of Thomas Hardy (published by Macmillan, 1928-1930):

Mrs Hardy used to relate that during this summer, she could not tell exactly when, she looked out of a window at the back of the house, and saw her husband running without a hat down Brodrick Road, and disappearing round a corner into a by-street.

Before she had done wondering what could have happened, he returned, and all was explained.

While sitting in his writing-room he had heard a street barrel-organ of the kind that used to be called a 'harmoniflute', playing somewhere near at hand the very quadrille over which the jaunty young man who had reached the end of his time at Hicks's had spread such a bewitching halo more than twenty years earlier by describing the glories of dancing round to its beats on the Cremorne platform or at the Argyle Rooms, and which Hardy had never been able to identify.

He had thrown down his pen, and, as she had beheld, flown out and approached the organ-grinder with such speed that the latter, looking frightened, began to shuffle off. Hardy called out, 'What's the name of that tune?'

The grinder — a young foreigner, who could not speak English — exclaimed trembling as he stopped, 'Quad-ree-ya! quad-ree-ya!' and pointed to the index in front of the instrument.

Hardy looked: 'Quadrille' was the only word there. He had til then never heard it since his smart senior had whistled it; he never heard it again, and never ascertained its name.

It was possibly one of Jullien's — then gone out of vogue — set off rather by the youthful imagination of Hardy at sixteen than by any virtue in the music itself.

["down Brodrick Road, and disappearing round a corner into a by-street" — this must have been St James's Road (now Drive).

Quadrille — music to accompany a square dance, often based on popular tunes, operatic melodies etc.

There are some Jullien Quadrilles on YouTube.

Cremorne — presumably the Cremorne Gardens, just across Battersea bridge at Chelsea?.

Argyle Rooms — presumably those near Regent Street.]

The authorship of The Life of Thomas Hardy is complicated. Initially, it was published by Macmillan (on whom more below) over the name of Hardy's second wife, Florence Dugdale. At this time (1928-1930) it was presented as having been compiled by her, after Hardy's death, "largely from contemporary notes, letters, diaries and biographical memoranda as well as from oral information in conversation."

However, it later became apparent that Hardy himself had engaged in a literary deception — that it was he who had written The Life as his own autobiography, intending it to be as it were a posthumous "official biography" to be passed off by Florence as her own. As a result, later editions have generally been credited to them both.

To add to the confusion, more recently some scholars (notably Michael Millgate) have argued that Florence had in any case rewritten Thomas's work (in defiance of his wishes). However, all was not lost:

Through careful examination of pre-publication texts, Michael Millgate has retrieved the text as it stood at the time of Hardy's final revision. For the first time The Life and Work of Thomas Hardy can be read as a true work of autobiography — an addition to the Hardy canon. [Publisher's blurb, 1984.]

Whether this greatly affects the chapters on the Hardys' life on and around Wandsworth Common, I don't know. But I have just ordered Millgate's book, so we shall see.

What is a "Harmoniflute?"

This is a puzzle. Most references to "harmoniflutes" claim they are rough equivalents to harmonicas (mouth organs), or accordions. But this is a barrel-organ, and its young player is described as a "grinder", i.e. he turned a handle. Perhaps it looked something like this:

Expertises: Harmoniflute Barrel Organ.

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The Hardys visit "Knapdale", home of the publisher Alexander Macmillan

July 8 or 9
With E. [Emma] to Mrs Macmillan's garden-party at Knapdale, near our house. A great many present.

Here's another July entry in the Hardy diary, in which Thomas and Emma attend a garden party at "Knapdale", ten minutes away down Trinity Road in the direction of Tooting Common. This had been the residence since 1863 of the publisher Alexander Macmillan.

Knapdale: previously called "The Elms", but renamed in the 1870s after the Macmillans' ancestral home. ([It may also once have been called Broadwaters. See below.)

Knapdale, in relation to today's Tooting Bec junction.

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Macmillan had several years earlier turned down Hardy's first novel, The Poor Man and the Lady (1867-1868; unpublished, manuscript lost), but had been encouraging. Persistence paid off, and Macmillan eventually published several of Hardy's mature works, including The Woodlanders (1887), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891) and Jude the Obscure (1895), as well as collections of poetry.]

Absolutely everybody went to Alexander Macmillan's parties (which may explain why Thomas had moved to Trinity Road in the first place).

Alexander Macmillan

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Alexander Macmillan published, among many other soon-to-be-classics of children's literature, Thomas Hughes, Tom Brown's Schooldays (1857); Charles Kingsley's Water Babies (1863) and Westward Ho! (1855); Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland (1865) and Alice Through the Looking Glass (1871), and Rudyard Kipling, Kim (1894). [See also this Macmillan Timeline.]

The entry in The Life continues:

Talked to Mr White of Harvard University, and Mr Henry Holt the New York publisher, who said that American spelling and idiom must prevail over the English, as it was sixty millions against thirty. I forgot for the moment to say that it did not follow, the usage set up by a few people of rank, education, and fashion being the deciding factor.

Also to John Morley, whom I had not seen since he read my first manuscript. He remembered it, and said in his level uninterested voice: 'Well, since we met, you have . . . ' &c, &c.

Also met a Mrs H., who pretended to be an admirer of my books, and apparently had never read one. She had with her an American lady, sallow, with black dancing eyes, dangling earrings, yellow costume, and gay laugh.

It was at this garden-party at Mrs Macmillan's that the thunder-storm came on which Hardy made use of in a similar scene in A Laodicean.

[For the thunderstorm during the garden party at Knapdale as depicted in A Laodicean, see chapters 15 and 16.

Also during the party, the unnamed "American lady, sallow, with black dancing eyes, dangling earrings, yellow costume, and gay laugh" appears as "Miss Deverell — a sallow lady with black twinkling eyes, yellow costume and gay laugh".

The cover illustration of a 1970s' Macmillan edition of A Laodicean, which Hardy wrote during his time living on Trinity Road.

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I'd love to find a full-on Victoria book illustration showing the violence of the thunderstorm, but I can't. (I suspect the parasol in the recent Macmillan edition hints at the event.) This is the best I can do — a scene from the garden party inn which our hero and heroine have retired to a decorated and lit marquee, in which guests are dancing:

George du Maurier's (rather feeble) illustration for Harper's New Monthly Magazine (1880) showing the moment the hero (Somerset) and heroine (Paula) first touch hands. Illustration from Victorian Web

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The thunder-storm showed no symptoms of abatement, and the music and dancing went on more merrily than ever.

"We cannot go in," said Somerset. "And we cannot shout for umbrellas. We will stay till it is over, will we not?"

"Yes," she said, "if you care to. Ah!"

"What is it?"

"Only a big drop came upon my head."

"Let us stand further in."

Her hand was hanging by her side, and Somerset"s was close by.

He took it, and she did not draw it away. Thus they stood a long while, the rain hissing down upon the grass-plot, and not a soul being visible outside the dancing-tent save themselves.

"May I call you Paula?" asked he.

There was no answer.

"May I?" he repeated.

"Yes, occasionally," she murmured.

"Dear Paula! — may I call you that?"

"O no — not yet."

"But you know I love you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And shall I love you always?"

"If you wish to."

"And will you love me?"

Paula did not reply.

"Will you, Paula?" he repeated.

"You may love me."

"But don't you love me in return?"

"I love you to love me."

"Won't you say anything more explicit?"

"I would rather not."

By the time of Hardy's visits, the Macmillans were well-established in the area. Alexander had moved here in 1863 with his wife Caroline, his brother’s widow Fanny, and their combined family of eight children. His aim was to be "in the country" yet close enough to a railway station (Balham) to whisk him to his offices in Covent Garden. The house and location must have suited because Alexander at first took a lease but later in the decade bought The Elms/Knapdale outright and lived here for more than twenty years.

[One of Fanny's children living at Knapdale was Maurice Crawford Macmillan (1853-1936), father of British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan. So here we have another PM with a local connection, joining William Pitt the Younger, David Lloyd George, and Clement Attlee.

By the way, Hardy was a guest at Harold Macmillan's wedding to Lady Dorothy Cavendish, the daughter of the 9th Duke of Devonshire, on 21 April 1920. ]

There's a vivid description of Knapdale in Sarah Harkness's fine Advocating for the Ignorant blog. I hope she won't mind if I quote her at length, since it's such a good account. I have interspersed her text with photographs of Knapdale in the Wandsworth Heritage Library. Their date is uncertain but probably taken after the Macmillans had left, since when it had become festooned with ivy.

If Tooting was to become an attractive alternative to living in central London, it needed decent transport links. Not everyone could have their own carriage! In the 1850s an omnibus service connected Upper Tooting and London six times daily — the bus was drawn by four horses and came from Carshalton via Mitcham and Lower Tooting, calling at the Wheatsheaf Inn [at today's "Tooting Bec"]. In 1861 the population of Tooting was just over a thousand, but over the next ten years it grew by some 40 per cent.

The major impetus to settlement had come with the opening of Balham Station in 1856 — on the West End of London and Crystal Palace Railway. This line terminated at Victoria, and its utility was crucial in persuading the overworked and highly stressed Alexander Macmillan, whose publishing business was relocating from Cambridge to Bedford Street in London’s Covent Garden, to move his whole family south as well.

The Elms was a large and comfortable house in its own grounds, described by Alexander’s son George as "old-fashioned but commodious." It took the form of an H-shaped, substantial three-storey gentleman’s residence constructed in brown London brick with an "in and out" carriageway from the main road.

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The brick of the house covered what in the eighteenth century was a timbered black and white house, with mahogany doors added, and delicately carved Adam-style mantelpieces in the reception rooms and the large bedroom. The attics were large and roomy. On the ground floor, beside Alexander’s library, there was a good-sized entrance hall with a broad staircase, and dining and drawing rooms. The nursery and night nursery were on the first floor corner facing the street, and the daughters of the house, as they grew up, were given the next two front bedrooms.

Alexander and his wife slept at the back overlooking the garden, and there was a gallery that ran from their room to the top of the staircase, along which the children built toy villages and roads on wet days.

Alexander described it as "a nice quaint old house, with a very pleasant garden so retired and countrified and yet so accessible." Though it was in a London suburb, yet there were "gypsies and tea on the common when we first went there".

The move was a massive relief for the Macmillan family, not just for the simplification of Alexander’s business life, but in terms of the space it gave the children, who "tumbled about in the grass" all day long. He remarked that it was funny that they had moved to London to find themselves living in the countryside. "I never knew what the blessing of a country life was before."

The elm trees were a feature of the place; Macmillan wrote "I am getting to find them unendurable since they have given up the murderous habit of shying down big branches at people’s heads." There was also a mulberry tree, which Macmillan believed had been planted by the philosopher John Locke, on a visit to Lord King, his biographer, who had lived on the site. Unfortunately the tree blew down in 1886.

The house was highly convenient for Alexander, being only a fifteen-minute walk from Balham station and its trains to Victoria. It allowed Alexander to dispense family hospitality, home-cooked meals supervised and hosted by his wife and his sister-in-law, gardens to enjoy and the offer of a bed for the night.

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When Alexander had first opened London premises in Henrietta Street, he cultivated a circle of young and ambitious writers, painters, scientists and critics at Thursday evening gatherings of "talk and tipple" known as Tobacco Parliaments. Regular attendees included the Rossetti brothers, Thomas Hughes, Charles Kingsley, Thomas Huxley, FD Maurice and occasionally Alfred Lord Tennyson. These raucous evenings could now be replaced by open invitations to visit the publisher at his home.

Furthermore, his monthly periodical, Macmillan’s Magazine, was already showcasing female talent; now he had somewhere he could host these contributors for whom London drinking would not have been suitable. Mrs Craik, Mrs Oliphant and Miss Yonge were regularly invited. Christina Rossetti spent a night in June 1864. Jane Carlyle, wife of Thomas, stayed in Tooting on several occasions in June 1865 while her husband was travelling: she wrote that she had been entertained by Alexander singing Scotch songs, accompanied on the piano by the governess, but had been kept awake all night by the family dog under her window.

When she returned the following week the dog had been confined to the washhouse, and Alexander gave her a toddy of whisky to ensure she slept better. Alexander’s daughter Margaret recalled how Mrs Carlyle loved "the little attentions bestowed upon her by my mother, saying ‘Make of me, my dear, I love to be made of.’"

A great friend from Cambridge days, Alfred Ainger, wrote of Knapdale "In its large leisurely rooms, or in its spacious old world garden, there gathered together informally the men and women of note and the young promise of the day — authors, poets, painters, English and French, whether they came from Oxford or fresh from the ranks of the Impressionist Artists".

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The reputation of the Macmillan home as "the place to be invited if you wanted to get published" continued for many years: from 1878-1881 Thomas Hardy brought his wife Emma to live at No 1 Arundel Terrace, on Trinity Road in nearby Wandsworth in an attempt to get himself more noticed by literary London. Hardy visited Knapdale several times, where he met other writers including Matthew Arnold and Tennyson — he was at a garden party at Knapdale when a thunderstorm hit, and the guests had to take shelter, an incident he used in The Laodicean.

Margaret Macmillan wrote a memoir of her father’s life at this time:

"The family’s day started with prayers at eight o’clock, followed by breakfast and then ‘the departure for the station, bag in hand. A short cut to Balham station led across a field belonging to a neighbour, and my sister and I often stood and watched him at the garden gate. I can see him now, his broad figure of average height, the shoulders a little rounded, and a rather peculiar walk, the toes turned outwards. Always a leisurely walk, for he gave himself plenty of time to catch the train."

[Sarah Harkness: "A Little Corner of Victorian London". I have just bought her Literature for the People: How the Pioneering Macmillan Brothers Built a Pubishing Powerhouse (2024), which I'm very much looking forward to reading — as soon as I've got July's Chronicles out of the way.]

The Hardys make several references to Macmillan or Knapdale in these years. We've already seen that Thomas used a thunderstorm that occurred during one garden party in The Laodicean, the novel he wrote when living on Trinity Road.

They also record that on 16 June 1878, a Sunday evening, Alexander told Thomas and Emma of a (very Hardy-esque) spooky story about a woman in a red cloak who passed for a witch on Craignputtock Moore. He'd heard it from Thomas Carlyle's wife, the Scottish writer Jane Welsh Carlyle, apparently from personal experience.

It was at Knapdale that Hardy met (and seems to have bonded with) "Darwin's Bulldog" Thomas Henry Huxley:

Thomas Henry Huxley: "A great Med'cine-Man among the Inqui-ring Redskins" by "Ape", Vanity Fair (28 January 1871).

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We sat down by daylight, and as we dined the moon brightened the trees in the garden, and shone under them into the room. For Huxley, Hardy had a liking which grew with knowledge of him — though that was never great — speaking of him as a man who united a fearless mind with the warmest of hearts and the most modest of manners.

Finally, we must mention once again the Macmillans' role in Thomas Hardy's near-fatal illness. This started in October 1880:

23 October 1880 Thomas Hardy falls seriously ill
On returning to his home in Trinity Road, the author Thomas Hardy falls seriously ill. He won't be able to walk outdoors again for seven months — until May 1881, when he sets off alone and ecstatic across Wandsworth Common. He is just 40 years of age.

Thomas was in great and persistent pain.

Emma had sent for a surgeon who lived opposite. The surgeon returned on successive days and pronounced that Hardy was bleeding internally. An operation was required, but it would be very risky.

Mrs Hardy called for advice on their friend the publisher Alexander Macmillan (who lived at Knapdale, an impressive house near Tooting Bec Common). The Macmillans' doctor agreed with the earlier diagnosis.

I'm sure I've written more about Hardy's illness, and the slow progress of his eventual recovery, but for the moment I really can't remember where.

Thomas and Emily Hardy on and around Wandsworth Common

I've written about their experiences a number of times already, including here:

— October 2021: Thomas Hardy falls dangerously ill (23 October 1880).

— January 2022: "A January Night (1879)" (poem).

— February 2022: "On the first of February 1880 Hardy observed a man skating by himself on the pond by Trinity-Church Schools at Upper Tooting".

— March 2022: Thomas and Emma Hardy move to Arundel Terrace, Trinity Road (22 March 1878).

— May 2022: Thomas is often troubled at night by "a monster whose body had four million heads and eight million eyes" (19 May 1880).

— June 2022: Hardy is on the train up to Town: "In railway carriage a too statuesque girl; but her features were absolutely perfect" (27 June 1879).

But there are still some more stories to tell.

For example, thanks to the brilliant research skills of Sarah Vey I can now tell you where on Bolingbroke Grove (and with whom) the Hardys stayed the night before they moved into "The Larches". (Thanks, Sarah!) But I'll probably keep you in suspense until its anniversary month, which is March.

Plus there's Thomas's ecstatic walk over Wandsworth Common in May 1872, his first after recovering from his desperate illness.

Oh, and I really must tell you my theory about Thomas Hardy and Kate Webster, the only woman to be executed at Wandsworth Gaol.

Of the last of these, and much else, more next month.

Even more notes

Trinity Road and Holy Trinity Church

The name "Trinity Road" is a relative late-comer. I'm not sure when the road between Upper Tooting and Wandsworth was first called that, but probably around 1860 as it derives from Holy Trinity Church, just outside the Battersea-Wandsworth boundary within Streatham parish.

A remarkable early photograph of Holy Trinity Church, Trinity Road, by local young photographer Geoffrey Bevington c.1864.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Holy Trinity Chuch, consecrated 26 June 1855, was half-way between the Hardys and the Macmillans. It was here that the Macmillans worshipped. Did the Hardys ever attend church here (or indeed somewhere else)? I'd very much like to know.

Was Knapdale once called "Broadwaters"?

I have followed Sarah Harkness in declaring that Knapdale was previously called "The Elms". However I have also come across an entry by local historian Graham Gower in his excellent Balham Heritage Trail (Streatham Society, 2010) that refers to the house as "Broadwaters". Perhaps it was renamed several times? ("The Elms" is such a Victorian villa name. I wonder why? I can think of four or five in our area, including one on Bolingbroke Grove and two near St Anne's Church).

(Click on image to enlarge)

So whatever happened to Knapdale?

In 1912, the great historian of London, Walter Besant, foretold the death of Knapdale, "a fine old seat", in his tour of Wandsworth, Tooting, and Streatham:

. . . then comes Tooting Bec Road, or till recently Streatham Lane, leading to Tooting Common. In this road are two fine old seats, "Streatham Elms" and" Knapdale," but the demand for building sites has taken the land up to their very back doors, and before long they will probably give way to the prevailing straight rows of two- and three-storied houses.

[Walter Besant, Survey of London: London South of the Thames (1912).]

Yet, strangely, Knapdale is still there, behind a high wall and a screen of trees. So well concealed, in fact, that for years I waited almost opposite for a number 19 or 49 bus to carry me back to my home near the prison and never suspected its existence.

It's best seen from the top of a bus, or a Google aerial shot, as here:

Knapdale much spruced up and freed of its ivy overcoat. Presumably a fairly recent photograph. Notice the square projecting bays, venetian windows and lunettes. (Pevsner complains about the replacement glazing.)

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Spot Knapdale today. View across Tooting Bec Road.

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Here's another aerial view, showing that the projecting bays at the front are rectangular, but polygonal at the rear.

St Ansem's Primary School. View of the rear of the former Knapdale, across Louisville Road.

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It is currently St Anselm's Primary School. (It was once a convent school but never La Retraite, as Pevsner states). Having been used as a school for many years, I expect (but don't know) that there are few interior features left from the Macmillan era. [I have greatly benefited from a discussion with Peter Farrow on this. Thanks, Peter!]

Oh, bother. Just as I was about to stop writing, I suddenly remembered this Punch cartoon that reflects (sarcastically) on a central theme of The Laodicean (one of Hardy's least-read novels) — the emergence of the independent, educated, free-spirited New Woman:

Frederick Henry Townsend, "Stamping Out Revolt in Upper Tooting", Punch, 6 September 1913.

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Chronicles

July 2025

Part One

Elisabetta Caon

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(14 December 1993 — 24 July 2023)

A couple of years ago, I was asked to research two benches recently placed on the railway side of the lake commemorating Benny, Bella, and Ruth Spanier.

Since then, another bench has appeared nearby, with inscriptions in English, Greek and Italian. It is dedicated to Elisabetta (or Elizabeth) Caon, a young medical researcher at University College London who died two years ago.

Elisabetta Caon

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The Shmaka Bench

[I'm not sure of the meaning of "Shmaka" — can anyone help?]

Elisabeth Cain     14.12.1993—24-07-2023

Betti, per sempre la nostra stella    [Betti, for ever our star]

La tua Famiglia     [Your family]

Papera e Orso     [Duck and Bear] [?]

Only with the heart we can see rightly

What is of essence is invisible

[Epigram from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's novel The Little Prince.]
AIONIA SOY I MNHMH [Your memory is eternal — a reference to the Greek Orthodox funeral liturgy]

At the time of her death, Elisabetta/Elizabeth was a gifted researcher at University College London, where she had just completed a PhD. Two professors at UCL wrote:

Obituary for Elisabetta Caon.

It is with heavy hearts that we share the profoundly tragic news of the untimely passing of Dr Elisabetta Caon on July 24th, 2023.

In 2017, Elisabetta joined us at the Institute for Liver and Digestive Health, University College London, UK as a young and promising MSc student in Industrial Biotechnologies, from the University of Padua, Italy, to undertake an Erasmus Student Mobility Traineeship.

Elisabetta's dynamic nature were undeniable. This was further exemplified when she was awarded the prestigious Juan Rodés PhD Fellowship by the European Association for the Study of the Liver (EASL), a distinction that allowed her to extend her studies in our team.

Elisabetta's endeavours knew no bounds, as she presented her ground-breaking findings in esteemed international meetings including the International Liver Congress (ILC — EASL), the Liver Meeting (American Association for the Study of Liver Disease — AASLD), European Club for Liver Cell Biology (ECLCB), and the Tissue Engineering and Regenerative Medicine International Society World Congress (TERMIS).

On the 28th of June 2023, Elisabetta was awarded her PhD, Doctor in Philosophy. What began as a junior fellow blossomed into an independent investigator, ready to embrace her first post-doctoral role.

Elisabetta was a kind, bright and caring person, with a strong resilience and a great heart for all her colleagues and collaborators. Elisabetta will be greatly missed, a great loss to everybody who knew her, it was a privilege to work with Elisabetta. As we navigate this sad time, our thoughts and heartfelt sympathies extend to Elisabetta's family, her partner, and friends.

Professor Krista Rombouts
Professor Massimo Pinzani

[UCL: Obituary: Elisabetta Caon.]

Elisabetta Caon's PhD Dissertation, Exploring the Impact of Genetic Variations of Human Hepatic Stellate Cells Using Extracellular Matrix 3D Models (2023), can be downloaded from UCL.

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Elisabetta's death was reported in a number of European news media. She had been on a beach in Sparta with her Greek boyfriend, Yannis (if you know his surname, please let me know), when she suddenly fell ill:

She was quickly transported to the nearest hospital, where, however, the doctors could not help but confirm her death.

According to the medical reports, the girl did not suffer from any particular pathology and it seems that she died because of an ischemic cardiac arrest.

Who was Elisabetta Caon?

The young woman was a researcher originally from Resana, in the province of Treviso. Elisabetta Caon leaves her mother Rosetta Stocco, professor at the Itis Barsanti of Castelfranco, her father Franco Caon, surveyor at the Municipality of Castelfranco, and her brother Alberto.

Once informed of the tragic news, Elisabetta Caon’s family members immediately boarded the first available flight to Greece to be able to say a last goodbye to the girl, who had recently completed an important doctorate in London.

[Breaking Latest News: "Greece: 29-year-old girl who died of an illness" (July 29, 2023). This link was broken when I returned in June 2025.]

Elisabetta was also a talented classical guitarist, a founder member of the Sliwowitz Quartet:

In April 2025 a special prize and concert were given to commemorate Elisabetta Caon at the 3rd International Guitar Competition and Festival, held in Padua.

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"Elisabetta Caon was passionate about music . . ."

(Click on image for translation)

The view towards the bridge from Elisabetta's bench. (Photo: Philip Boys, 29 June 2025. Does anyone have a better one I could substitute?)

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Benches such as Elisabetta's, and the Spaniers', are the result of almost unbearable grief, but also of great love. I am grateful to their families and friends for placing memorial seats that everyone can share in such a beautiful place by our lake.

Map of the Month

London County Council (LCC), 1913

London County Council, 1913. The dotted blue line shows the old parish boundary — Battersea to the east, Wandsworth to the west. I have emphasised the revised boundary using a dashed red line.

[Notice that the northern lobe of the lake has no island at this time.]

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The historic (probably Anglo-Saxon) boundary between Battersea and Wandsworth parishes was more or less straight across the Common [the blue dotted line]. Its southernmost point was near the junction of what we now call Trinity Road and St James's Drive.

Such a direct line made sense when there were few houses and roads, but things became more complicated administratively when parts of the Common were sold off to build orphanages, schools and terraced streets. The new boundary [red dashes], which zig-zags its way across the area, passes around rather than through the Patriotic School (so that it is entirely within Wandsworth) and Emanuel School (entirely within Battersea). It often divides a street left and right, but not generally houses and gardens. This came into play when the parish vestries ceased to be responsible for civil administration and new "Metropolitan Borough Councils" were formed in 1900.

[I'm not sure when exactly the boundary changes took place. Was it shortly after 1888, when the Battersea Vestry seceeded from the combined Wandsworth Vestry of 1855 (Battersea, Clapham, Putney, Streatham and is Knight's Hill exclave, Tooting Graveney, Wandsworth)? Or after the Local Government Act of 1894? Or when the Metropolitan Borough of Battersea was created in 1900?

(A quick check of OS maps shows that the old boundary was still in use in 1896.)

Wikipedia has a nice outline map of the Metropolitan Boroughs of the County of London that demonstrates the Battersea secession rather well.

And have the boundary lines continued to change? It would be good to check later boundaries.]

Look at the street signs on either side of Wiseton Road, off Bellevue.

The north side of Wiseton Road, Wandsworth.

Turn and see the sign on the other side of the road: Batterssea.

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Before the Battersea-Wandsworth boundary was rationalised (if you can call it that), it passed through houses and gardens between Althorp and Wiseton Roads, heading for the "Boundary Oak" and the posts at the end of the Routh Road passage onto the Common.

[Boundary adjustments may have reduced confusion, for example by clarifying which Town Hall rates had to be paid, permissions sought, or grievances aired, but didn't please everyone. I'm sure I've got a note somewhere about the expostulations of householders who suddenly found themselves in — shock, horror — Battersea.]

"The Farm" (aka Neal's Farm) is clearly marked, with the original buildings, tracks and orchards, but now tinted green. This signals it is part of the Common (once again). This area was then called "the Extension" and had recently been purchased by the LCC to be added back to the Common. The war stopped much progress being made on converting the area into a sports field (particularly for cricket, bowls and tennis). But there appears to be a wall separating the RVPA from the Extension which had not, I think, existed previously. Was this the first thing to be done by the LCC before further work could start?

[I have distinct memory that the purchase of the Extension from the Patriotic Fund entailed the LCC agreeing to build, and pay for, a new dividing wall for the then-large sum of £5000. I must check this.

6 July 1944, Andree Borel executed in Nazi Germany

Last month I included an item on the unveiling of a plaque commemorating MI5's London Reception Centre that operated at the Royal Victoria Patriotic School 1941-1945. You can read more about the event in June's Chronicles.

I am very grateful to Louisa Russell, Chair of the Secret WWII Learning Network, for providing a pdf of the information panel now displayed at Le Gothique.

Information panel about the London Reception Centre in Le Gothique restaurant, RVPS.

(Click on image to view high-resolution pdf of the board)

Louisa also introduced me to local military historian Paul McCue, who has been most helpful in supplying me with information about Andree Borel — thanks, Louise and Paul!

Last month I wrote about the so-called "London Reception Centre" at the Royal Victoria Patriotic School during WWII, at which all male civilians arriving in Britain were interrogated — 34,000 of them.

But I would also like to mention the less-well-known 101 Nightingale Lane, close to the Nightingale pub. This was a large house with grounds (over which today's Oak Lodge School and a wing of Nightingale House have been built) to which women and children were sent.

Some years ago, I saw that Princess Anne had unveiled a plaque to three female members of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) who had been recruited or trained here, had travelled to France to work with the Resistance, and had subsequently been captured and executed.

Wednesday 11 February 2015: Princess Anne unveils a plaque to commemorate the lives of three female secret service agents: Andrée Borrel, Denise Bloch and Madeleine Damerment.

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At that time, I knew nothing about these brave women, but I've since started to learn more. I hope to write something more substantial in the near future, but today I'll just mention one, Andree Borel.

Andree Borel was a keen racing cyclist.

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She and fellow-agent Lise de Baissac were the first women to be parachuted into France (in September 1942). She joined the Resistance in Paris, was arrested and interrogated by the Gestapo in June 1943, and executed at the Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp on 6 July 1944. At the time of her death she was 26.

Death of Tom Taylor

12 July 1880, staunch supporter of Wandsworth Common Tom Taylor (also known as an editor of Punch, and author of the play that Abraham Lincoln was watching on the night of his assassination) died suddenly at his home, Lavender Sweep, Battersea. He was buried in Brompton Cemetery three days later.

Tom Taylor has been mentioned quite frequently in earlier Chronicles (and I still intend to write about his poem "The Cry of the Commoners"). For more info., read Jeanne Rathbone's terrific article, "Tom Taylor 1817-1880, dramatist and editor of Punch" (19 October 2016).

Last year, I was present at a rather wonderful unveiling of a plaque commemorating author/playwright/editor Tom Taylor and the composer Laura Barker in Lavender Sweep, off Battersea Rise. The event was organised by Jeanne, and was a hoot.

28 September 2024: Lord Fred Ponsonby and Alun Armstrong unveil the plaque to Tom Taylor and Laura Barker, 84 Lavender Sweep (Photos: Chrysoula Photography)

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Here's a rather wonderful photo of Tom Taylor (seated, on the right) in a social milieu I imagine I preferred to all others, the theatre:

Tom Taylor and the Old Stagers — the Old Stagers are recognised as the oldest amateur dramatic society still performing.

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A.O.B.

Since I've just mentioned Jean Rathbone and plaques, here's the text of an email she sent recently with news of two local unveilings in July:

I am delighted to be MC-ing these two Battersea Society plaques unveiling events as part of the Wandsworth Heritage Festival which might be of interest if you are around.
The first on Friday 4th July at 2pm on BAC/Battersea Town Hall is to Jeanie Senior, first woman civil servant when appointed as Inspector of Workhouses by Sir James Stanfeld an enlightened Liberal in 1874 as President of the Local Government Board. (Shockingly, married women were not allowed to be executive civil servants until 1946.)

This plaque is sponsored by the FDA civil service trade union and speakers will include Penny East, CEO Fawcett Society; Fiona Ryland, Cabinet Office; Sybil Oldfield, her biographer; Tarek Iskander, BAC Director, and great nephew Arthur Hughes from the US.

Jane ("Jeanie") Elizabeth Hughes (1828–1877), Mrs Nassau John Senior, by G.F. Watts, 1859. (ArtUK: National Trust: Wightwick Manor. Link.) Jane Senior lived at Elm House on Lavender Hill, a villa in wooded grounds on the site of today's Battersea Arts Centre.

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If you don't know about the incomparable Jeanie Senior, you really should. Jane "Jeanie" Elizabeth Hughes (also widely referred to as "Mrs Nassau John Senior") lived on Lavender Hill until her very premature death in 1877.

[There's so much to say about Jane ("Jeanie", pronounced "Janie") but perhaps not here and now. I strongly recommend Jeanne Rathbone's online article, "Jeanie Nassau Senior, first woman civil servant". (Don't let the phrase "the first woman civil servant" put you off, if indeed it does. She was, among other things, a pioneering social researcher who wrote a devastating report on the education (or rather lack of it) of pauper girls.)

There is also a Wikipedia article: Jane Senior, and a very readble book-length study by Sybil Oldfield: Jeanie, an 'Army of One': Mrs Nassau Senior, 1828–1877, the First Woman in Whitehall (Sussex Academic Press 2008). Barbara Hardy's review will convince you to learn more.

(Incidentally, Jeanie was the sister of Thomas Hughes, author of Tom Brown's Schooldays. Both he and her husband were active in the 1860s in defence of Wandsworth Common)

The second plaque unveiling is on Sunday 13th July at 2pm to Edith Lanchester, socialist feminist, and her daughter Elsa Lanchester, actor of stage, TV and film, at 27 Leathwaite Road SW11 1XG.

This plaque is funded by the O’Pray family. Speakers will include singer Dillie Keane, Charlotte Booker (star of She’s Alive), her biographer Mike Simpson, and Paul Nolan of The Lanchester Archive.

Elsa Lanchester, star of Bride of Frankenstein, with Boris Karloff as the Monster, directed by James Whale (1935). Elsa played both the bride and Mary Shelley, author of the original novel Frankenstein (1818).

(Click on image to enlarge)

Thanks, Jeanne!

Friends of Wandsworth Common — Heritage Information Boards

Wonderful to see the new info. panels around the Common. They've been mooted for years (quite possibly for decades), but the first three are now with us. Expect more.

Many people contributed expertise, funds, and enthusiasm, but Anne Lambert's role was decisive — thanks, Anne!

Instagram: Link.

Board 2 — "A little history" — is sited near the Skylark cafe and the memorial plaque featuring John Buckmaster. Others are on Northside and Bolingbroke Fields. A fourth will shortly appear on the Scope.

(Click on image to enlarge)

See Friends of Wandsworth Common: Heritage Interpretation Boards Installed (15 June 2025).

Thomas Hardy postponed . . .

It really hurts me to do this, but I've cut out from this month's Chronicles a longish piece about the life of Thomas Hardy in our area, including his terrifying pursuit down Brodrick Road of an organ-grinder, and garden parties at "Knapdale", Alexander Macmillan's home narby.

Still, I've written it now, so I'll send it out later this month (as July Chronicles Part II). But if you're excessively interested in Thomas Hardy, get in touch.

Knapdale, one of the largest houses in our area.

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Absolutely everybody went to Alexander Macmillan's garden parties (which may explain why Thomas, who had ambitions to become a literary lion, moved to Trinity Road in the first place).

Chronicles

June 2025

Part II

This is the second part of June's Chronicles. My draft had grown so long and complicated that it seemed kinder to hack the thing into two and serve the halves up separately. To view Part I, click on the "Previous" link above.

June 1980

Did you see Paul McCartney filming on Wandsworth Common?

Official video of Paul McCartney's Waterfalls (1980).

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Paul McCartney on Wandsworth Common and in a Wandsworth studio. Stills from his music video Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls, from The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001.

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From The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001:

[June 1980] . . . Paul shoots a promotional film for the song ‘Waterfalls’ on a specially built set in the middle of Wandsworth Common, with additional scenes being shot in a disused aircraft hangar.

To assist with the taping, Paul obtains one and a half tons of polystyrene, and an eight-foot Polar bear called Olaf, hired from Chipperfield’s Circus. After numerous re-edits of the sequences, a total of six different promotional films are prepared, but only version three will be screened on shows such as Meet Paul McCartney . . .

From the outset, this production was to be an epic! Not just in terms of length or indeed technical wizardry (like ‘Coming Up’), but as a series of set pieces each requiring meticulous setting up and shooting… There are only four shots in the whole clip — Count them!

Water was used as the link between each shot. This not only gave a literal interpretation of the lyrics but also provided a clever way of introducing each new set. In order to achieve this water effect at the various locations, special portable fountains were designed and constructed for ‘Waterfalls’.

The video starts with Paul playing the piano in what appears to be a pretty country cottage but is, in fact, a studio set in the middle of Wandsworth! What seemed to be a simple shot as the camera goes through the open window, was the result of a complicated and much rehearsed set of manoeuvres.

As the camera moves in towards the open window, the entire cottage wall comes apart enabling the camera to move into the room. As Paul moves from the piano, the fountains burst into view to provide the first ‘waterfall’ background.

As the waters disappear an arctic wasteland is revealed. This again is a set, complete with an enormous painted backdrop measuring 150′ x 65‘ No mean feat with a paintbrush! When the set building was completed, to add that final touch of authenticity, a real live polar bear was cast in the supporting role at Paul’s request!

Paul McCartney with Olaf, "a real live polar bear", on the set of Waterfalls.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Although “Olaf” had been trained to perform in a circus [Chipperfield's], every safety precaution had to be taken and rigidly enforced as Paul was singing on the set very close to the bear. It took ten days to build and light this set and this scene ends with more fountains which dissolve into the next location.

Each set required something extra and this one was no exception. A fire engine was needed to pump water from a lake in the gardens, over a hill, to the shooting site 500 yards away, for the next watery background.

[Presumably these are the scenes filmed on Wandsworth Common. But which "lake" supplied the water, and where exactly was the carousel erected?]

Paul McCartney — on Wandsworth Common? If so, where?

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This shot starts with Paul walking down an avenue with a castle in the background. The camera ‘tracks’ (that is, it is pushed along on rails like a train) for 120 feet with Paul. He then steps onto a Carousel which was brought in specifically for this shot and is not a permanent feature of the gardens.

Paul McCartney rides a Carousel on the Common

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As Paul steps off the carousel, the fountains appear once more and we are transported back with him into the country cottage. He walks back to the piano and finishes the song. Obviously the cottage walls had to return to their original position as the camera passed back out through the window, and once again, a lot of rehearsing was required. The song is now over, Paul gets up and closes the window, leaving the cottage in darkness.

[The Paul McCartney Project: Waterfalls.]

Do you have any recollections? Do share.

Map(s) of the Month

William Faden's "The country twenty-five miles round London", 1788—1819

I'm rather keen on maps, as you may have noticed. The ones I generally show were produced either by the Ordnance Survey (the gold standard) or Stanford. But other mapmakers produced work of great interest, including William Faden (1749-1836).

Here's part of his hand-coloured "The country twenty-five miles round London: planned from a scale of one mile to an inch" (1790 printing):

William Faden, 1790. Library of Congress. The map of London as a whole is just over a metre across.

It's not very detailed, of course, and quite out-of-date even at the point of publication (an inevitable problem for all maps, of course). As it happens, it's not from a new survey by Faden himself but a composite of existing county maps published in the previous decades.

[This probably explains why the "Five Houses" are missing, even though they'd been built a decade earlier.]

It may be sketchy but there's still a lot to see. Faden's map shows the country just before the great transformations of the next century.

As Andrew Macnair has written, it gives us a good idea of the landscape

close to the metropolis in the last third of the 18th century. It shows the extensive commons, downs and heaths which were soon to disappear with Parliamentary Enclosure as well as the estates of the landed gentry who wanted to enjoy the countryside but who also wished to live close to the capital.

[Incidentally, Macnair tells is that in 1801 the French War Department copied and engraved this map in preparation for an invasion of England.]

Most obviously, the population is very much smaller in our area, and more thinly distributed across the terrain. There are no railways, of course.

Notice the map's emphasis on the location and extent of large houses (the inhabitants of which were doubtless Faden's intended customers). Their grounds are clearly outlined and strongly tinted (Earl Spencer's estate at Wimbledon, in particular). Wandsworth Common itself is only lightly shaded. Field boundaries are not shown

William Faden, 1788-1790

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For the moment, I'll only point to a couple of features. There are still very few houses on or around the Common — mainly a cluster in the north-west, near the main road between Wandsworth and London.

Notice also the absence of the future Trinity Road. Yes, there is a long straight road across the Common, but it's heading from "Upper Tooting" towards "Johns Place" and "York Bridge", near the Thames (down what we now call Plough Road).

[This is exceedingly odd. We've seen the same on John Rocque's map of the 1740s. Was there really no straight "Trinity Road" until the C19? Was the main route really a more easterly one, across to Plough Road? If so, what's happened to it?]

Faden had some problems showing elevation and slope — this is before visual conventions such as hatching or contour lines had settled down. See the dark shading showing the valley in which the (unnnamed) Falcon Brook flows, just to the east of the Common.

[A curious feature: see also the prominence of the two tributaries of the Falcon Brook that meet close to the Common and proceed to the Thames in Battersea. The southern arm is shown as originating in Tooting, and the northern as far as Knight's Hill! At this time, the stream was worth recording its course over many miles on a map. Today, hardly anybody is aware of its existence. The Falcon Brook is of great interest to me — I hope to talk about its course, now entirely underground, in the autumn.]

For now, I'll leave it up to you to look in more detail at this map — but please send me your comments, which I'll add to this article.

A few decades later, Faden carried out a proper survey. Here's his 4th edition, of 1819.

A section of William Faden's A New Topographical Map of the Country in the Vicinity of London 4 June 1819 (the 4th edition). This is from a full recent survey, and it shows. What changes from 1790 would you draw attention to?

(Click on image to enlarge)

I'm sure this new version would have been much more use to Napoloeon, had he escaped exile on St Helena and decided to fight his new Waterloo on Wandsworth Common.

[You may recall reading in past Chronicles about the "sham fights" — mock battles or military manoeuvres — that took place between various yeomanry regiments over Wandsworth Common during the Napoleonic period e.g. in September 1804 and October 1807.]

June 2000

"The hunt is on for a 130ft-high hot air balloon in the shape of Douglas, the Lurpak Butter character, stolen from Wandsworth Common . . . "

Here's another story I have no recollection of, though it was fairly recent. Perhaps you do?

Duncan, the Lurpak Balloon, was BIG! (Photo: Mike Goodes, Leeds Castle Balloon & Vintage Car Show, 8th September 2002)

(Click on image to enlarge)

The Belfast Telegraph reported the theft on 21 June 2000:

A 130ft high hot air balloon of Douglas, the Lurpak Butter character, was stolen yesterday.

The balloon had been flown yesterday morning and a second flight was planned later in the day.

It was stolen from Wandsworth Common, London, at 3pm along with the Lurpak trailer carrying it.

A local estate agent saw the silver and blue trailer, weighing 1.5 tonnes, being towed away by a red Peugeot 205.

On the same day, the Wolverhampton Express added some helpful background: Douglas, it said, was a small man made from butter . . . "

(Click on image to enlarge)

Lurpak hot air balloon stolen

The hunt was on for a 130ft high hot air balloon in the shape of Douglas, the Lurpak Butter character, after it was stolen from Wandsworth Common, London. The balloon was in a 1.5 tonne trailer in between flights when it went missing. A reward of £1,000 and a year’s supply of Lurpak butter is on offer.

[BNA: Link.]

Douglas served as the mascot in UK adverts for Danish butter brand Lurpak from 1985 to 2003 and again from 2014-2015.

He was a small man made from butter.

In earlier adverts, Douglas would emerge from a block of Lurpak and would sing about it before either going back into the block or into food.

In 1992, to mark that year's Olympic Games, an advert featured Douglas diving into a bowl of soup.

In later adverts, Douglas is depicted as a trombonist who in the adverts, played "Flight of the Bumblebee" on his trombone and would sometimes be stopped by the advert's narrator (played by Penelope Keith). Douglas is shown to be nice and jolly to Penelope anyway.

In 1994, a Christmas advert was made in which Douglas was allowed by Keith to play his trombone, to which he plays "Deck The Halls".

Some rather nice collections of Duncan ads:

— YouTube: The Best Lurpak ‘Douglas’ TV Adverts Compilation

— YouTube: Lurpak Butter Douglas Aardman Advert Compilation (1985-2003)

— Lostmediawiki: Lurpak (partially lost Aardman Animations commercials for Danish butter brand; 1990s)

Duncan and friends, not on Wandsworth Common. (Photo: Paul Thallon (Flikr))

(Click on image to enlarge)

[FYI: "Ballooning brilliance: the greatest special shapes of all time": Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.]

Late extra!

Just I was about to send these Chronicles out, I came across a sequel:

Shropshire Star — Wednesday 21 June 2000

Balloon finder may get reward

A scaffolder was celebrating the prospect of £1,000 reward today after finding a 130 ft high hot air balloon which had been taken from Wandsworth Common in its storage trailer yesterday.

Simon Fovargue, from Wandsworth, is in line for the reward which was offered to anyone giving information to help return the balloon, depicting Lurpak butter character Douglas, to Flying Pictures. Mr Fovargue found the trailer on Tuesday night.

[BNA: Link.]

A happy ending, then. (I wonder if it was.)

A.O.B.

Secret WW2 Learning Network

I was very disappointed last month not to be able to attend an unveiling of a plaque at Le Gothique in the Royal Victoria Patriotic Building, involving local residents Louisa Russell and Paul McCue.

Fortunately John Crossland was on hand to make a video of the event:

(Click on image to view video.)

In a fascinating talk, Paul McCue explains what the plaque commemorates:

During the Second World War the rapid invasion of the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Norway and Denmark by Nazi Germany in the spring and early summer of 1940, after the earlier occupation of Poland and Czechoslovakia, resulted in a stream of allied refugees which we called "aliens" — so the aliens came here, having reached the UK.

They arrived by a wide range of methods, including by fishing boat, Royal Navy motor gunboat, Royal Air Force aircraft operating to and from clandestine air strips in France, and via escape lines into neutral countries such as Spain and Portugal.

Among these refugees the enemy stood the best chance of infiltrating spies into Britain, so the UK's security service MI5 addressed this immediate challenge by establishing a new section of "examiners" — these were interrogators largely former employees of British consulates in the occupied countries, so they had knowledge expert knowledge of the country and of the inhabitants.

So the establishment of a central reception and vetting centre for the refugees was urgently required if any sort of effective security check was to be carried out.

The centre would need to house the arrivals securely until their stories could be heard and checked, and from the 8th of January 1941 this establishment was established by the Internment Camps Division of the Home Office and was called the London Reception Centre . . .

Paul's talk continues, and is followed by scenes of the unveiling of the plaques.

(Click on image to view video.)

The Secret WW2 Learning Network – is an educational charity established in 2014 with the aim of creating greater public awareness of the contributions and experiences of the men and women who took part during the Second World War in Allied special operations, intelligence gathering and resistance.

For further info, and to support this educational charity, visit the Secret WW2 Learning Network website.

(Click on image to visit the Secret WW1 website.)

I am very grateful to Louisa Russell, Chair of the Secret WWII Learning Network, for providing a pdf of an information board that describes the significance MI5's London Reception Centre — thanks, Louisa!:

Information panel about the London Reception Centre in Le Gothique restaurant, RVPS.

(Click on image to view high-resolution pdf of the board)

I look forward to returning to this important subject in future Chronicles.

Chronicles

June 2025

I

Job Caudwell, one of Spencer Park's first inhabitants, by an anonymous artist, 1850. British Museum.

Can you believe it — this edition of the Chronicles
completes FOUR WHOLE YEARS of monthly articles!

The death and burial of Job Caudwell, June 1908

Job Caudwell is buried beneath this great granite needle in Magdalen Road Cemetery. The first obelisk in the cemetery, it was probably erected shortly after the cemetery opened in 1878, but the chamber beneath remained empty for many years. As we shall see, many more can be seen nearby, but this remains the largest:

"The Family Vault of Job Caudwell, of Spencer Park, Wandsworth"

(Click on image to enlarge)

As you can see, Job's obelisk is now somewhat dilapidated (though it's survived better than many crosses). A corner of the plinth has broken away, the iron rail that once surrounded the main obelisk has disappeared, and some of the small obelisks around the tall slender pillar have been toppled.

His grand-daughter, Irene Caudwell, who lived in Spencer Park and Earlsfield Road, wrote at length about her grandfather in her marvellous (but as yet unpublished) memoir of local life, Four Miles from Charing Cross . (You may remember her description of flying bombs in the Second World War I quoted in the Chronicles for September 2024.).

At great expense he erected a monument, composed of reddish brown granite brought specially from Aberdeen and set up in Wandsworth Cemetery beside the little chapel. A most heathenish erection, Grandfather always maintained it was the tallest in the cemetery. It consisted of a Cleopatra's needle set upon so substantial a base that the mere sight of it gives one indigestion.

Heathenish?

No cross appears on Grandpa's monument, as in his day no Wesleyan would dream of using any form of the sacred emblem, even in the Chapel, it being considered Popery of an extreme degree, leading direct to the Seven Hills.

I must say, this rather surprised me. Neither Job nor Irene appear to have known about the Vatican Obelisk. Moved from Egypt and erected in Rome as a symbol of imperial power by the Emperor Caligula, it was moved to its present central position in St Peter's Square in 1586.

Vatican Obelisk, St Peter's Square, Rome.

[It also functions as the gnomon of an immense sundial, "a visual metaphor for the Church’s foundation upon the Apostles and martyrs, her unwavering faith standing tall amidst the changing shadows of time."]

(Click on image to enlarge)

Obelisk-mania in Magdalen Road cemetery

Have a look round the top of the cemetery, near the two chapels:

Job Caudwell's obelisk is on the extreme right.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Irene Caudwell observes:

Grandfather's idea of Cleopatra's Needle was copied in a lesser form on the opposite side of the pathway and twins appeared a few yards away on the same side. One or two Wandsworthians even so closely followed his example as to record the names of their dead and living offspring on neighbouring tombs.

Here are a few more obelisks close-by (I really must count them):

(Click on image to enlarge)

[I have no idea whether this number, and density, of obelisks, is actually unusual in London graveyards. Do you know? Are there many obelisks in Battersea Rise Cemetery?)

Although obelisks had been used in (Christian) funerary memorialisation for some decades — probably stimulated by the victory of Nelson over Napoleon in the Battle of the Nile in 1798 and his death in 1805 at Trafalgar — they probably became even more popular after the erection of Cleopatra's Needle on the Embankment in 1878 (the year that the cemetery opened).

As we saw a few years ago, there is an interesting local connection in Peter Le Neve, who lived on North Side only a hundred yards or so from Job Caudwell's home on Spencer Park. (They must have known one another.) On his way to and from work (as the Secretary of the Royal Society of in John Adams Street), Le Neve Foster recorded the erection in a celebrated series of photographs.

Peter Le Neve Foster: photograph of the erection of Cleopatra's Needle on the Thames Embankment, August 1878 (work finished on 12 September 1878).

(Click on image to enlarge)

Engraving of the erection of Cleopatra's Needle on the Thames Embankment, August 1878.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Here's a portrait of Peter Le Neve Foster, with camera:

(Click on image to enlarge)

Inscriptions on the base of the obelisk

Front — Job and his wife Eliza Caudwell:

[Caudwell coat of arms]

In memory of
Job Caudwell, F.R.S.L.
Born 8 Decr 1820,
Died 5 June 1908,

Also his wife

Eliza Cooper Caudwell,
Born 26 April 1836,
Died 2 October 1887.

F.R.S.L. — Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.

Side — a list of Job and Eliza Caudwell's ten children, with their birth and death dates:

               Born               Died

Paul:   12 May 1861 — 21 Nov. 1938

      Interment Putney Vale

David:   24[?] Dec. 1862 — 9 May 1925

Ezra:   §0 April 1864 — 10 Dec. 1868

Eber:   17 Mar. 1865 — 14 July 1925

Sidney:   20 Oct 1866 — 7 Dec. 1868

Ada:   31 Aug. 1867 — 8 Sep. 1867

Rhoda:   31 August 1867 — 7 Sep. 1867

Ben:   6 May 1869 — 16 Feb. 1926

Roger:   8 April 1871 — 24 Aug. 1871

Afra:   4 April 1875 — 31 Jan 1948

(Click on image to enlarge)

Irene Caudwell recalls of her grandmother that "One thing only gave [her] any sense of spiritual enjoyment . . .funerals":

. . . and happy was she if one of these events fell on a Saturday or other holiday, when she could collect the whole family and take them with her. Poor little wretches! On the return journey she occupied the time by informing them that the next funeral they attended would be her own, a prophecy which took at least a dozen years to reach its fulfilment.

Not that she had not come near it several times, for she was a delicate woman and of the ten children, including two sets of twins, with which she presented Grandpa, five died in very early infancy. My father remembered one of them, Sidney, an exceptionally sweet natured little fellow who used to sit on the stairs sharing a boiled potato with his favourite cat.

Grandfather had all five buried in the old cemetery on Battersea Rise, not far from Clapham Junction, where they lie beneath a large and flat and most indigestible slab, with an outsize stone book on the top recording their names and the short span of their mortal lives. It is strange to think these infants were my Uncles and Aunts.

Mother [i.e. Irene's mother, Ada (1860-1957)] was my Grandfather's niece as well as his daughter-in-law, but she never came to Wandsworth until she was grown-up, when she arrived on a short visit. Grandpa met her at Clapham Junction and by way of a treat, immediately escorted her, plus bag and baggage complete, to the cemetery to admire the tombstone before he took her home.

The flying bomb which three-quarters of a century later landed in the cemetery, turning up the earth and toppling over the grave-stones in a manner gruesome to behold, did not disturb the infant Caudwells’ monument.

[Have you seen this "most indigestible slab" in Battersea Rise Cemetery ? Can we locate it? I have not been able to find records of their interment on the WBC registry search.

Incidentally, Irene writes that there were two sets of twins, yet only Ada and Rhoda (b.1867) are listed. Did the second pair die before they were named, and hence are not recorded here? Or did one child of the pair die before being named?]

All ten children are named even though five were still alive (which some saw as rather macabre). So their death dates were added later. (I'm not sure by whom added — possibly Irene Caudwell herself.) Job's last surviving child was Afra, who died in 1948.

(Click on image to enlarge)

The impression that Job Caudwell must have intended was that all his extensive family are (or would eventually be) buried with him in the vault beneath. But, as we have seen, five children had already been buried elsewhere. Moreover, after Job's death, the remaining five (and indeed his second wife) preferred to be buried elsewhere. In short, only Job and his (first) wife, Eliza, are in the vault.

Irene continues, in her typically dry manner:

Somewhere beneath it in the heart of the earth is the family vault conveniently fitted out with enough shelves for Grandma herself, Grandpa and the remaining four sons and daughter. No room was provided for any wife of the former or husband of the latter. It is simply a strictly cosy family affair.

Its amenities were further enhanced by a hefty iron railing and the addition on one side of the wedding-cake tiers on which the "needle" is erected, of the names of Grandpa's ten children living and dead — those departed and buried in the cemetery on Battersea Rise being distinguished by the dates of their arrival and departure, the five still living having their names, but the dates politely left blank.

Father [the first-born, Paul] being the eldest headed the list and succeeding Vicars of St. Anne‘s, Wandsworth, declared it positively gave them the creeps when they came out of the cemetery chapel after a funeral, to see the name of their friend, Paul Caudwell, on a tombstone, when possibly they were having tea or supper with him the following day.

Alas for those conveniently arranged shelves in the vault, all four sons and the daughter were buried elsewhere in different corners of England. So was the second wife, to whom Aunt Afra had kindly bequeathed her own special shelf.

Perhaps it was as well that none of them claimed their rights, as to open the tomb is a major operation, requiring the removal of a substantial piece of the cemetery.

[Paul Caudwell, who was for many years the Solicitor for the London Borough of Battersea, is buried with Ada in Putney Vale Cemetery, not Magdalen Road (which was in sight of their home on Earlsfield Road). He regarded the obelisk as ungodly.]

Let us turn to Job's funeral in June 1908, and Irene Caudwell's recollection of the day:

(Click on image to enlarge)

I was not present at Grandfather's funeral, being thought at the age of seventeen to be much too young, but I am told the oration was both meaty and lengthy, chiefly eulogising the departed as a junior mixture of Croesus and the Rothschild family. I remained alone at Spencer Park, awaiting the return of the funeral party, swathed in black, which being pale made me look like a walking corpse.

My step-grandmother being of a cheese-paring disposition, had sent to a warehouse in the Midlands for the mourning for the maids, a customary practice of those good old days. Unfortunately when those choosey young ladies saw how far it differed from the Paris models of their dreams, they refused to wear it.

Step-grandma persuaded my too confiding Mother to send to the same firm for a grey cotton morning frock for "dear Irene". All was well until it was washed, when it returned home like a jester's parti-coloured hose, one side dark grey and the other light.

Job Caudwell (8 December 1820—5 June 1908)

We've discussed the monument, and related funerary practices, in some detail. Now we come to Job Caudwell himself. What sort of a man erected such an extravagant obelisk to himself?

He was quite a character — some might say he was the original crank. He actively campaigned against vaccination, male-midwives, and Darwinism, but very much for temperance, mesmerism, homeopathy and vegetarianism (his pioneering Vegetarian Cookery for the Million ran to 6 editions 1864-1865).

As an author, publisher and later as an important property developer in our area, Job's business activities made him rather rich. Rich enough to erect a massive obelisk, for example, and to build a very substantial house on the newly-created Spencer Park c.1872.

[The land on which Spencer Park was built was in effect a sweetener to Earl Spencer for agreeing to relinquish his rights over what was left of the rest of Wandsworth Common in 1871.]

Job Caudwell's house, now No. 3 Spencer Park, but originally No. 44. The house was constructed from concrete — then a very unusual building material. Notice the balls mounted on the pillars (on which more below).

(Click on image to enlarge)

Grandfather bought the second plot of ground in Spencer Park and had his house built to his own design entirely of concrete; floors, staircase, walls and ceilings, to obviate danger of fire. Four square, with a front door bell sufficiently loud to rouse the local Fire Brigade, it had a flat roof from which a considerable part of London was visible, including a first-class free view of the fireworks at the Crystal Palace. Later inhabitants had an equally interesting view of the approach of more deadly fireworks in the shape of flying bombs.

[Is the view still as good? Have trees and buildings obscured much? I'd love to know.]

Advert for concrete houses, date?. Reducing the risk of fire was one stimulus to the use of concrete, another was cost: it was argued that concrete construction was around a third less expensive.

(Click on image to enlarge)

[Concrete buildings of the time soon deteriorated. There's a terrific article by Paul Latham about the restoration of an early Drake concrete house in Lordship Lane, East Dulwich, here. Several other commentaries, including Wikipedia: 549 Lordship Lane.]

Irene adds an interesting note about the influence of her grandmother's astraphobia on the design of the house:

Grandma was scared to death of thunder and lightning, perhaps with good reason, seeing that in her childhood her nurse had been killed by her side during a storm. To overcome this trouble Grandpa had a room built in the heart of the earth beneath the house, very much like a railway carriage in shape, where Grandma retired out of reach of the lightning and of all but the worst claps of thunder. The afore-mentioned later inhabitants found it very handy as a ready-made air-raid shelter.

[It is worth recalling that three adults and four children were killed by lightning on the Common in June 1914. I have described this in some detail in the June 2023 edition of these Chronicles.]

Irene adds a note about the gates:

"The gates were a copy of those of the old Manor House far away from London where Grandpa had spent his youth, with identical round knobs on either side. This, I understand, was a mistake on Grandpa's part as these knobs, strictly speaking, although often appearing on villas and like residences with such names as "Clovelly", "Mentone” or “Kosey-Nook", should only be used on the gates of an actual manor."

There's far too much to say about Job in this single edition of Chronicles but I'd like to at least get us started. — Irene's memoir is simply bursting with (appalling but highly entertaining) stories. Here's just one:

I was nine years old [1900], with a crimson frock and highly starched white embroidered pinafore, dark hair which required many knobbly curl papers on Saturday nights and a fringe, when my parents brought me to Wandsworth to live with the gentleman known to me as Grandpa and to my father and his brothers as "The Governor".

Spencer Park, with its very genteel houses, entirely surrounded an enchanting private park where the birds sang and nested amid the pink and white chestnut trees, and the sweet perfume of lilac, or flew chirping amid the golden chains of the laburnum and the budding walnut trees.

Old Bradford, the chief gardener, would have fallen in his tracks had a weed been found in his glowing flower beds or a dandelion on his immaculate lawns, where in summertime a comfortable brown horse gently dragged the lawn mower up and down.

The Park was sacred to the tenants of the surrounding houses, each of which had its private gate and key. And the rules of its use were as stern as any tribal laws of darkest Africa.

No games except the well-bred, non-turf-destroying recreation of croquet were permitted and the nicely brought-up children were trained not to walk upon the grass or pick a single flower. All was decorous, neat and deadly slow. Grandpa was a keen croquet player, but sad was the occasion if anyone so far forgot themselves as to defeat him. My Mother did so once, but never, never again.

A gratuitous image of a young woman in a hammock, to help you visualise the scene a moment before Job arrived with his pocket knife. Painting by Ruth Sutherland, c.1910

(Click on image to enlarge)

On one inauspicious day an enterprising young lady broke every rule by slinging a hammock between two of the sacred trees and ensconcing her pretty person within it. But not for long! Grandpa, breathing fire and sulphur, appeared upon the scene and in vehement tones commanded her to remove the obnoxious object immediately.

The lady, far in advance of her times, entirely refused to obey the voice of Authority. But a little thing like a girl in a hammock would not deflect Grandpa from what he considered his duty, so that without further argument he produced a business-like pocket knife and cut down the hammock, complete with girl.

Rushing into her nearby home the girl's complaints brought her Mother on the scene, brandishing a horsewhip with which she proposed to teach old Job Caudwell a lesson. But that wily gentleman had disappeared within the fastnesses of his own garden and the incident, as well as the gate, were closed.

A rum character, eh? More — probably much more — on Job Caudwell in future Chronicles.

Also . . .

When I started writing about Job Caudwell's obelisk, I expected it to be only a paragraph or two, but it grew and grew, overshadowing everything else. (Rather like the man.) So I've decided to cut this month's Chronicles more or less in half — I'll send out the remainder in a couple of weeks' time.

Isabelle Ross / Marie Duval (1847—1890)

But while we're in Magdalen Road Cemetery, I cannot fail to draw to your attention a nearby headstone. This is to Isabelle Ross — better known as the brilliant comic artist Marie Duval, "one of the forgotten wonders of 19th-century art", who was buried a short distance from Job's obelisk in June 1890. Isabelle/Marie has been described as the first "truly humorous" women artist.

Location of the memorial near the chapel in Magdalen Road Cemetery. Job Caudwell's obelisk can be seen on the far left.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Isabelle Ross — born Isabelle Émilie de Tessier but better known as the artist and actor Marie Duval, but also as "Noir" and "S.A. The Princess Hesse Schwartzbourg". Headstone shared with her husband/partner Charles Ross in Wandsworth Cemetery, Magdalen Road. The couple living on or near Wandsworth Road, on the Battersea/Clapham border.

(Click on image to enlarge)

To
the dear Memory
of
ISABELLE,
the loved wife of
Charles Harry Ross,
who died
on the 11th of June 1890
Aged 38 years.

And the music and silence ceased
and there was silence

Also of the said
Charles Harry Ross,
who died
on the 12th of October 1897,
Aged 63 years.

Marie Duval, "Rinkophobia", commenting on the Victorian enthusiasm for roller skating. A self-portrait?

(Click on image to enlarge)

More on Isabelle Ross/Marie Duval (and her extraordinary creation Aly Sloper), very soon. In the meanwhile, give a loved one (or yourself) a treat and buy this beautiful book on her life and work:

Marie Duval, Simon Grennan, Roger Sabin, Julian Waite, Myriad Editions, 2018.

(Click on image to enlarge)

"And the music and silence ceased
and there was silence"

Chronicles

May 2025

Wandsworth Common nearly three centuries ago, as shown on John Rocque's map of 1748. More than twice the area of today's Common, it was undivided and unobstructed by walls, fences, surfaced roads or railway lines. Very few houses are shown on or around its edges. (The green tint is my own.)

Wandsworth Common appears on one of the 16 maps making up John Rocque's "New and Accurate Survey Of the Cities of London and Westminster The Borough of Southwark with The Country about it for nineteen Miles in Length and thirteen in Depth . . . " (1748)

(Click on image to enlarge)

So how did I do? Will there be a plaque on the former St Mark's Infants School, Battersea Rise, one of Wandsworth Common's most sacred sites?

In last month's Chronicles, I outlined my case for Wandsworth Council to erect a plaque on this tiny school, where many Wandsworth Common Preservation Society and Battersea Vestry meetings were held in the late 1860s and 1870s. This is also where Samuel Sullings, imprisoned for fence-breaking nearby, was celebrated on his day of release.

The Committee selecting the new plaques met on April 4th. Was I successful?

St Mark's school (erected 1867-8) and church (1872-4), on Battersea Rise.

Well, er, the selection committee didn't actually consider my proposal, so the answer is no. But I really can't complain because it's all my own fault, since I had missed the deadline for submissions (April 4th). For some reason I had it in my head that the deadline was much later in the month.

(Clear message: never trust a historian with dates.)

Maybe another year?

I would like to take this opportunity to write about some aspects of the transformation of the Common in the last few hundred years.

Here's a simplified image of Rocque's Wandsworth Common which I've imposed on an Ordnance Survey map from 1868. I have also added the bounds of the three manors that inter-commoned here: Wandsworth, Battersea and Allfarthing.

["Inter-commoning" allowed local people to share the resources of the entire area of Common (for pasture of animals, digging of gravel, cutting of turf, collection of firewood etc), even though the contiguous parts were legally attached to separate manors.]

Today's Bolingbroke Field formed a large part of Battersea Manor's "West Common". The Scope and West Side/North Side was once Wandsworth's "East Common". The "Allfarthing Piece" — a thrust deep into the Common — has now all been built over as the Toast Rack.

By the late 1860s, a century or so after Rocque's map was published, the Common was less than half the size, it was criss-crossed with roads and railways, and ringed around with large houses and state and charitable institutions (schools and a prison). In the late 1850s the Patriotic Asylum ate the heart out of the Common — more than 50 acres.

(Click on image to enlarge)

The Royal Victoria Patriotic Asylum for Girls c.1860, in a recent 50-acre enclosure of the Common. Its kite-like shape is defined by two sharply converging/diverging railway lines, the future Trinity Road, and a straight boundary at right angles ending at the railway line en route to Crystal Palace.

Traditional routes, once free and unobstructed in every direction, were now closed off, hence walkers had to find new, usually less convenient, ways across the Common. Notice, for example, how access to the Common is restricted to a narrow passage opposite the County Arms pub between the RVPA Asylum grounds (behind by a long high wall) and an enclosed nursery.

[This nursery area, leased from owner Magdalen College, Oxford, by the Neal family, had been open Common within living memory. This will eventually be built over as the "Toast Rack".]

If, in the 1860s, local people had not campaigned so hard to save the fragments of Common that remained, there would be little left for us to enjoy today.

Wandsworth Common in 1868.

The Common was at its smallest in 1868, today it's 20 or so acres larger. A strip was lost when Trinity Road was "dualled" in the late 1960s, but patches were found here and there to compensate — such as "Prison Banks", and an acre or so in the grounds of the Patriotic Building.

The most significant area to be added occurred when the LCC bought the "Extension" — about a third of the old RVPA site — just before WWI. This fenced area now contains the cafe, cricket pitches, tennis courts and bowling green:

The northern area of Wandsworth Common, showing the Extension (restored to the Common in 1913).

(Click on image to enlarge)

250 years of change: Wandsworth Common today shown within its likely extent in the late-C18.

(Click on image to enlarge)

"DOWN WITH THE FENCES!"

As promised last month, here is a closer examination of this fine "Down with the Fences!" poster (which is a history lesson in itself):

WANDSWORTH COMMON

__________________________

"E'en now the devastation has begun,
And half the business of destruction done."

__________________________

To the Inhabitants & Working Men

OF WANDSWORTH & BATTERSEA

__________________________

Will you allow Bankrupt and Speculating Builders, Land Societies, Beershop Keepers, Railway Companies, Tailors, Gentlemen and Noble Lords, to rob you and your children of their Common Rights and Footpaths, and the liberty of walking on God's earth, without a struggle?

During the last thirty years enclosures have been made by the late Mr. W. Kellar and the late Mr. Wilson, the enclosure for the Telescope, the enclosures by the Railway Companies, the Patriotic School, the St James's Industrial School, the enclosure by the Prison, the enclosure by Mr. Costeker and Mr. Smith, making a total of upwards of 200 acres!

Most of the enclosures have been filched from the Common and resold at enormous profit.

WHAT'S THE REMEDY?

Down with the Fences! Preserve your Footpaths, show Lord Spencer and the Vinegar Men on the Board of Works, who have neglected their duty, that you are determined to maintain your rights like true Liberals and keep them like true Conservatives.

Follow the Noble Example of Mr. Augustus Smith, who destroyed three miles of Fence on Berkhampstead Common; the Men of Wigton who broke down the Fences erected by the Earl of Galloway. The men of Buckinghamshire who broke down the Fences on Northall Common; the Men of Surrey who broke down the Fences on Shalford Common, and so Preserved their Rights!

Men of Battersea and Wandsworth, GO AND DO THOU LIKEWISE!

Cursed is he who removeth his neighbours' Landmark, and robbeth the poor of his inheritance, and joineth land to land to increase his riches.

___________________________

DOWN WITH THE FENCES!

I can't be sure, but the Down With The Fences! poster must surely have been composed by John Buckmaster himself. Buckmaster is a master wordsmith, his literary style, themes — and even his theatrical mode of delivery — inspired by his friend Charles Dickens.

[Indeed, when he addressed a large meeting in the Mechanics' Institute, South Shields, in 1869, newspaper reports remark that "Listening to Mr Buckmaster is like a reading from Dickens". [Newcastle Daily Chronicle — Monday 18 January 1869 .]

Notice the heady textual mix that JCB would have mastered as an itinerant "lecturer" on behalf of the Anti-Corn Law League in the 1830s:

Old-fashioned poetry: "E'en now the devastation has begun", from Oliver Goldsmith's classic "The Deserted Village" (1770), about the destruction of rural life after enclosure.

Biblical allusions: "Vinegar men" is a reference to the Crucifixion — when Jesus cried out for water, his tormentors gave him vinegar. "Cursed is he who removeth his neighbour's landmark . . . robbeth the poor of his inheritance . . . joineth land to land to increase his riches" are phrases cobbled together from Deuteronomy, Job, Hosea, and Proverbs.

Evangelical exhortation:"The liberty of walking on God's earth . . . Men of Battersea and Wandsworth, Go and do though likewise."

Popular invective: "filched . . . sold for enormous profit".

The whole bitter and abusive diatribe is suffused with wit and sarcasm, invective and fine phrase-making, with lots of rhetorical questions and exclamation marks.

Notice too the political intelligence — the explicit call to both Conservatives and Liberals (there was as yet no Labour Party): "Show Lord Spencer . . . that you are determined to maintain your rights like true Liberals and keep them like true Conservatives".

There is also a subtle class sensibility — one that aims always to unite the great majority against the few: the working and middle (and even upper-middle) classes against the landed aristocracy (in the person of Earl Spencer), and their allies and servants the "railway companies"", "beershop keepers", "bankrupt and speculating builders", and "bankrupt and speculating builders".

[We can attribute Buckmaster's hostility to publicans in part to his own father's alcoholism.

The reference to "Tailors", incidentally, is not a (snobbish) criticism of the trade or craft as a whole. It is probably a specific reference to Henry McKellar, who lived in the large "Wandsworth Lodge" off Trinity Road. He had made his first fortune in India, dressing the East India Company.

McKellar (aka Kellar, as in this poster) bought the nearby fields from Earl Spencer, 1848-53 — all of the land along to Burntwood Lane, including an area of Wandsworth Common (now "Trinity Fields"), and all of the Common between St James's Drive and Bellevue Road ("McKellar's triangle").

Henry McKellar's house and gardens, Wandsworth Lodge, on an Ordnance Survey map of c.1868 (tinted blue). those tinted pink formed "McKellar's Triangle". These fields, until recently part of the Common, were not built over until after his death in 1863.

[Another possible "Tailor" was John Costeker, discussed last month. If I am right, and he is the same man, J.C. was Warden of the Merchant Taylors' Guild in 1846 and its Master in 1853. For more on the "commons stealers" John Costeker and Henry Compton Smith, see April 2025's Chronicles.]

On "the Noble Example of Mr. Augustus Smith, who destroyed three miles of Fence on Berkhampstead Common" [sic], see Wikipedia: Berkhamstead Common, and Augustus Smith (politician)". Also Campagner Kate: "To venge the Common Right".

[It would be interesting to know more about "The Men of Wigton who broke down the Fences erected by the Earl of Galloway . . . The Men of Buckinghamshire who broke down the Fences on Northall Common . . . The Men of Surrey who broke down the Fences on Shalford Common"".]

If possible, sometime soonish I'll follow up with a look at Tom Taylor's poem "The Cry of the Commoners", published in Punch magazine ten days after Samuel Sullings was jailed.

I would also like to discuss in some detail what I always think of as the "Great and Good" poster, targeted at the middle class, published at the same time as "Down with the Fences!":

(Click on image to enlarge)

This May is 80th anniversary of the end of WWII in Europe

Four months before the start of the war (September 1939), estate agents and auctioneers remained "confident that the international horizon would clear before long ". At a local meeting they roundly condemned the "jitterbugs" who "should be ashamed of themselves":

"[P]roperty [is] still the finest investment . . . If war came, stocks and shares would fall, but bricks and mortar would stand. To imagine that flocks of aeroplanes would destroy London in a few days [is] absurd . . . "

Norwood News — Friday 5 May 1939

ATTACK ON THE "JITTERBUGS"

Should be Ashamed of Themselves

AUCTIONEERS ARE IN CONFIDENT MOOD

"JITTERBUGS" were attacked by South London auctioneers at the Ardington Rooms, Clapham Junction, on Friday. At the twelfth annual dinner of the South London branch of the National Association of Auctioneers, House Agents, Rating Surveyors and Valuers, Mr. H. Marshall (national president), proposing "The Branch," expressed the hope that when the branch next met they would not have the shadow of threatened trouble from overseas.

The difficulty of carrying on business worried him and he could see no way out of the difficulty, except that he was confident that the international horizon would clear before long.

"I think people to-day who are suffering from 'jitters' should be ashamed of themselves," he went on. "They are behaving neither as Britons nor even human beings. Great Britain and the British Empire have been in wars hundreds of times and we have always been successful. No doubt we should be successful again, although I do not think war will come. (Hear, hear.) To get the wind up before it comes, at any rate, is being childish."

THE FINEST INVESTMENT

Mr. Marshall urged that those who dealt in property should be brought to realise that property was still the finest investment. If war came, stocks and shares would fall, but bricks and mortar would stand. To imagine that flocks of aeroplanes would destroy London in a few days was absurd and gave no consideration to the naval and anti-aircraft measures.

If people would get over the "jitters" and get on with their jobs, auctioneers and property agents would have no difficulty in earning their livings . . .

[BNA: Link.]

Local heroes, Lyminge Gardens, 11 May 1941 [the last day of the London Blitz]

'The impressive 'London Blitz' George Medal group of five awarded to War Reserve Constable W. H. Young, 'W' Division Metropolitan Police, who was decorated for his great gallantry on the morning of the final major Luftwaffe raid on the Capital during the Second World War.''

[L to R: George Medal, G.VI.R. — 1939-45 Star — Italy Star — Defence medal — War medal]

In the very early hours of the morning of 11 May 1941 [Constable William Young] was one of four Police officers and an Air Raid Warden who responded to the total demolition of several houses at Lyminge Gardens, Wandsworth Common by a German high-explosive bomb.

Knowing a lady was alive — but trapped — inside one of the houses, Constable Young and his colleague Constable Gordon immediately set to work to free her, despite the air raid still being in progress, having no specialist equipment, and with the remainder of the building in imminent danger of complete collapse.

This they achieved after two hours of undoubtedly terrifying, exhausting and back-breaking labour — the lady was saved and, as further testament to their (but especially Young's) tenacity, almost unbelievably after a short rest he then went back on duty.

London County Council Bomb Damage Map (1945). The Lyminge Gardens bomb is circled in pink.

[For more about bombs on our area, see e.g. HoWC: Chronicles, September 2024 ]

Statement of Junior Station Inspector W. D. F. Williams, Metropolitan Police, 13 May 1941:

"'It was decided to attempt to clear a way through from the rear of the debris.

"At first glance the task appeared a hopeless one, as many attempts to remove the floorboards and beams would in all probability bring the remainder of the debris on top of the would be rescuer and the woman.

However, without the slightest hesitation W.R. Young commenced to dig and scrape with his bare hands. He succeeded in burrowing a hole big enough for him to work in, and then commenced to remove the boards and beams which lay across the woman.

"Time and again the debris and masonry above threatened to collapse on top of the W.R. but he continued working with complete disregard for his personal safety.

"The whole time that the W.R. was digging enemy aircraft were active overhead, thus preventing the use of any light.

"After digging and scraping for almost two hours the W.R. was able to clear away sufficient space for the woman to move her legs . . . When the W.R. was lifted from the hole in which he had been working he was suffering badly from cramp and exhaustion and had to be assisted to a nearby house, where after a short rest, he was able to return to Balham Police Station at about 5.15 a.m., 11th May 1941.

George Medal citation: London Gazette 29 August 1941:

"A high explosive bomb partially demolished a house and a woman was trapped. The beams and boards which were pinning her down were also holding up the debris and masonry which had fallen from above. Despite the danger, War Reserve Young burrowed a hole large enough to work in and, after two hours, managed to clear away sufficient rubble for the woman to be extracted.

"In the meantime, War Reserve Gordon got into the wreckage from a different direction and protected the victim from falling debris. His position was cramped and dangerous but he remained there, comforting the woman and indicating the best method of effecting her release.

"An air raid was in progress during the whole operation and there was the additional danger of the house collapsing, which it did shortly after the rescue was completed. Gordon and Young showed outstanding courage and determination."

Commissioner of Police for the Metropolis, Air-Vice Marshal Sir Philip Woolcott Game:

"The raid was going on during the whole operation and the two War Reserves had therefore to work in darkness. The risk they ran was shown by the fact that the house collapsed at the point where they had been working shortly after they had completed the rescue.

"There seems little to choose between the performances of these two men so far as regards danger. If anything, perhaps War Reserve Young had the harder task. When he finished he was exhausted and suffering from cramp, but he soon recovered and was able to resume duty . . . W.R.s Young and Gordon are recommended for George Medals.""

A brief biography of William Young:

William Henry Young was born in October 1912 at St. John's Wood in London; his birth certificate notes that his father — Herbert Arthur — was a Police Constable in 'S' Division, so perhaps family influence led William into the same calling. Newspaper and Police journal extracts also note he became very involved in extra-curricular activities with his uniformed colleagues, being a keen rower with the Balham Police Athletic Club.

Living in Clapham upon the outbreak of the Second World War, and with his civilian profession noted as a 'Motor car driver', he joined the Metropolitan Police as a War Reserve Constable shortly after war was declared. Not to be confused with Special Constables, War Reserve Constables nevertheless performed a similar voluntary role alongside their civilian professions and were authorised with the same powers as Regular officers.

All quotations above are taken from the Spink auction catalogue, 20 July 2023: "It was decided to attempt to clear a way through from the debris at first glance . . . ". I am indebted to Marcus Budgen, Head of Medals at the auction house Spink and Sons, for bringing these remarkable men to my attention — thanks, Marcus!

Rebuilding after the war

Letter from architect Terence Carr to H.W. Tee, Superintending Officer, Wandsworth Borough Council, 11 May 1946:

(Click on image to enlarge)

And today?

Lyminge Gardens, SW18: Which of these houses were destroyed by bombs and rebuilt after WWII? How can you tell?

Squirrels . . .

I've written about rabbits on Wandsworth Common before, but never I think about squirrels.

A Grey squirrel on Wandsworth Common, 2024. Photo by Lewis More O'Ferrall — thanks, Lewis!

(Click on image to enlarge)

Red Squirrel, from Revd Theodore Wood's Dwellers in the Woods (1908).

Revd Wood, vicar of St Mary Magdalene, lived in the fine Vicarage on the corner of Loxley Road and Lyford Road. He and his father (the Rev. J.G. Wood) were among the most influential 19th and early 20th century popularisers of natural history. More . . .

(Click on image to enlarge)

I find it hard to believe my memory, but as a child in the 1950s I simply do not recall seeing any squirrels on the Common — red or grey. Faulty memory?

Perhaps not. Here is a table from Monica Shorten's 1940s' study of the spread of Grey Squirrels:

Red v Grey . . .

Distribution of Red and Grey Squirrels in London's parks and other open spaces, 1944-45.

Monica Shorten, "A Survey of the Distribution of the American Grey Squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) and the British Red Squirrel (S. Vulgaris leucourus) in England and Wales in 1944-5", Journal of Animal Ecology, Vol. 15, No. 1 (May, 1946), pp. 82-92.

In London, all the Red squirrels had died out in the 1920s, but Grey squirrels were on the ascendant. They'd been introduced at least 30 times from the USA from 1876 as an ornamental species to populate the grounds of stately homes. They thrived. (It became an offence to import and release Grey squirrels in 1930.)

You probably know that Beatrix Potter sent illustrated letters about Peter Rabbit to young Noel Moore at No. 20 Baskerville Road; but it was new to me that she also wrote to him about other works in progress, including The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin (1903).

(Click on image to enlarge)

I wonder when the last Red squirrel/ first Grey squirrel was seen on Wandsworth Common?

Talking about red . . .

Where did you get that hat?

Last night, we watched Conclave, about the election of a new Pope by all the Cardinals in the Roman Catholic Church. Very enjoyable, very topical.

And very red.

Conclave: Cardinals gathering.

(Click on image to enlarge)

I was reminded that one of Wandsworth's most successful exports was once a red or scarlet hat, much much prized by Cardinals. (This, I think, was the wide-brimmed Galero (a variety of Sombrero), rather than the small hemispherical skullcap, the Zucchetto ("little pumpkin"), seen above. )

(See Wikipedia: Galero. For a useful guide to the range of religious headgear, see "Papal Conclave: Why do Cardinals wear Funny Hats?.

Was this hat made in Wandsworth?

Peter-Paul Rubens, St Jerome, wearing a Cardinal's scarlet Galero.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Given the date that Rubens painted this picture, c.1625, definitely not. But had it been a century later, probably yes.

How so?

According to the historian of the Huguenots, Charles Weiss, writing in 1854:

"Hat-making was one of the most important manufactures taken into England by the refugees [i.e. the Huguenots].

"In France it had been almost entirely in the hands of the Protestants. They alone possessed the secret of the liquid composition which serves to prepare rabbit, hare, and beaver skins, and they alone supplied the trade with fine Caudebec hats in such demand in England and Holland.

"After the Revocation [of the Edict of Nantes, 1685, which deprived French Protestants of religious and civil liberties], most of them went to London, taking with them the secret of their art, which was lost to France for more than forty years.

In this period,

" . . . the French nobility, and all persons making pretensions to elegance in dress, wore none but English hats; and the Roman cardinals themselves got their hats from the celebrated manufactory at Wandsworth established by the refugees. "

[Charles Weiss, History of the French Speaking Protestant Refugees from the revocation of the edict of Nantes to our own days, 1854. p. 259-60.]

What an irony, then: Roman cardinals sourcing their hats from workshops established by Protestants fleeing Catholic persecution.

Hats and scarlet dye continued to be local specialities, as Daniel Lysons (The Environs of London, 1792) writes:

Towards the close of the last [i.e. C17] century, when great numbers of French protestants fled from the persecution which prevailed in the reign of Lewis XIV, many of them settled at Wandsworth, where they established a French church.

Among these refugees was a considerable number of hatters, who introduced their manufacture at this place, and carried it on with great success.

Though much diminished in its extent, the manufacture still exists; Mr. Chatting, a grandson of one of the refugees, being now a hatter in Wandsworth.

Lysons continues:

"The art of dying cloth has been practised at this place for more than a century. There are now two dyers here, Mr. Barchard and Mr. Williamson."
[Daniel Lysons, The Environs of London: Volume 1, County of Surrey (London, 1792), British History Online.]

Mr. Barchard - though I'm not sure whether he himself was of Huguenot origin - specialised in ‘Wandsworth Scarlet’, the vivid red textile dye made from the heartwood of a tree imported from Brazil, Paubrasilia (from the Portuguese "pau" or wood and "brasa" or ember. ]

[Indeed the name Brazil itself is a shortened from of "Terra do Brasil"", the land of the Brazilwood tree.]

According to a terrific article about Wandle Dyeworks on the Wandle.org website, Mr Barchard's "dyeworks were located on the east bank of the Wandle, about 70 yards north of the bridge carrying Wandsworth High Street, on a site now occupied by the rear buildings of the Ram brewery."

[There is a Barchard Street quite close to Wandsworth Town Hall.]

But conditions there cannot have been ideal. Earlier in the century, on 27 March 1743, Thomas Cecil complained to the Wandsworth Vestry that:

"from the filth Mud and dirt which from time to time is Washed into the River near to his Dyehouse by the great quantity of Road water that is discharged into the said River from the great Road or common Highway called Garret Lane . . . he is totally obstructed from carrying on his Trade or business of a Scarlet Dyer in the said Dyehouse . . . ".

The Surveyors of the Highways were asked to look into the matter.

At which point, the Spanish Inquisition arrived, unexpectedly:

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" — Monty Python's Flying Circus, first shown BBC, 22 September 1970. (View on Youtube.. See also Wikipedia: The Spanish Inquisition (Monty Python).)

(Click on image to play video)

Chronicles

April 2025

Tiny St Mark's School, Battersea Rise, was built on a corner of Wandsworth Common 1866-67.

This photograph shows the school in 2023, in a wretched state, before its splendid restoration and rebirth as the studio of Dow Jones Architects.

(Click on image to enlarge)

S PROMISED LAST MONTH, here is my case for a Wandsworth Green Plaque to be placed on the former St Mark's Infants School, Battersea Rise. For me, and for everyone who loves Wandsworth Common, this is hallowed ground, a sacred site.

St Mark's school and church, on Battersea Rise — the church was built five years or so later.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Aerial view showing how St Mark's Infant School and Church were built on a sharp corner of Wandsworth Common, within the V-shaped "bird-beak" entrance to a drove lane between Wandsworth and Clapham Commons. This drove lane later became called Battersea Rise.

(Click on image to enlarge)

In the fight to save the Common in the 1860s and early 1870s, the Wandsworth Common Preservation Society sometimes met in the school, and in 1867 up to 5000 people gathered (loudly) on the grass nearby to protest against further enclosures of the Common

This month, I want to commemorate an event in April 1870, when Samuel Sullings (our very own martyr) was jailed for breaking down fences that blocked people's access to the Common. But for various reasons, I'm going to tell the story in the wrong order.

I'll start with his release from Wandsworth Prison in July 1870 when he was brought in a procession to this building and treated like a king, then look at why he was imprisoned in the first place, and (if there's space) the broader context of fence-breaking at this time.

Here's how John Buckmaster recollected the popular jubilation in his marvellous autobiography, A Village Politician (1897).

When his companions heard of [Samuel Sullings's] release they procured a van and decorated it with ribbons, laurels, evergreens, and flowers. An armchair was placed in the centre for the prisoner.

A band of music arrived at the prison gates, and the prisoner was received with hearty expressions of sympathy and goodwill.

The band, with van and procession, moved slowly to the scene of the late battle, for which the young man had suffered ten days' imprisonment*. The procession stopped as long as the police permitted it in front of the houses of the common-stealers and played, almost to the bursting of their instruments, 'See the conquering hero comes,' with occasional yells of 'Who stole the common?'

Eventually, they reached St Mark's School:

The procession moved through the parish to the schoolroom, where I presented the prisoner with a new suit of clothes and five pounds, provided by the committee. I persuaded the audience to go quietly home. I sent two men with the prisoner to his lodgings.

Some of the men had been drinking and were getting noisy and troublesome, and when they are in that state you may as well try to persuade a milestone to go home.

Buckmaster concludes this part of the story in his usual dry manner:

I did all I could, and as the young man was safe I left the others, and the next morning two or three of them were fined five shillings each."

Let's unpack these paragraphs a little.

" . . . The houses of the common-stealers"

The "commons-stealers" were William Compton-Smith and John Costeker, two affluent chaps who lived on St John's Hill (between today's Vardens Road and Strath Terrace). Before the arrival of the railway c.1837, the area of Common behind their houses was known as Plough Green (after The Plough pub, opposite the top of Plough Lane).

The area once known as "Plough Green" is highlighted on a modern aerial photograph. P is the Plough pub, CS is the position of Compton-Smith's house, C is Costeker's. St Mark's Church and its tiny school on the extreme right, S.

Here we see the houses on the edge of Plough Green/Wandsworth Common around 1840, before St Mark's church and school were built. The railway had been pushed through a few years earlier, curved and angled to avoid the large houses and gardens to the west. As a result, areas of the Common were cut off, making them vulnerable to enclosure.

As the wonderful Survey of London: Battersea points out, by 1870 the old houses and long gardens south-west of the Plough had become ripe for "development". William Compton Smith owned Ivy Lodge, on the corner of St John's Hill and what became Vardens Road. John Costeker's house was near the corner of what is now Strath Terrace. Both were attempting to enlarge their gardens by stopping up pathways onto the common, and enclosing and adding common land to their properties.

And they succeeded. Within a couple of years, these detached houses and gardens were sold off, demolished, and covered in terraced housing.

Zig-zag roads and tightly-packed terraces (with almost no gardens) that succeeded the large houses and spacious grounds enjoyed by Compton-Smith and Costeker. Strathblaine Road, marked in pink, roughly follows the route onto the Common that Samuel Sullings and his fellow fence-breakers were endeavouring to keep open.

" . . . See the conquering hero comes"

You will notice frequent references throughout Buckmaster's account to popular music, song, and poetry of the day — which I'm delighted to be writing about because April 2025 is the start of Wandsworth's year as The Mayor of London's Borough of Culture.

"See the conquering hero comes" is a chorus from George Frederic Handel's oratorio, Judas Maccabaeus (1746), by 1870 an all-purpose patriotic hymn:

"See, the Conquering Hero Comes"

(Youths)

See, the conquering hero comes!
Sound the trumpets! Beat the drums!
Sports prepare! The laurel bring!
Songs of triumph to him sing!

(Virgins)

See the godlike youth advance!
Breathe the flutes and lead the dance!
Myrtle wreaths and roses twine
to deck the hero's brow divine!

(Israelites)

See, the conquering hero comes!
Sound the trumpets! Beat the drums!

You can hear this chorus in numerous versions that are nothing like how it must have resounded on St John's Hill and Battersea Rise in July 1870 (e.g. here and here). But this version may sound a little more like it.

Wouldn't it be fun to put together a scratch band and assemble lots of local people to play and sing it together this year!

[The song was also associated with the openings of railway stations and lines — including the first, the Liverpool & Manchester line in September 1830. Clapham Junction station opened in March 1863. I don't know whether the band played "See, the Conquering Hero Comes" on that day, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised.

By the end of the 1860s, railway workers were the largest occupational group in Battersea. They formed a number of musical ensembles, including brass bands and blackface "minstrel" groups which performed in various public gatherings, including Commons-related events (such as the monster demonstration of Friday 23 August 1867, when perhaps 5000 people gathered near the school). It would be good to know more about these groups. I'll write more about this demonstration another time.]

[Where exactly is the reference to brass bands and minstrelsee? It's not in Buckmaster, A Village Politician (so far as I know). So where?]

The earliest photograph of Clapham Junction station (c. 1875) that I know of, looking north from St John's Hill bridge. Notice there were still very few lines at this time. The "riot" that Samuel Sullings was involved in took place only a hundred yards or so from here.

John Buckmaster's home, in New Road (now Prested Road), may just be in view on the right of the photograph. It was demolished to make way for new tracks when they were added later in the century.

There's something of an irony in this. The coming of the railways fragmented and destroyed the integrity of Wandsworth Common, but it also encouraged innumerable railway workers and their families to settle in Battersea. And of course it was the cramped unhealthy terraced dwellings they were forced to inhabit that made free access to the Common all the more desperately needed.

" . . . Who stole the common?"

A reference to a seventeenth-century protest verse that John Buckmaster often declaimed (to great public hilarity):

“The law locks up the man or woman
Who steals the goose from off the common
But leaves the greater villain loose
Who steals the common from off the goose.”

The rhyme is endlessly adaptable. Here's a version painted over a "No trespassing" sign on a fence surrounding Freeman's Wood, Lancaster (Guardian, 10 February 2016).

What was Samuel Sullings's crime?

According to the London Daily News (15 April 1870):

Samuel Sullings, a sawyer, aged 21 years, was charged with being concerned, with other persons not in custody, in wilfully damaging a wooden fence enclosing a kitchen garden belonging to Mr. John Costeker, of St. John's-hill, Wandsworth.

The report continued:

On Wednesday last about 300 men of the roughest kind came to the place and knocked down the gates and a considerable portion of the fence. Fruit trees were damaged, and an immense amount of injury was done to the property."

A police constable said he saw Samuel Sullings:

call upon the mob to assist him to break down the gates. He threw a heavy stone at the gates, and after he got them down he jumped upon them and broke the panels. He picked up a large stick and walked across the ground. He said, 'This is our place, boys, and we'll stick to it.' "

Dr. Dayman, the magistrate, said he sympathised with the cause, but unless the law changed he was compelled to punish the prisoner regardless:

It was very desirable, no doubt, that open spaces in crowded localities should not be enclosed, but he doubted whether the public could claim to keep open Wandsworth-common without an Act of Parliament.

He fined the prisoner 40s. [i.e. £2], in addition to £15, the amount of damage, and in default ordered him to be imprisoned for six months.

[You can view the original Daily News article here; BNA Link. ]

[Numerous other accounts were published, but they're all very similar, e.g. Daily Telegraph (15 April) (headed "Riotous proceedings on Wandsworth Common", Morning Post (15 April), Sun (16 April ) ("Suburban warfare . . . Wandsworth common is still the field of battle").]

But of course £17 was far more than Samuel Sullings could pay. As an unskilled young gardener, he probably didn't earn much more than a £1 a week — so this was the equivalent of perhaps 4 months' work.

In default, then, Samuel Sullings was sent to Wandsworth Prison for six months of hard labour.

Samuel Sullings in Wandsworth Prison . . .

Samuel Sullings: entry in the Wandsworth Prison Registry

Number: 2167
Name: Samuel Sullings
Sex: Male
Age: 21
Height: 5 feet 5 inches
Hair & eyes: Brown — Blue
Other marks: Top left thumb [____ed?] Scar over right eye
Trade or occupation: Sawyer
Magistrate: C.O.[?] Dayman Wandsworth
When committed: 14 [April]
Offence: [illeg.] damaging a fence
Sentence: 6 months
Fine: £17
Expiration of term: 13 Oct 1870
State of instruction: Read/Write/Religion: [illeg]
Weight coming in: 10 stone
Birthplace: E [England]

[Let me know if you can read any more words. Ancestry: Link. ]

It is likely that Samuel Sullings will have spent most of his period of confinement alone in a cell, performing arduous — but useless — labour on a "crank machine" for hours at a time.

Reckless, perhaps, but not mindless . . .

No matter how hot-headed (or indeed drunk) Samuel Sullings and his fellow fence-breakers may have been, this was not an isolated act of "mindless vandalism" but one enjoying widespread social approval. He was part of a large group — a "mob . . . 300 men of the roughest kind" — engaging in what they considered to be perfectly reasonable and legal — or at least principled — behaviour.

And it didn't come out of the blue — there was long back-story of similar actions in the area (and on commons and forests elsewhere in the country) in the last 20 or 30 years. Even the magistrate, Mr Dayman, admits the cause has its merits — "It was very desirable, no doubt, that open spaces in crowded localities should not be enclosed" — but acknowledges the confused state of the law; that "without an Act of Parliament" his hands are tied and he must punish Sullings as though it was an act of vandalism, not political principle.

John Buckmaster's account of the events . . .

Let us return to John Buckmaster's account, the most complete, vivid, and affecting we have:

A footpath which ran diagonally across a piece of the common was stopped at both ends, and the land added to the gardens of adjoining owners. This enclosure deprived the public of a convenient footpath, and stopping it created much ill-feeling and indignation.

The enclosure was protected at both ends with a high closed fence of a most formidable character, lined inside and out with sheet-iron. The one boundary was the railway, and the other the gardens of the common-stealers.

Men would assemble in small detachments in the evening and look at the fence. The police were on the lookout. They expected a siege some evening, and they were not disappointed.

One evening about a dozen men came out of a near public-house* and with heavy hammers and stones attacked the fence at both ends, broke it down, trampled down the fruit-trees, and went out at the other end amid the deafening cheers of a large crowd which had by this time come together.

[* probably the Plough Inn, or possibly the Surrey Hounds, on the other side of the road.]

"The Plough" public house, photographed c.1875.

Among them is the unfortunate Samuel Sullings:

One stupid young fellow, who had recently come up from the country to work in the gardens, took up a large stone and deliberately knocked down some palings. His companions saw the police and called him away, but he was deaf, and the police took him into custody, and he was locked up.

I happened, fortunately for myself, to be away, but, unfortunately for the young man, the whole affair was so sudden and unexpected that no arrangements were made to defend him. The next morning he was brought before the magistrate, confessed his guilt, and expressed his sorrow. He was sentenced to a fortnight's imprisonment.

The common-stealers pleaded damage and pressed for a heavy punishment as an example. If instead of pleading guilty he had pleaded a right, the magistrate must have dismissed the case.

Buckmaster, in characteristic fashion, swung into action, writing letters to the press to highlight the enormity of what had just happened (e.g. to the Echo, 27 April) and pulling all the levers available to him.

On my return I called on his employer, who expressed his willingness to give the man work when he came out of prison.

I at once prepared a memorial to the Home Secretary for his liberation.

I first went to the parson of our district* and asked him to sign it. Now this man, who had often expressed to me his full sympathy with our efforts, began to make all sorts of excuses. The common-stealers formed part of his congregation. They were wealthy and subscribed liberally to his church, and unless they first signed it he could not without giving offence. This was the representative of the Church of the poor man, which ought to have protected him against the greed and avarice of the rich . . .

[* This was J.S. Jenkinson, vicar of St Mary's Battersea, appointed to the position by Earl Spencer himself. JCB (who was the Churchwarden) is often disparaging. He was much more enthusiastic about John Erskine Clarke, the vicar from c. 1872.]

I placed a table in front of a shop where hundreds of persons passed daily to the railway, and in the course of two days obtained nearly a thousand signatures.

I took the memorial at once to the House of Commons and sent for Mr. Fawcett [Henry Fawcett, the blind Liberal member for Brighton], who was out. I then sent for Sir Charles Dilke [Liberal member for Chelsea, a noted radical], who suggested I should leave it at the Home Office.

I knew what would become of it if it found its way to the Home Office. It would probably be referred to every person, from the messenger to the Assistant Secretary, who would refer it from one to the other, whose business would be to initial it, write on, "Seen — refer to Brown — look up precedents," "Refer to Asst. Sec. for instructions," "Refer to committing magistrate"; and before all was finished the young man would have done his time.

I pressed Sir Charles Dilke to take it direct to the Home Secretary, who was in the House, and explain the circumstances of the case and its urgency.

Charles Dilke, radical M.P,, friend of Wandsworth Common.

I called next day at the Office and found that the matter had been referred to the committing magistrate, who offered no objection to the prisoner's release, and I expected in a day or two the governor of the prison would receive an order accordingly.

But no order came.

I called again at the Home Office, and was informed that the papers had been forwarded to Balmoral. I waited two or three days, when I was informed there had been some mistake, and the papers would be returned to Balmoral at once.

After the young man had served his term of imprisonment all but two days, the governor received an order for his release.

[A puzzle for you: How many days did Samuel Sullings serve?

I'm quite perplexed by the dates. Samuel Sullings, not having the money to pay the fine and damages, had been sent down for six months. This means he would have been freed on 13 October. This date is confirmed by the prison register.

John Buckmaster says he tried to secure the release straight away but there were frustrating delays which meant that Sullings was in prison for 10 days. Buckmaster also states: "After the young man had served his term of imprisonment all but two days, the governor received an order for his release.

However, the celebrations at St Mark's School were on 9 July, i.e. 3 months after SS was imprisoned.

Can anybody help?]

Buckmaster's frustration with the whole rotten, creaking, crushing machinery of state is tangible. Characteristically, he grieves for Samuel Sullings's mother.

A few days after his imprisonment his poor mother came up from Suffolk in great sorrow and went direct to the police-station, where she was informed by somebody, which everybody denied, that I was the cause of her son's imprisonment.

I was deeply grieved when she came to my house, and her sorrow was the sorrow of a mother. I gave her some tea, made her comfortable, and lodged her for the night.

I sent for the treasurer of the Common Fund, and we sent her home with the assurance that her son would not suffer or lose his character.

She was much hurt when she applied at the prison to see her son. The door was slammed in her face, and she was rudely told to be off about her business.

A person in distress is more sensible of kindness than those who have never tasted the waters of deep sorrow through the errors of their children."

There's a lot more to be said about these events, and the many influences that brought things to such a head, but I'd better stop now. If possible, I'll follow up later this month with a look at Tom Taylor's poem "The Cry of the Commoners", published in Punch magazine ten days after Samuel Sullings was jailed, and a closer examination of this fine "Down with the Fences!" poster: (which is a history lesson in itself):

Moving rapidly onward . . .

Although St Mark's Infant School is (or rather was, since it closed in the mid-1960s) built for education, as yet I haven't said anything about its century of service as such to the children of Battersea. I'm collecting stories, but in the meanwhile here is a marvellous contribution from someone who attended the infant school around 1950:

Barbara Windsor (nee Barbara Madsen) remembers St Mark's School around 1950 . . .

Barbara Windsor (nee Madsen) in front of her prefab home when she was about 9 years old. St Mark's Church is in the background.

In February 2025, I asked Barbara to send me recollections of her tiny infant school, which was just yards from her prefab-home (where she lived from 1946 to 1956) on what we now call St Mark's triangle. I'm so pleased I asked!

It was very convenient to start my school years a mere two-minute walk away from home and I attended St Mark's Infant School from around 1948/49 until 1950/51 prior to going to Belleville Road Primary School when I was around seven.

I have a very vivid memory of the school room, the two classes divided across the middle by, I'm pretty sure, a curtain, and a large central fire enclosed by a railed safety guard. Miss Carter was the headmistress assisted by Miss Webb. I have a vague memory of standing in front of the fire and being awarded a prize and I suppose when I get round to sorting out vast amounts of memorabilia, there might be some evidence of this somewhere!

It doesn't happen these days, but the school bell was rung in the morning, calling children to school. Boys and girls were taught together, but when it came to playtime, girls were in the tiny playground adjacent to Battersea Rise and boys were in the one alongside Comyn Road.

We were issued with cardboard pencil boxes, played with sand and had a choice of several basic musical instruments to experiment with. And of course in those days, a third of a pint of milk at playtime — I think the cod liver oil capsules came later! I can remember writing the date 1949 when I would have been five.

[For Barbara's memories of growing up in the prefabs, see the Chronicles for March 20025 Part II.

In October 2022, Barbara was interviewed at length by Ros Page as part of the Friends of Wandsworth Common "Common Lives" project. Some of what she said above is also covered, but Barbara also recollected crying on her first day at the school:

because my friend Penny Jones, who lived next door, was a year older than me so she was in the other class and so we weren't together. So I do remember, I do remember crying the first day.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Do any other readers have recollections of the school (or indeed of the prefabs)? Let me know.

Photographs from Barbara Windsor's album.

Barbara Windsor: "It's lovely to see the building looking so pristine and in use. Although (unbelievably!) I'm now 80, I still have very vivid memories of standing behind those railings on the left and my mother bringing me a breaktime snack."

[On the origins and architecture of the school, see The Survey of London: Battersea, chapter on Schools; Historic England, list entry: , St Mark's Infant School, Battersea Rise and the research report by Emily Cole (pdf).

For further info. about the recent restoration of the school, see e.g. Dow Jones Architects and Architects' Journal.]

Thank you, Barbara — it's such a pleasure corresponding with you!

[My good friend Hugh Betterton, who grew up on West Side, wrote to tell me that his mother, Bessie, whose family name was Holmes (and later Bettes), attended St Mark's infant school in 1911. You may recall from earlier Chronicles that her stepfather Albert Bettes and stepsister Florence were killed by lightning on Wandsworth Common in June 1914. Their home was at 1 Chivalry Road, but Florence was probably too young to be a pupil at the school. ]

Common Memories — Life on & around Wandsworth Common, 1930s-1980s. (Friends of Wandsworth Common, 2024)

(Click on image to view video.)

A.O.B.

So farewell, then, W.H. Smith, Friend of Wandsworth Common . . .

William Henry Smith (1825—1891)

News has just reached me that W.H. Smith, the bookseller and newsagent always associated with the nation's railway stations (where the company's news-stands became ubiquitous in the middle of the nineteenth century), has just been bought out and will no longer trade under this name.

The mid-Victorian owner of the company, William Henry Smith M.P., was a great friend of Wandsworth Common, lending his name in support of campaigns and petitions, and making donations to funds set up to fight legal battles to secure the Common.

For example, in July 1870, the month that Samuel Sullings was released, it was advertised that Smith would be among a host of dignitaries attending an important meeting chaired by the Lord Mayor at the Mansion House to be held on 14 July, where he would be donating £23 to the "Peek Fund" (the equivalent of about £3500 today):

for the purpose of making an appeal on behalf of a fund of £5000, to which Mr. H.W. Peek, M.P., has promised £1000 . . . for the purposes of taking proceedings against Lord Spencer, the lord of the manor, to prevent him . . . enclosing, selling and building upon Wandsworth Common."

I hope I'll have an opportunity to discuss the significance of the Peek Fund and the Mansion House meeting quite soon.

And finally . . .

"Wimbledon: In a David vs Goliath battle, what is the price for democracy?"

I was on the point of sending out this month's Chronicles when I saw Cyril Richert's recent blog about Wimbledon Park (CPAG, 7 April 2025). It starts:

Local residents are fighting to protect Wimbledon Park from the All England Lawn Tennis Club’s expansion plans, highlighting the financial challenges of defending public spaces. A recent meeting aimed to raise funds for the upcoming Judicial Review.

How could we not be struck by similarities with the story we've just been exploring? Access to law is costly, so in 2025, as in 1870, crowd-funding is needed.

The AELTC Wimbledon Park Project – Credit: AELTC brochure

I'm sure you'll want to read it:

Chronicles

March 2025

I

March, 50 million years ago — a Nautilus is swimming in the shallow tropical sea that covers Wandsworth Common.

(Click on image to enlarge)

The Nautilus in Miss Wollaston's Choice Cabinet . . .

Around 1837, Miss Henrietta Wollaston, walking in a deep cutting being dug across the Common to make way for the new London and Southampton railway, finds this same fossil, and gives it pride of place in her "choice cabinet".

We know this because the eminent palaeontologist Gideon Mantell included it in his "Short Sketch of the Geology of Surrey", a chapter of Edward Brayley's monumental A topographical history of Surrey, 5 vols. (1841-44).

Henrietta Wollaston's Nautilus

"Nautilus imperialis: from the London clay, Wandsworth common; in the collection of Miss H. Wollaston; the original is six inches in diameter." (Plate 1, fig. 14.)

Mantell writes:

"In Surrey, the usual fossils of the clay have been found wherever the strata have been explored, by wells, railway sections, and other excavations.

The section across Wandsworth common, formed by the line of the Southampton railway, afforded a highly-interesting suite of specimens, of which a good series is preserved in the choice cabinet of Miss Henrietta Wollaston . . . (p.135).

Railway cutting across Wandsworth Common, probably showing the bridges bearing Trinity Road (in the distance) and Heathfield Road (foreground).

[I assume it's this way round since we appear to be looking uphill, with a slight bend to the left.]

Stanford's Geological map, 1878. The orange colour shows "Gravel and Sand of various ages", the brown layer beneath is "London Clay", and the small patches of yellow are "Brick Earth".

Notice in the centre of the Stanford map how the slender curves of the railway lines gouge through superficial gravel and sand deposits to the clay layers beneath. This exposure was achieved by the efforts of hundreds of navvies in the course of just a few months. On the right, the Falcon Brook has scoured out a much wider band down to the clay, but the process had taken many thousands of years.

[Similarly, but on an even greater scale, the Wandle — just off-image bottom left hand corner.

Notice, by the way, that the first large houses in the area — such as Allfarthing Manor, the "Five Houses" along Bolingbroke Grove, or the Burntwood houses — were built on gravel, never on clay. Gravel drains better than clay, and was therefore believed to be "healthier".]

Gideon Mantell goes fossil-hunting on Wandsworth Common and Clapham Common . . .

Gideon Mantell

(Click on image to enlarge)

In the first of a series of lectures given in Clapham in November 1840 (to help fund a local school), Mantell invited his audience "to stroll with him over Clapham and Wandsworth commons". As the Morning Post recorded:

[F]rom the interesting phenomena furnished by these well known localities [Mantell] taught them many of the wonders of geology, and much of the history of the ancient earth and its inhabitants.

In the gravel they had discovered the teeth and bones of the elephant and the rhinoceros, creatures of tropical growth and origin, and in the clays they had found the usual exuvia; of a marine deposit, the weeds, sponges, shells, and fish, which could only have existed in the depths of a profound ocean.

[BNA: Link.]

Mantell's talks were hugely popular — not surprising because he was universally famous for discovering* and naming the first dinosaur — the Iguanodon. but also because fossil-hunting on the Commons had been all the rage for several years. Even without the railway cuttings to give access to deep layers, both Commons were covered in pits, mainly to provide gravel and sand for new roads in the area. (Doubtless gravel-diggers were paid if they passed on interesting-looking specimens.)

[* Or was it his wife, Mary Ann? But that's another story.]

Mantell was a brilliant showman, engaging artists such as John Martin to visualise the primordial world with much drama and violence:

John Martin, In the Country of the Iguanodon, 1838. The scene is the Sussex Weald, so Wandsworth Common is in the far distance.

[A decade or so later, Martin will become celebrated for his scenes of apocalyptic destruction and heavenly rewards at the other end of Time (e.g. The Great Day of His Wrath (1851-1853.)]

Here's another Mantell-inspired image of the awesome Iguanodon:

[Reconstruction of Iguanodon by Samuel Griswold Goodrich from Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (New York: Derby & Jackson, 1859). Wikipedia helpfully reports that this is "not a factually correct dinosaur restoration".]

Mantell's Iguanodon and the making of Wandsworth Common . . .

I'm banging on about Mantell's Iguanodon, even though it's taking us away from Henrietta Wollaston (if only for a while), because it has a great bearing on the history of Wandsworth Common.

When the Great Exhibition closed at the end of 1851, the "Crystal Palace" was dismantled and moved from Hyde Park to Sydenham (1852-54). Or, to be more precise, to Penge Common — at this time, Penge was a "detached" part of Battersea. (It didn't become independent of the manor until 1888.)

To add to the visitor attraction, models of dinosaurs were made on a giant scale and exhibited in the Park — including Iguanodon:

The Crystal Palace Iguanodon and Hylaeosaurus as illustrated in Matthew Digby Wyatt's Views of the Crystal Palace and Park, Sydenham, 1854

A recent photograph.

One of the most splendid publicity stunts was a dinner held within the body of the Iguanodon model:

A dinner held within the model Iguanodon, Illustrated London News, 31 December 1853. Notice "Mantell" is being feted, along with the illustrious palaeontologists William Buckland, Georges Cuvier and Richard Owen.

But how would Londoners reach a place as remote as Penge/Sydenham? By railway, of course. Hence a new line was constructed specifically to carry visitors.

The obvious, most direct, route would have taken the line across Clapham Common, but local hostility prevailed. An alternative round-about-the-houses route was decided upon that crossed Wandsworth Common, where there were fewer powerful people to protest.

Work began on the "West End of London and Crystal Palace Railway" in 1853, and the line opened in 1856.

Stanford 1862: "New Wandsworth" and "Clapham Common" stations

New Wandsworth station opened on 29 March 1858 and closed on 1 November 1869, when Wandsworth Common station opened.

[Nearby Clapham Common station opened 21 May 1838 and closed 2 March 1863 — the new Clapham Junction station opened the same day.]

(Click on image to enlarge)

Years later, having been extended in both directions (ultimately to Victoria and London Bridge in a great loop), this became the line that runs through our Wandsworth Common Station.

How dinosaur-mania devastated Wandsworth Common . . .

From the point of view of Wandsworth Common, the new dinosaur railway was a double whammy. First, yet another line was being built that divided the Battersea side of the Common and closed off all traditional footpaths. The railway cutting was bridged only once in nearly a mile between Battersea Rise and Nightingale Lane railway — at what became the Cat's Back Bridge.

Secondly, the railway company acquired (from Earl Spencer) very much more of the Common than they needed ‐ a land-bank or "wayleave" — presumably because they couldn't know in advance where exactly their line would run. When the line was completed, they were legally obliged to sell the land. But of course they did not return all surplus land to the Common; they parcelled it up and sold it off to speculative builders, and profited handsomely from the sale. High fences, typically coated in black tar, were erected around the alienated areas.

However, these assaults on the integrity of the Common in the 1830s, '40s and '50s, were ultimately powerful stimuli to the campaign to save it in the 1860s. John Buckmaster, for example, was frequently prosecuted for breaking down the railway company's fences.

OS, c.1870. In 1863 and 1867 the London Brighton & South Coast Railway company (which had acquired the WELCPR), sold off its "surplus" land, which it was obliged to do. The largest purchaser was developer Christopher Todd.

The long thin strip in the south — where most of today's "bumps" are — probably largely the result of the excavation of the cutting. Edwin Rayner Ransome, stalwart defender of Wandsworth Common, is said to have negotiated the return of this land to the Common.

"Down with the Fences!" agitational poster, c.1870.

[Another large area of Common sold off by the railway company at this time was the triangle close to Wandsworth Common station, where Ravenslea, Wexford and part of Mayford Roads were later built. The purchaser, James Anderson Rose, intended the land to be returned to the Common on his death. But the Battersea vestry [sic?] refused to stump up the money.]

Today's Chivalry Road area, once part of the Common. The former New Wandsworth Station was on the left. Battersea Cemetery is on the right.

So now at last we can get back to Henrietta Wollaston . . .

Female fossilists on Wandsworth Common

For Henrietta Wollaston, the railway cutting over Wandsworth Common was no great distance from her home in Battersea. Her illustrious family lived "between the commons", first at 83 Clapham Common West Side (her house is still there, nicely restored), and then nearby at Beechwood (demolished to make way for Culmstock Road).

[Her father was George Hyde Wollaston (1761-1841), a merchant, banker and Clapham antiquarian, and her uncle the wealthy chemist, physicist and geologist William Hyde Wollaston (1766-1828). Doubtless the family knew the great scientist Henry Cavendish, who lived on South Side and regularly walked to Wandsworth Common and back.

GHW became chairman of Marc Isambard Brunel's Thames Tunnel Company — the tunnel, between Rotherhithe and Wapping, is still in use. (Today, the Thames Tunnel carries not the foot passengers and horse-drawn carriages it was designed for but the Windrush Overground Line.). N.B. Brunel's sawmills were not far away from us — by the Thames on the Battersea-Wandsworth border.]

There are even a couple of "Wollaston islands" — one is south of Tierra del Fuego, the other is north of Australia in the Timor Sea.]

Isla Wollaston. (Isla Hornos is the famous "Cape Horn" at South America's southern tip.

[In his Voyage of the Beagle (1831-1836), Charles Darwin writes about the inhabitants of Wollaston Island which he visited around the time that Henrietta Wollaston was combing Wandsworth Common for fossils.

Came to an anchor in the evening under Woollaston Isd.” (Feb 24)

“I walked or rather crawled to the tops of some of the hills; the rock is not slate, & in consequence there are but few trees; the hills are very much broken & of fantastic shapes.

Whilst going on shore, we pulled alongside a canoe with 6 Fuegians. I never saw more miserable creatures; stunted in their growth, their hideous faces bedaubed with white paint & quite naked.

[See "Savages" in a "Charming Country". Curiously, I came across this on the same day of the year as Darwin's diary entry— 24 February. What were the chances?]

But Henrietta Wollaston was not alone as a fossil-hunter (or "fossilist"). Many local women created important collections at this time, as Mantell records:

In the flints and pebbles . . . may be found many of the silicious* fossils of the chalk formation; of which there are numerous examples in the interesting collections of Mrs. Allnutt, Miss H. Wollaston, Mrs. Potts, Miss Graham, and other residents on Clapham common. Among these fossils are casts of the usual echini, plagiostoma, pectens, spirolinites, and other shells of the chalk; and remains of corals, and other zoophytes. (p.130)

[* silicious (made from from silica) i.e. flint.]

Mantell also draws attention to microfossils, a branch of study in which some of the Clapham fossilists were particularly skilled.

Nor must I omit to mention those minute but highly-interesting objects, the fossil infusoria, which abound in the flints; one specimen, highly magnified, is here figured (Pl. 1, fig. 36); the original is invisible to the unassisted eye."

Thus, with merely a common lens, the attentive observer may find an inexhaustible source of amusement even in the beds of gravel spread over the wastes and heaths of this district. (p.130)

"Xanthidium in flint: from Clapham Common; highly magnified; the original is scarcely visible to the naked eye. Many beautiful and highly-interesting specimens of fossil infusoria, and minute polyparia, from the flints of Clapham and Wandsworth commons, have been collected by Mrs. Potts, and Miss Graham, of Clapham Common."

(Click on image to enlarge)

Clearly Mantell thought of these women as thorough-going scientists, not casual hobbyists. Although unable to attend a university or any other advanced course of study, a number must have acquired start-of-the art optical instruments and used them expertly.

I have no idea what kind they used, but here is a contemporary microscope:

Burson achromatic microscope, and wooden case, c.1840.

(Click on image to enlarge)

I can imagine groups of ladies in crinolines* arriving at the railway cuttings armed with small geological hammers to scour the newly exposed layers (doubtless much to the delight of the navvies with their pickaxes and shovels).

The World of Fashion, 1838. It is unlikely women "fossilists" (the contemporary term) ventured onto the Common dressed like this.

(Click on image to enlarge)

No, not crinolines — these were hooped dresses that mainly prevailed in the 1850s and 1860s. This is the period of huge puffed-out sleeves.

[See Mimi Matthews's visual guide to fashionable clothing in the 1830s . But this mainly shows the evolution of evening dress.]

So what did affluent women wear when prospecting for fossils in railway cuttings? We may never know, but here's a painting of the palaeontologist Mary Anning (1799-1847), who was also active at this time — though she was not an affluent Clapham lady, and collecting was her work:

The pioneering palaeontologist and fossil collector Mary Anning (1799-1847) is known for her discoveries of ichthyosaurs, plesiosaurs and pterosaurs at Lyme Regis. It is possible that Henrietta knew Mary personally, perhaps through her scientifically well-connected uncle William Hyde Wollaston.

(Click on image to enlarge)

"Mrs Allnutt, Miss H. Wollaston, Mrs Potts, Miss Graham . . . "

Wouldn't it be good to know more about the pioneering collectors "Mrs Allnutt, Miss H. Wollaston, Mrs Potts, Miss Graham, and other residents"? But so far as I know, no work has yet been been carried out on this remarkable group of local women. What a wonderful project for someone!

According to Henrietta's father's list of Clapham residents in 1841, a "John Allnutt" lived on Clapham Common South Side, the Wollastons lived on West Side, a "John Graham" and a "Mrs Graham" lived in separate houses on North Side, and a "Thomas Potts" on Clapham Common and a "Roger Potts" were living on Nightingale Lane. "Dr Mantell" is living at Crescent Place (George Hyde Wollaston, Clapham with its Common and Environs).s

[In one edition of this essay, Mantell also mentions a "Mrs Abbott", but this may have been a misprint for "Mrs Allnutt".]

The Allnutts (the head of the household was a noted wine merchant) are known to have exhibited examples of local geology in their gardens. Mantell writes that local flints often became cemented together to form large irregular blocks of conglomerate "imbedded in the loose sand and gravel of Clapham and Wandsworth commons", and that:

[M]asses of this conglomerate are employed with good effect in grotto and rock-work, as in the beautiful grounds of John Allnutt, esq., of Clapham common."

[I must ask historian of Clapham Common, Mike Tuffrey, where the Allnutts lived, and whether there are any fragments of grotto and rock-work can still be found in local gardens.]

"Scientists, collectors and illustrators: the roles of women in the Palaeontographical Society"

As I was drafting these notes, I came across an important article that mentions Henrietta Wollaston as an early member of the Palaeontographical Society, the world's oldest society specifically dedicated to palaeontology: Elsa Panciroli, Patrick N. Wyse Jackson & Peter R. Crowther, "Scientists, collectors and illustrators: the roles of women in the Palaeontographical Society", Geological Society, London, Special Publications, 2021.

This lists 24 women members of the Palaeontographical Society in 1848 or 1849, shortly after the Society’s formation. So far as I can tell, none of Henrietta's local contemporaries was also a member.

I am most grateful to Professor Wyse Jackson for sending me a copy of this essay.

"A few of the most characteristic fossils from Wandsworth commons . . . "

According to Mantell:

The tertiary* formations of the London basin have long been celebrated for the immense number and variety of their organic remains . . . [which include] the teeth and bones of several extinct mammalia; bones of birds, serpents, turtles, crocodiles, and other reptiles; many genera of fishes, crustacea, and a few zoophytes; immense quantities of marine shells, of several hundred genera and species; and leaves, seed vessels, stems of plants, and rolled masses of wood perforated by boring-shells (p.135).

[* Tertiary — a term no longer employed in geology, but widely used in the early C19 to mean rocks thought to be associated with the Great Flood in the Bible. In modern chronology, roughly between 66 and 2.6 million years ago.

It would be good to discuss how the study of geology and palaeontology in the Wandsworth/Battersea/Clapham area related to contemporary religious beliefs (I'm thinking about catastrophic floods, the extinction and creation of species, the immense destructive power that has raised and ground down mountains, and above all the emerging idea of Deep Time), but I think we'd better leave that for another time.]

Mantell lists many fossils that have been found on Wandsworth Common:

"Fossils from the London clay, Wandsworth common."

(Click on image to enlarge)

Plate 1, p.128.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Plate 2, p.136.

(Click on image to enlarge)

As the key makes clear, "Miss Wollaston" is responsible for many of the finds: Plate 1, fig.14, and 2, figs 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 19.

In another edition of this essay, in which the plates were re-used with a slightly modified commentary, Mantell revisits specimen 7 ("Wood") and elaborates:

"7. Teredo antenautae: Pl 2. fig 9

(Click on image to enlarge)

7. Teredo antenautae: Pl 2. fig 9. Masses of wood, more or less perfectly preserved, and perforated by a boring-shell allied to the teredo, are found everywhere in the London clay.

Miss Wollaston's cabinet contains several fine specimens from Wandsworth common; some examples are sufficiently hard to bear cutting and polishing, and in that state present a beautiful appearance from the section of the sparry tubes, and the rich grain of the wood they traverse."

Whatever happened to Henrietta Wollaston . . . did she evolve into Lady Pollock?

I first came across Henrietta Wollaston five or six years ago, but I failed to find out anything more about her than her Nautilus and other fossils, as discussed in Gideon Mantell's volume.

At much the same time, I noted a reference to a "Lady Pollock", the only woman referenced in the run up to the 1871 Wandsworth Common Act — she helped to fund the campaign, and was clearly a great supporter of the preservation movement. As with Henrietta Wollaston, it proved impossible at the time to find out anything more.

It certainly never occurred to me that they could be connected.

1870: Local people, believing they would have to go to court to secure the future of Wandsworth Common, launched a campaign to collect funds. Wimbledon-resident Henry Peak promised he would donate £1000 if others gave £4000.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Lady Pollock listed among the Great and Good of the campaign to save Wandsworth and Clapham Campaigns, April 1870:

Lady Pollock subscribed £25 to the Fund for the Preservation of Wandsworth and Clapham Commons — subscriptions up to April 14th 1870.

The target was £5000. Hers is the 12th name in the Battersea list, near John Buckmaster, Robert Hunter, and Tom Taylor. At this point, Battersea is well in the lead.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Is this a photograph of Lady Pollock?

For some years I assumed that this "Lady Pollock" was a Wimbledon-resident, active at the same time in their local campaign. This was Sarah Anne, the second wife of Frederick Pollock, 1st Baronet. Here's a fine photograph of her by Camille Silvy:

[NPG: Link.]

(Click on image to enlarge)

And here's her husband, Frederick:

[NPG: Link.]

(Click on image to enlarge)

But I now think, no — Frederick is George Pollock's brother (both having been made Baronets in their lifetimes). Hence both wives are called "Lady Pollock". Confusing, eh?

In short, I believe that "our" Lady Pollock was born Henrietta Wollaston and married the East India Company soldier-hero "Sir George Pollock of the Khyber Pass". (Really — I wouldn't make it up.) He was chiefly famous* for leading an "Army of Retribution" into Afghanistan in 1841, during what Britain called the First Afghan War.

[* Or infamous: I recall reading at the time of the British withdrawal of troops from Kabul ten years ago that local people still remember the punitive destruction of their great Bazaar in 1842. This was Pollock's doing. (Yet another example of the general historical principle underlying these Chronicles that "What happened then still matters now".)]

"Field Marshall Sir George Pollock, Bt, 1865." (NAM: Link.)

Sir George Pollock's fame rests on his remarkable achievements in the Himalayas in the aftermath of the first Anglo-Afghan war (1838-42). The war had been a disaster for the British. Sir Robert Sale and his army were besieged in Jelalabad and Pollock successfully forced the Khyber Pass and relieved the trapped forces. In 1844, the British residents in Calcutta created the Pollock Medal to commemorate Pollock's achievements. This medal was awarded to the 'best cadet of the season' at the Addiscombe Military Academy.

[NAM: Link.]

Well, that's one way of putting it. Certainly his "remarkable achievements" in forcing the Khyber Pass made him into a popular hero back home in Britain (to which he returned soon after).

But there are other ways of telling the story, for example as told by William Dalrymple in his Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan (2012). Here's his characterisation of George Pollock from an introductory dramatis personae:

Sir George Pollock (1786-1872): Pollock was a precise, ruthless and doggedly efficient [East India] Company general who had been in India more than thirty years when he received his orders to relieve the besieged British garrison in Jalalabad. His reputation had been built on careful planning and meticulous logistics, and he was determined not to be bullied into acting prematurely. After carefully collecting supplies in Peshawar, he forced the Khyber with his Army of Retribution, finally relieving Jalalabad on 16 April.

After another pause to collect more transport and ammunition, he advanced, defeating Akbar Khan in the Tezin Pass and retaking Kabul on 16 September. After destroying Istalif, and burning much of Kabul, he withdrew from Afghanistan and was received by Lord Ellenborough at Ferozepur on 19 December 1842.

His first wife having died in 1845, and by now seriously ill. George Pollock returned the following year to England. He married Henrietta in 1852. She was in her mid-40s. He was 20 or so years older. (I wonder how they met?) There were no children in this second marriage.

General Pollock, Illustrated London News, 1842. Notice the map of "Affghan" open on the table like a saint's attribute.

"After returning to England in 1846, Pollock benefited from an annuity of £1,000 per annum from his employer, the East India Company, and lived at Clapham Common"

[Wikipedia: Sir George Pollock, 1st Baronet.]

Sir C. Pollock. Durbar Court, Foreign, Colonial and Development Office (originally known as the India Office), Whitehall, London. Photograph by George P. Landow (The Victorian Web: Link.)

[It's hard not to make some joke about how Henrietta's husband is seen here as some kind of old fossil whose visage has been petrified in the very fabric of the building. There's even a shell.]

(Click on image to enlarge)

The bust of George Pollock is cropped in the top-left of the image. Durbar Court, Foreign and Colonial Office, Whitehall, London.

The battles shown at the end of the hall include [Cawnpore?], Meerut, Arcot, Lahore, and Mooltan.

The busts include Sir James Outram, Lord Clyde, Sir H. Lawrence, and Sir H. Havelock

(Click on image to enlarge)

When I visited the Foreign and Colonial Office a decade or so ago during an Open House weekend, I was largely oblivious to the iconography. However, I imagine many visitors from the countries such as India, Pakistan and Afghanistan, where these battles took place, and where many of the figures held sway, are rather less ignorant. I wonder what they think when they gaze upon such lavish memorialisation?

[By the way, it has proved impossibly difficult (so far) to find detailed information about the iconography. Blog-type articles about the "glorious Durbar Court" seem utterly oblivious to the meaning of what they're looking at ["The stunning floor is made of Greek, Sicilian and Belgian marble . . . there are many sculptures and carvings of officers, dignitaries and intricate tiled friezes."

If you know of any good sources, and there must be some, please let me know.]

On the life and times of George Pollock

— Wikipedia: George Pollock, 1st Baronet.

— National Army Museum: First Afghan War; a well-illustrated account.

— National Portrait Gallery: Portraits of Sir George Pollock, 1st Bt (1786-1872)

— Charles Rathbone Lowe, Life and Correspondence- of Field Marshal Sir George Pollock (1873).

— British Empire.co.uk: Afghanistan 1839: George Pollock; a recent Anglo-centric view that probably reflects how Pollock's actions were viewed at the time.

— William Dalrymple, The Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan (2013) — a terrific account of the First Afghan War, whose "splendid narrative echoes with latter-day reverberations". Dalrymple uses many Afghan sources, not previously taken into account. See also Wikipedia: Return of a King.

— On his death on 6 October 1872, George Pollock received an spectacular funeral in Westminster Abbey. I include a programme for the service (in effect a who's who of the military establishment of the time), and a poem by Tom Taylor, a near-neighbour, published in Punch, 26 October 1872.

P.S.

Some of you will remember Southlands Teacher Training College on Wimbledon Parkside. The College took the name "Southlands" from its original home on what is now called Castle Street, Battersea ‐ this was George Pollock's house. (Why did he give it that name? Was it to remind him of south Asia?)

"Southlands", George Pollock's home in Battersea before he married Henrietta Wollaston and moved up the hill to Clapham Common. It became a Teacher Training College for Women in 1872 (the year of George Pollock's death).

[Notice also the (Anglican) National Society's Training College nearby. In the 1840s John Buckmaster was first a student here, and then briefly a teacher.]

Southlands Teacher Training College, c.1900. Notice how rapidly house-building had taken place on former Battersea market gardens. Houses meant children, vastly increasing local demand for schools and teachers.

The College, originally for women students, was there from 1872 to 1930, when it sought more spacious grounds on the edge of Wimbledon Common. The name "Southlands" was retained. Men were admitted in 1965, and it later joined with other teacher training colleges and was incorporated into the University of Roehampton.

— Roehampton University: Southlands College: History.

Staff of Southlands College, unknown date. This was George Pollock's house before he married Henrietta Wollaston and moved to nearby Clapham Common West Side. Photo of unknown date.

I'm sure the new opportunities being offered for the education of women in the home her husband had vacated would have pleased Henrietta Wollaston no end.

Return to the top of this page . . .

Coming soon . . .

Portrait of Jane Austen, engraving, 1873, enhanced by PB, 2025.

Now you might think that Jane Austen couldn't possibly have spent time on Wandsworth Common (and I'm not saying you're wrong). But there are links.

Really?

Oh, yes.

Chronicles

March 2025

II

Davy Crockett, Fleetway/Cowboy Picture Library no.271 (more covers here . . . )

Born in a tenement in Battersea
'e killed 'is Ma when 'e was only free [three]
Chopped up his Pa when 'e was only four
Now 'e's lookin' for 'is Bruvver-in-law.

Davy, Davy Crockett,
King of the Teddy boys.

[As sung by me in 1956.]

Another year, another birthday . . .

You may recall that in March last year I indulged myself shamelessly by collecting posters of films shown at the Granada cinema in 1949, the year of my birth. At the end of the piece, I promised I would write something soon about "Cowboys and Indians". Well, this isn't exactly "soon", but hey.

The initial stimulus was a letter, published in that year in the South Western Star. It's from a local nature-lover J.P. Ede, who lived at 39 Broomwood Road, Here it is again, in case you need reminding:

Not the Last of the Mohicans . . .

TOMAHAWKS AND BLOOD

I was under the impression that we had seen the last of the Mohicans. But I was mistaken, for only the other day I encountered on Wandsworth Common a band of these predatory Redskins, obviously on the warpath.

Their red-brown bodies, naked save for diminutive bathing trunks, were smeared copiously with blood, and in their hands they carried weapons ranging from rifles to tomahawks.

The "braves" were local boys, their skins reddened and tanned by the holiday sun, while the besmearing blood was only the innocuous stain of the blackberry, artfully applied to chest and shoulders.

J.P. EDE, 39 Broomwood Road, Battersea.

(Ed.) Wot, no scalps?

[I transcribed a number of JPE's letters in Chronicles for March 2024.]

That was in 1949. A few years later, I might have been one of those children.

"Red Indians" on Wandsworth Common . . .

Writing about his childhood on Wandsworth Common in the 1880s, the wonderful poet Edward Thomas (born 3 March 1878) tells of child tribal warfare — on Bolingbroke Grove, nearby streets, and the Common itself. He recalls how he and his friends

modelled ourselves on Sioux, Mohicans or Hurons, crouching, pausing, trying to hush the sound of our breathing. We forgot everything in this Indian ideal.

The battles were between Board-school boys, or "Boardy Blags" (i.e. blackguards), and a neighbouring school "of the grammar-school standard".

The "Board School" must be Belleville (opened 1877), which Thomas himself attended. And the "neighbouring school of the grammar-school standard" must be Battersea Grammar School — which, by a marvellous coincidence that fits my purposes perfectly, once stood on the site of the Granada cinema. (On which, more below.)

Their inspiration was not films, of course, but the wildly popular "Leatherstocking" novels of James Fenimore Cooper, such as The Last of the Mohicans — A Narrative of 1757 (1826), The Pathfinder (1840), and The Deerslayer (1841):

Edward Thomas contrasts his vivid recollection of these with other seemingly more worthy novels read in youth, such as Sir Walter Scott classics:

I remember the eager walks over Wandsworth Common to borrow volume after volume of the Waverley novels, but of Waverley, Heart of Midlothian, Peveril of the Peak and The Talisman, not a rack is left.*

[But] Of The Last of the Mohicans and The Pathfinder rather more is left. They gave me an idea of a noble savage. The Pathfinder himself towers in memory as grandly as Milton's Satan but more dimly. The name of the girl Cora has folded itself up in my mind like a gentle snake . . . .

[These "eager walks over Wandsworth Common" were to 6 Patten Road, in today's Toast rack, the home of writer James Ashcroft Noble — and his daughter Helen.]

* "Not a rack is left": an allusion to the final scene of Shakespeare's The Tempest.]

Fight! Fight!

Let's look more closely at the choreography of these battles:

The Common and the streets leading up to it were the scene of our principal game. It was played chiefly on Saturday, our whole holiday. We assembled, for example, at the top of the road [i.e. Wakehurst Road] in the well-trodden garden of a doctor who had a rowdy son; each bringing a weapon or several weapons, wooden swords and pikes, or daggers, shields, pistols, bows, arrows and with horns and trumpets, and perhaps some bread and cheese and an apple or orange.

There sides were chosen. One side went out to seek a fort in someone's garden or among the gorse bushes. Ten minutes later the other set forth, often in two divisions.

Sometimes stealth was the rule of expedition, we advanced whispering and in some order. Sometimes everyone was shouting for his own plans and against another's. At other times the methods alternated, the stealth would become wearisome, we began to chatter and disagree, or the riot of anarchy would suddenly strike us as wrong, everyone said "hush", and for some minutes we modelled ourselves on Sioux, Mohicans or Hurons, crouching, pausing, trying to hush the sound of our breathing. We forgot everything in this Indian ideal.

Nevertheless the enemy had to be found. Nor were they loth. Someone was sure to show himself and wave defiance, or to leap out on us, supposing we passed by. If seen at a distance they might change the stronghold and there would be a chase. If they were content to stand a storm, the second army would gather all its numbers together and, with yells and counter-yells, batter and push them out or be battered and pushed out itself.

The struggle was one of character, not weapons. The side possessing the fiercest and most stubborn boys won. The winners would than in turn fortify themselves and sustain an attack; and so it went on, until a mealtime, or nightfall, or rain, or a serious quarrel, finished the war.

[* The "doctor who had a rowdy son" may have worked at Bolingbroke Hospital, which faced the Common at the top of Wakehurst Road.]

At long intervals fiercer battles were waged. The boys of a neighboring school of the grammar-school standard looked down upon the Board-school boys, or 'Boardy Blags' (i.e. blackguards). The Board-school boys resented this. The feud was usually hardly in so much as a smouldering condition, and so far as I know must have been all but forgotten. Then suddenly it would flame out.

A loose army of Board-school boys several score strong moved along the Grove at the edge of the Common towards the enemy's school. The army was continually being swelled from the side streets. With all the smaller or more timid boys hanging on its fringes, more angry than warlike, more curious than angry, the numbers were considerable. Stones were the long-distance weapons. But rarely, I think, did both sides muster a fairly equal army at the same time.

When they came in sight of one another they began to throw stones. They halted, odd stones were thrown here and there, the hangers-on disappeared. I doubt if both sides ever advanced and clashed in hand-to-hand conflict. Usually after some challenging shouts, some wavering and dissension, the victors knew themselves and set up a shout and moved forward confidently. The smaller army broke and fled down the streets; the larger broke and pursued. Here and there a group kept together and set upon any solitary enemy it could discover.

I, who was too small to be in the army, was content to hang on the outer outskirts, pick up the news, and occasionally insult one of the enemy if I remembered that he was one.

Numerous youth groups founded around this time, or shortly after, including Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts, were inspired by an interest in American "Indians". A leading figure was Ernest Thompson Seton, whose Woodcraft League of America was originally called Woodcraft Indians and League of Woodcraft Indians [1901]. Campfires were central to the collective experience.

On a visit to England, Seton gave Baden-Powell a copy of his Birch Bark Roll of the Woodcraft Indians (1902).

Soon after meeting Seton, Baden-Powell decided to revise his earlier works into a more comprehensive Scouting for Boys. This was written on a Wandsworth Common, albeit the part on Wimbledon Common.

See e.g.

— Ernest Thompson Seton Institute: Biography

— Melbourne Blogger: "Ernest Seton vs Robert Baden-Powell: Woodcraft Indians".

Lord Baden Powell in his Indian Chief head-dress.

Baden-Powell's Scouting for Boys was written in the Manor House next to the Windmill on Wimbledon Common. This was technically in Wandsworth, as I've written about before in relation to duelling. B-P was loaned the house as a comfortable place to write. [Now completely demolished?] There are exhibits of B-P material in the Windmill museum.

As children of the 1950s, growing up "in the shadow of" Wandsworth Prison, we often cycled or trained to Wimbledon Common to make "camps" in deep remote boggy valleys — much like Edward Thomas fifty or 60 years earlier. We loved the opportunity to get away from civilisation and to sit around the fires we made. (The principal threat to our pursuits came from Common Rangers, who perhaps significantly were mounted on horses.)

Do local children still do the same today?

Like most of my peers, I joined several youth groups. First I was a Cub, then (briefly) a Scout (at St. Paul's Church on St John's Hill, a few yards from the Granada). At other times, In I was keen on the Life Boys at the Trinity Road Chapel (but did not progress to the Boys' Brigade, which seemed too militaristic, though most of all I didn't like the funny pillbox hat). But my all-time favourite was the Woodcraft Folk, which met in a school at Figges Marsh, Mitcham. Bliss.]

"Far far away in the depths of the wild wood . . . "

Do you recognise a song with these lyrics?

Another of Edward Thomas's memories is of a song ("a kind of dirge for a North American Indian"), sung at Belleville School, which he could not identify, and neither can I. Perhaps you can?

The only one of the many songs we sang at school which I can recall was in the minor key. It was a kind of dirge for a North American Indian. I can still hum the melody, but I remember no more of the words than "Far far away in the depths of the wild wood". These were several times repeated. The rhyme to "wild wood" was I believe "childhood". I used to sing this to myself, and have periodically returned to it ever since.

[It does not appear to be The Indian's prayer or Far Away in the Depths. Both are sufficiently dirge-like, but otherwise have little in common with ET's song.]

On Cora, the Dark Lady . .

Cora, you will remember, is the heroine of The Last of the Mohicans whose name "folded itself up" in Edward Thomas's mind "like a gentle snake".

Her connection with Wandsworth Common? Let's see.

If all you know of Cora is from the 1992 film (starring Daniel Day-Lewis as "Hawkeye"), what I'm about to say will make no sense. But this is because the film has very little in common with James Fenimore Cooper's original novel (published 1826). The book is very more complex than the super-simple boy-meets-girl romance of the film.

In the 1992 film the central romance is between feisty Cora and Hawkeye. How could it be otherwise, given it's a Hollywood blockbuster starring heart-throb Daniel Day-Lewis?

However, in the original novel, Cora's love interest is actually Uncas, a Mohican warrior.

This makes the "racial" dynamic very much more interesting. Remember, Cooper is writing only a few years before the American Civil War (1861-65).

[In the 1992 film, it is Cora's sister — the blonde, conventional Alice — who falls for Uncas. And when I say "falls for", I mean it quite literally. Both she and Uncas end up plummeting from a high cliff. In this way, they fulfil the basic rule of the Hollywood "impossible love" — white girl/"coloured" man — they can only get together in the Happy Hereafter.

The 1936 film is slightly more faithful to the book in that it is Uncas who loves dark Cora (and vice versa), but Hawkeye loves blonde Alice.

In the novel, as it happens, Hawkeye is not in love with anyone — unless it's with the Great American Wilderness. Weird, eh?

Here's a neat summary of what a travesty this film is from Jeffrey Walker: Deconstructing an American Myth: Hollywood and The Last of the Mohicans

The Last of the Mohicans is perhaps the most filmed novel ever. Versions include Leather Stocking (1909), The Last of the Mohicans (1920 American), The Last of the Mohicans (1920 German), The Last of the Mohicans (1932), The Last of the Mohicans (1936), Last of the Redskins (1947), The Last Tomahawk (1965), Fall of the Mohicans (1965), The Last of the Mohicans (1968), The Last of the Mohicans (BBC, 1971), Last of the Mohicans (1977), The Last of the Mohicans (1992).

Complete text of The Last of the Mohicans.]

Just so you know, here is how Alice and Cora are introduced in the original novel:

Alice:

was the more juvenile in her appearance, though both were young, permitted glimpses of her dazzling complexion, fair golden hair, and bright blue eyes . . .

Cora:

The tresses of this lady were shining and black, like the plumage of the raven. Her complexion was not brown, but it rather appeared charged with the color of the rich blood, that seemed ready to burst its bounds.

And yet there was neither coarseness nor want of shadowing in a countenance that was exquisitely regular, and dignified and surpassingly beautiful. She smiled, as if in pity at her own momentary forgetfulness, discovering by the act a row of teeth that would have shamed the purest ivory . . .

Cora (left) and Alice in the 1993 film. They are scarcely contrasted, though Alice is the fairer. (Incidentally, the novel emphasises Cora's modesty — for example, she is often described as concealing herself behind a veil. But in this film, not so much.)

Cora (Madeleine Stowe) with Hawkeye (Daniel Day-Lewis), 1992.

Book illustrations, comics and animations are more likely to emphasise captivating Cora's dark hair and complexion:

Cora's ancestry . . .

Although it's never even hinted at in the films, the circumstances of Cora's birth are central in the novel. (And hence would have been known to Edward Thomas.) In short, Cora is dark because of her part-African ancestry.

In Chapter 16 of the novel, we learn that her father, Colonel Munro, had travelled to the West Indies, where he met and married Cora's mother — who was "descended, remotely," from someone who had been enslaved:

I had seen many regions, and had shed much blood in different lands, before duty called me to the islands of the West Indies. There it was my lot to form a connection with one who in time became my wife, and the mother of Cora. She was the daughter of a gentleman of those isles, by a lady whose misfortune it was, if you will," said the old man, proudly, "to be descended, remotely, from that unfortunate class who are so basely enslaved to administer to the wants of a luxurious people.

[There is a simply enormous secondary literature on this, which I won't even try to precis here. But if you're interested, get in touch. I'd love to share the material with you.]

But why go on about this here? What's it got to do with Edward Thomas and Wandsworth Common?

Well, let's look again at Edward Thomas's line "The name of the girl Cora has folded itself up in my mind like a gentle snake . . . "

In brief, I believe Cora may have been personified for Edward Thomas in a particular girl in his class at Belleville School — Tottie Armour.

"Black curly hair, dark eyes and cherry lips . . . her name was Tottie Armour."

It is a remarkable feature of Thomas's Childhood memoir that he so often names names, hence we now have the wherewithal (thanks to online sources such as censuses, birth and death certificates, and newspaper archives) to find out exactly who he is talking about.

I knew boys and girls in several of streets parallel to ours or crossing it . . . With one of these friends, a girl, I went home once and in her back garden I first saw dark crimson dahlias and smelt bitter crushed stalks in plucking them . . .

Their faces are invisible to me all except one: I can say only that some were fat and the eyes narrow, and that some girls had dark hair, others fair.

The one that I can see has black curly hair, dark eyes and cherry lips; and she is smiling: her name was Tottie Armour. We picked sorrel leaves and ate them among the gorse bushes on Wandsworth Common.

I talked a little about Tottie in a talk I gave on ET a few years ago. At the time, I hadn't made the connection with Cora, so I'd like to pursue it again here.

The Armour family in the 1881 Census

1881 Census: the Armour family, living close to the Thomases on Wakehurst Road.

I assume that "Tottie" is Edith Olga, since she was exactly the same age as Edward Thomas.

[But why "Tottie", a familiar name more usually associated with Charlotte or Dorothea? I don't know, but I have found examples of other Totties who are definitely Ediths.]

Notice that Stewart Armour, the head of the family, is described as a Mechanical Engineer. He must have previously travelled with his family for work since his daughter Marie Sophie, aged 6, was born in St Petersburg, Russia, and Edith Olga has a Russian middle name.

Tottie's father is also described as born in Trinidad. Was he, then, a person of colour? Given Edward Thomas's depiction of Tottie, this seems very possible.

So far as I know, none of Edward Thomas's biographers has investigated Edward Thomas's young girl friends such as Tottie Armour and Mabel Looms. I know a little about what happened to Edith Olga in later life, which I mentioned in the talk, but I'll leave further elaboration for another time.

Saturday mornings at our local Flea Pits . . .

My own enthusiasm for "Red Indians" was kindled less by literary stimuli than by frequent visits to "the Pictures", aka "the Flicks".

Chronicles' reader Barbara Windsor (nee Barbara Madsen) spent her earliest years in a prefab on St Mark's Triangle. She was kind enough to send me some reminiscences of her school days at the tiny school on the corner of Battersea Rise and Boutflower Road. (I'll share these next month when I discuss the cultural importance of this building, and its role in helping to save Wandsworth Common.)

Barbara Windsor's home c.1950: Prefabs on the St Mark's Triangle, and the nearby Granada cinema.

But Barbara also mentions visits to the Granada Cinema on St John's Hill in the early 1950s:

Saturday morning pictures were a regular treat — I'm just amazed to think my sister and I were allowed to go on our own, crossing the main road at the top of Plough Road, clutching our sixpences.

I think we'd be pretty horrified to see six- and seven-year-olds out on their own now without adult accompaniment, but it was pretty much the norm then; and you just had to go the following week, as there was always a cliffhanger at the end of the film, usually with superman about to be crushed!

There was the resident organist who accompanied the children's theme song — "We're all for one and one for all, the Clapham Grenadiers".

I think there might have been a rival Saturday morning pictures at the cinema in Northcote Road — presumably long since gone, and Northcote Road now looking very much upmarket with virtually all the stalls gone.

[This was the Century cinema — see below.]

I remember being taken there with my sister when I was about seven or eight. I think the very first films we saw were 'Dumbo', a cartoon, and the main film was one with the American swimmer/actress Esther Williams — of course we could only go to those films certified as 'U' and nearly always arrived at the cinema half way through the film, staying on to see the first half, then leaving when the second half came round.

Walt Disney's gorgeous Dumbo came out in 1941, but was frequently shown again in British cinemas in following years.

How did we put up with all that smoke, everyone puffing away on their cigarettes, and no complaints! There was a choice of seats, one shilling and sixpence or one shilling and ninepence I seem to recall, with probably half price for children.

Strangely enough when I was about eighteen, I worked a holiday season in Brixham, Devon, and worked as an usherette in the tiny cinema there. I saw the film Gypsy Rose Lee countless times, and because I came from London and had been to a grammar school, I was trusted with being the ice-cream lady in the interval! My dad was a keen film buff and we regularly took the 'Picturegoer' magazine. Happy times!

[Personal correspondence, March 2025 — Thank you, Barbara!]

The Granada Clapham Junction opened in 1937, probably too late to show the then-curent version of The Last of the Mohicans. However it did screen the film on its re-release in 1946.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Posters for the 1936 version of The Last of the Mohicans

19 March 1937: The Last of the Mohicans was showing at the Granada Wandsworth Road and at the Grand Clapham Junction. (The Granada Clapham Junction was still in construction at this time.)

Granada — Not Just another cinema — 8 November 1937. Cutaway illustration.

The song Ghost Riders in the Sky (one of my favourites) as seen and heard at the Granada cinema, Clapham Junction in 1949.

(Click on the image to view a wonderful scene from the film.)

The cinema on Northcote Road that Barbara mentions was the Century.

The Century Cinema, 15 Northcote Road

What's in a name?

According to Cinema Treasures.org, the Century started as the Bolingbroke Assembly Hall in 1880, before being converted into a cinema, the Bio-Pictureland Theatre, in 1907. By 1910 it was the Bio-Picture Palace with a seating capacity for 600. From 1917 until around 1923 it was re-named he Bolingbroke Picture Hall. After enlargement and radical refurbishment, it re-opened as the Globe Cinema in 1930. It was re-named the Century in 1951 (which is the name I knew it by) and closed as such in 1964.

The building was then stripped out and converted into a Tesco supermarket, later becoming a KwikSave supermarket and, in 2009, a Somerfield supermarket. By 2013, it was a Co-operative supermarket.

As seen in 2023: yet another future for the former Century Cinema. What is it now?

Local cinemas

(with links to the fabulous Cinema Treasures website)

Granada, Clapham Junction. (See also HoWC: Granada 1949.)

Century, Northcote Road

Ruby, St John's Hill

Essoldo [Clapham Grand]

Classic, Tooting Bec

[Hugh Betterton, whose childhood was spent on West Side, wrote:

This was a tour de force! Brought back so many memories of both Saturday morning pictures, as well as other times at the Granada, the Century and The Essoldo (The Grand). The Imperial (I think) is now a hotel almost opposite the entrance to CJ station. Blimey, spoilt or what? I also went to the Gaumont in Wandsworth High Street. Those songs also brought a recall of how Granadiers were encouraged to sing on stage during intervals, as were Gaumonteers! All for 6d and 2 hours of film and fun. Think that the cinemas were heaving with kids aged 7 — 12.

Good stuff!

Hugh and I also exchanged memories of children being invited onto the stage in front of the screen. For example, I recalled my childhood pal Ronnie Thomas (who I have mentioned before) showing off his tricks with a yoyo at the Classic, Tooting Bec. And Hugh remembers spinning his hula hoop.

Thanks, Hugh!]

Westerns were everywhere on the on T.V. in the 1950s . . .

The earliest appears to be the Lone Ranger, which started in 1949, the year of my birth. Few people had in Britain TVs then, but over the next ten years numbers rocketed. Cowboys programmes proliferated.

Here are some of the Western-themed TV programmes I recall, all from the US (of course), and there were a lot. The year shown in brackets is when the series started, but it sometimes took a few years for episodes to be shown on British TV. Some of the series were repeated for many years after their first showing.

— Bonanza (1959)

— Champion the Wonder Horse (1955)

— Cheyenne (1955)

— Circus Boy (1956)

— The Cisco Kid (1950)

— Fury (1955)

— The Lone Ranger (1949)

— Gunsmoke (1952)

— Maverick (1957)

— The Range Rider (1951)

— Rawhide (1959)

— The Adventures of Rin-Tin-Tin (1954)

— Riverboat (1959)

— Wagon Train (1957)

[For a comprehensive (and intensely evocative) list, with links, visit Wikipedia: 1950s Western (genre) television series.]

Catchy signature tunes were vital, such as "Champion the Wonder Horse":

Like a streak of lightning flashing cross the sky
Like the swiftest arrow whizzin' from a bow
Like a mighty cannonball he seems to fly
You'll hear about him everywhere you go
The time will come when everyone will know the name of
Champion, the Wonder Horse!.

[Hear Champion, the Wonder Horse here.]

Many were sung by the wonderful Frankie Laine, including Rawhide (which introduced Clint Eastwood as young, impetuous Rowdy Yates).

Keep rollin', rollin', rollin'
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them dogies rollin', Rawhide
Through rain and wind and weather
Hell-bent for leather
Wishin' my gal was by my side
All the things I'm missin'
Good vittles, love, and kissin'
Are waiting at the end of my ride

Move 'em on, head 'em up
Head 'em up, move 'em on
Move 'em on, head 'em up
Rawhide

Cut 'em out, ride 'em in
Ride 'em in, cut 'em out
Cut 'em out, ride 'em in
Rawhide
Keep movin', movin', movin'
Though they're disapprovin'
Keep them dogies movin', Rawhide

Yeah!

[Hear Rawhide here.]

Davy Crockett: King of the Wild Frontier, 1956.

But the biggest, brightest, most bodacious Western for us all was the 1956 film Davy Crockett (starring Fess Parker). It sparked an obsession throughout the country with "coonskin" (i.e. raccoon) hats with little tails behind, which looked like the family cat). You will notice that Davy looks almost identical to the 1930s version of Hawkeye, and not a bit like Daniel Day-Lewis's semi-Mohican version.

Davy Crockett: King of the Wild Frontier, 1956

. . . .and of course this song:

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee
Greenest state in the land of the free
Raised in the woods, so's he knew ev'ry tree
Killed him a b'ar when he was only three
Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.

Some early versions of the Ballad of Davy Crockett

— YouTube: Bill Hayes

— YouTube: Fess Parker

— YouTube: Tennessee Ernie Ford

— YouTube: The Mellomen (with lyrics)

— [Max Bygraves also recorded a version for the British market, but we won't mention that.]

See also:

— Wikipedia: The Ballad of Davy Crockett

— Wikipedia: Coonskin Cap

Davy Crockett, Cowboy Comics no.165.

Our chief delight in the song was in its infinite potential for parody, customisation and localisation. For our purposes, the song Davy Crockett offered endless opportunities:

Born in a tenement* in Battersea
'e killed 'is Ma when 'e was only free [three]
Chopped up 'is Pa when 'e was only four
Now 'e's lookin' for 'is Bruvver-in-Law

Davy, Davy Crockett,
King of the Teddy boys.

[* Or "bungalow"]

Here's another Battersea-themed version recorded by Iona and Peter Opie in their indispensable The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren (1959):

Born on a roof top in Battersea,
Joined the Teds when he was only three,
Coshed a copper when he was only four
And now he's in Dartmoor for evermore.

Davy, Davy Crockett,
King of the Teddy boys.

[Similar versions to the above reported in Great Bookham, July 1956; Swansea, September 1956; Romford, April 1957. Many more feature on pp.118—120]

Here's a nice version:

Born on a hobby horse in Garratt Green *
Fed every day on Stork Margarine
Killed himself a cat when he was only three
That's how he got his Davy Crockett hat
Baby, Baby Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier.

[* Confession: the verse the Opies report refers to Ardwick Green, and was recorded in Manchester. But I couldn't help myself.]

[On Baby Crockett as a comic character in his own right, see below.]

Before we move on, I must mention one of our old jokes:

Q. "How many ears has Davy Crockett got?"

A. "Three: A left ear . . . A right ear . . . And a wild frontier."

Here's another reference to Davy Crockett, which the Opies' volunteer researchers recorded in Tooting in October 1956, sung to the tune of "Out of Town":

Say what you will,
School dinners make you ill,
And Shepherd's Pie
Makes David Crockett cry;
All school din-dins
Come from pigs' bins
- That's no lie.

[Lore and Language, p.162.]

All of these recollections can be dated very exactly. According to the Opies, David Crockett-fever had reached everywhere by the summer holidays of 1956, but that "At the end of the summer Crockett play and costume disappeared as suddenly as it arrived."

Yet the song, and its lively variants, lasted much longer. And here I am, recollecting it all again 70 years later.

Do you remember any of these songs, rhymes and jokes? Did you have different versions of your own?

Baby Crockett

[Stephen Midlane also remembers the long-running Baby Crockett comic strip. This started in The Beezer only months after the film was first shown in 1956, then ran in various comics and annuals until 2002 (Wikipedia: Baby Crockett.]

Here's Baby Crockett's song, as recollected by Stephen:

Born in a bungalow and not yet three,
The wildest babe in the whole country,
The terror of his ma and his pa is he,
And his grandpa feels safer up a tree.

Baby, baby Crockett, king of the family.

Thanks, Stephen!]

Baby Crockett in The Beezer, 29 July 1961. Any connection with the Wild West as long gone.

CAPTION-2

My lovely white Lone Star Repeating Rifle, mid-1950s . . .

I can't forget something that happened on the Scope* on a snowy Christmas Day in the mid-1950s.

[ * Not that we ever called it the Scope — we always called it "Bushy Common", or the "Rough Bit". We'd never heard of the Craig Telescope. When was it first called the Scope? ]

In December 2020 I compiled some notes about childhood on the Common in the 1950s. Here's part of what I wrote.

Lone Star Repeating Rifle, white, 1950s. This is very much like my happy gun of memory. Notice the distinctive red star on the stock.

I was terrifically excited to be given a Lone Star toy rifle with a white stock that fired caps. Being Christmas, I couldn't knock on anybody's door to find out if they could come out to play. So I went over Bushy Common by myself — to lie in the tussock grass, to edge forward through the mud, pretending to be a Sioux Indian brave, a Cavalry Scout or a Cowboy.

Two boys, a few years older than me, grabbed my gun and taunted me with it for while, raising it high above their heads and threatening to smash it on a tree trunk. I tried to get them to give it back, but they wouldn't. Over and over again they made to smash the gun. The more I pleaded, the more enthusiastically they tormented me.

Of course, eventually they tired of the game. They'd had enough of all the taunting and the tears. So they smashed the gun on a tree trunk anyway, and set off home in time for Christmas lunch.

Ah well, that was the 1950s for you, and as a child there was always a certain riskiness associated with the Common. Not only were there the "big boy" bullies, but there was a lot of talk about "Teddy Boys", who were said to carry an arsenal of flick-knives, razors, and bicycle chains. (As it happens, I was never troubled by Teds.)

On the one hand, parents and Parkies were very strict, and exercised absolute powers over us. On the other, we were left to our own devices away from our home for hours on end. Children brought each other up in those days, adults played little part. Especially on the Common.

[* Edward Thomas tells a wonderful story of receiving a toy sword, scabbard and belt for Christmas. Having no one to admire his sword, he too goes "up the Common" and walks backwards and forwards among the elms on Bolingbroke Grove. By great good fortune, he eventually meets Mabel Looms, out strolling with her family. He parades before her, believing her to be impressed by his "swinging sword" (pp.34-35).]

Reader David Ainsworth shared a gun-related reminiscence:

I think that my Lone Star or equivalent rifle survived a year or two of combat and many reels of caps, but my beautiful six-shooter had a very short life. Soon after being given it, showing it to a friend in the street who asked me to pretend to draw it and menace him with it, he showed me a recently-learned trick (from a film?).

He kicked it out of my hand and the pavement disassembled it, and repair was beyond even my dad. Very sad, but, I think, an unintentional result.

These memories stick. (There is always Ebay to soothe me).

Thanks, David!]

Indian Crafts and Lore . . .

Indian Crafts and Lore was one of my all-time favourite non-fiction books at Earlsfield Primary School, Transmere Road School. I found a second-hand copy of it quite recently. It is exactly as I remembered it. Full of information about different tribes, but best of all it was in colour with lots of art and craft activities. In the largely leaden monochrome 1950s, this was a special treat.

Indian Crafts and Lore, W. Ben Hunt (1954).

No, thinking about this again, I realise that something else that made this book so special was that it was deeply respectful of native Americans. The contrast with what we saw on the screen at Saturday Morning Pictures could not have been greater.]

How to make a Horned War Bonnet

I was reminded of this in January 2021, when I saw images of the "QAnon Shaman", wearing horns with a coonskin hat.

[Note to self, a few weeks after after publication of these Chronicles:

I've completely neglected to write anything about bows and arrows, which were a big part of our childhood between 8 and 10, when I was living at Heathfield Court. We spent hours and days selecting and cutting straight branches for bows, and sticks as arrows, adding weights (such as nuts) to the pointy ends of the arrows (but never, I think, flights, to make them go farther.

We did target practice in the back yard (I sometimes got up early to get some shooting in before setting off for school), or long-distance competitions on the lawn in front of the block. Our longest flights nearly (but not quite) reached from end to end.

How is it possible nobody lost an eye (though we often talked about someone who nobody knew personally who had indeed lost an eye that way)?]

Coming in April . . .

My candidate for a new Wandsworth Blue Plaque: the former St Mark's Infants School, Battersea Rise:

Tiny St Mark's (originally St Mary's) School was built on the Common 1866—67. (The church followed later.) This photograph shows it a few years ago, before a splendid restoration and rebirth as the studio of Dow Jones Architects.

(Click on image to enlarge)

This little school is hallowed ground for Wandsworth Common enthusiasts because Samuel Sullings, our very own martyr, was feted there on his release from prison in July 1870:

South London Chronicle — 23 July 1870

(Click on image to enlarge)

WANDSWORTH COMMON.

Samuel Sullings, who was imprisoned with hard labour for breaking down fences on Wandsworth-common, and subsequently released on a memorial presented to the Home Secretary by Sir C. W. Dilke M.P., was entertained by a number of his fellow workmen at the Infant School, Battersea, on the 9th inst.

Sullings appeared in a new suit of clothes, hat, and boots, which were paid for by a few friends. The workmen have made a subscription, which will placed in the Post-offce Savings Bank.

Mr. Churchwarden Buckmaster occupied the chair, and made a speech, in which he endeavoured to show that those who had erected the fences were more guilty than Sailings; and the idea saying to poor men, when their rights and enjoyments were taken away by rich people, that if they feit aggrieved they could proceed by action at law or indictment, was simply adding insult to injustice. (Cheers.)

The chairman then referred to various matters connected with the common, and expressed a hope that would not again he necessary for poor working men to suffer imprisonment in defence of what they believed to be their rights; he looked with hope and confidence to the result the forthcoming City meeting.

Three cheers for Mr. Buckmaster, three groans for those who had enclosed the common, and a vote of thanks for the vicar for allowing the use of the schoolroom, concluded the proceedings.

[BNA: Link]

I'll explain the background and implications in a few weeks' time.

Chronicles

February 2025

Reverse of a Half Farthing coin, 1845

A picture puzzle for you

A single candle distorted by the liquid in a mysterious glass bowl.

A detail of which painting?

[Answer at the bottom of the page . . . ]

(Click on image to enlarge)

In last month's Chronicles I included a map of proposed railway lines across the Common. Hawk-eyed reader Jason Hazeley noticed that what we now call Allfarthing (as in Allfarthing Lane) was shown as "Half-Farthing". Why?

(Click on image to enlarge)

As placenames, "All Farthing" and "Half Farthing" are unique — there are no other similar toponyms anywhere in England. So why here? Which is "correct"? What did the names mean?

But first, I've since learnt that yet more railway lines were proposed for our area. Had they been built, there would surely have been no room for houses.

Cruchley, 1855. (I've coloured the proposed track pink). Notice also the "Iron Railway" running north-south parallel to Garratt Lane and the River Wandle. Its carriages were drawn by horses, not of course by steam locomotives.

(Click on image to enlarge)

In relation to a modern map, the proposed branch would have left the London-Southampton line just above Earlsfield station, cut through Wandsworth Cemetery, then followed today's Dawnay Road or Openview before crossing the new Springfield (Hospital) Park on its way to Croydon (and thence to Brighton).

The London Extension Railway, 1804

And that's not all. A little over fifty years earlier — well before the use of steam locomotives — a "London Extension Railway" was planned that would have started by a junction with the Surrey Iron Railway at the entrance to the Wandsworth dock, and run roughly north-east to Southwark:

Relative to present-day topography, the route was to the northwest of and roughly parallel to St. John's Hill and Lavender Hill to join Wandsworth Road, then turned to the north through South Lambeth. It continued along Kennington Road, ran to the east of Waterloo Station, then turned eastwards along Stamford Street to terminate some distance short of Blackfriars Road.

[Peter Mcgow, Surrey Iron Railway and Croydon, Merstham and Godstone Iron Railway, Wandle Industrial Museum, 2001.]

A plan showing the route was deposited with the Clerk of the Peace for Surrey on 29 September 1804. Does anybody have a copy of this plan? I'd love to see it.

Watercolour showing a horse-drawn goods train at Coulsdon, further down the line, 1823.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Wikipedia: Surrey Iron Railway

Unsurprisingly, many local people (including "several gentlemen from Clapham and Lambeth") were outraged:

Morning Post — 31 January 1804

(Click on image to enlarge)

SURREY INTENDED IRON RAIL-WAY

from Wandsworth to London

Notice having been given, that an application will be made to Parliament for an Act to make the above Rail-way, several gentlemen, who are proprietors and occupiers of land and houses in Clapham, and Lambeth, and the neighbourhood, through which the same is intended to pass, according to the plans that have been taken, have desired me to give this notice, that they will oppose such application to Parliament, by every legal means in their power, and that a public meeting of those who are interested in the measure, and who may disapprove of such intended Rail-way, will soon be called, by public advertisement, to take the business into consideration, and to adopt the most speedy and efficacious measures for opposing the said application.

In the mean time, any information on the subject will be thankfully received and attended to here, or at the office of Messrs White and Ridlington, Gough Square, Fleet Street.

S. White, Clapham, Jan. 28, 1804.

[The "S", by the way, was "Samson".]

A meeting was announced for 10th February at the Royal Oak, Vauxhall, "to consider of and determine upon, the most proper and effective measures to be pursued for opposing such application, and preventing by all legal means the obtaining or passing of such Act" [BNA: Link).]

At this meeting (with the wonderfully named Samuel Goodbehere in the Chair):

"It was unanimously resolved, That upon mature consideration it appears to this Meeting, that the making of the proposed Rail-Way from Wandsworth to Stamford-street, Blackfriars-road, would be an unnecessary measure, inasmuch as the present most excellent roads to Wandsworth, together with the Navigation of the River Thames, and the completion of Public Works now going on, afford every convenience and accommodation that are essential to any public object.

Resolved likewise unanimously, That the intended measure, if carried into effect, will be highly injurious to private property, by destroying the present inclosures, and rendering the cattle, crops, and other property therein, insecure and open to depredations; and that, from the very populous neighbourhood through which this way is proposed to pass, the retirement, and many other essential comforts of a great body of respectable individuals will be done away. That the many grievous and perplexing inroads necessarily to be created, will be peculiarly harassing, and such as the compensation expected to be made cannot be sufficiently adequate to.

Resolved therefore unanimously, That the said application to Parliament be opposed."
[BNA: Link.]

Sufficient investment could not be found and the sponsors never proceeded with the delivery of a petition to Parliament. Plans for the new railway went nowhere.

But if things had gone to plan, doubtless railway companies would have ensnared Wandsworth Common in a cat's cradle much like the "Battersea Tangle" a mile or so up the line:

The "Battersea Tangle", or "Battersea Knot".

(Click on image to enlarge)

Thank heavens for NIMBYS, I say.

1 Feb 2025: A response from Elizabeth Jeveons draws attention to a recent local furore over an application by Enable, who tend the Common (and much else), for licences to serve alcohol at possible future events, with "up to 10,000 attendees", to be held on up to four sites around the Common:

Following Enable’s attempt to gain a monetising licence for the Common, "in perpetuity”, and the huge outcry about that that has just happened, it is good to know that only by saying “not in my backyard” have we ever preserved the Common and I am pleased there are enough people who have always loved and respected open unfettered land for us to have what we have now. May it continue that the Common’s Conservateurs will win against the monetisers, over users and exploiters for their own gain and glory.

All best, Elizabeth

She added a link to a very interesting article by Alex Long about why the applications were made, and why they were withdrawn (for the present):

Clapham Junction Action Group: Wandsworth’s parks: Commercial events with 10,000 people planned – then cancelled

Thanks, Elizabeth!

Anyway, enough of railways and popular protest (for the moment). Now back to this month's chief themes, which are farthings and half-farthings, the mysterious slaughter in 1741 of ten sheep from which only the fat was taken, and candles. At the very end of this month's Chronicles, I learn about song-bird "mules" that once engaged in sonic battles in pubs on the edge of the Common.

Edward Thomas describes one of his favourite childhood walks in the 1880s . . .

"Allfarthing Lane was worth going down for its name's sake. We invented explanations and repeated those of our parents.

At the top dwelt an old woman in what looked like a one-room hut who presumably knew and had something to do with the origin of the queer name."

[The Childhood of Edward Thomas: A Fragment of Autobiography .]

All-farthing or Half-farthing?

When Jason's email arrived I happened to be looking at a brief account of a perplexing crime that took place on "Half Farthing Farm" nearly three centuries ago.

Gloucester Journal — 3 February 1741

Mysterious slaughter of 10 sheep at Half-Farthing Farm.

(Click on image to enlarge)

On Sunday Night an uncommon Robbery was committed at Mr Christmas's, a Farmer at Half-Farthing Farm at Wandsworth, viz. he had 19 fat Sheep deign'd for the Market, ten of which he found kill'd in his Fold, out of which the Fat was taken and carried off, and all the Carcases and even their Kidneys left.

I think we can assume that Half-Farthing Farm was directly attached to the manor house, close to the kink in Allfarthing Lane — more or less where Allfarthing School is today. Part of the farm may have been nearby on the other side of the lane. (See the Gardner/Porter map below.)

But why had the thieves killed and butchered the sheep in their fold, then taken the fat and nothing else ("even their kidneys"). What use could fat possibly be put to that was so lucrative that you would risk your neck in this way?

[It would also be good to know why the story is being reported as far away as Gloucester, and to learn more of "Mr Christmas", but perhaps these questions will have to wait for other times.]

Thomas Cooper, Sheep on a Common, 1873. Manchester Art Gallery. Almost certainly not Wandsworth Common. These fine, fat, fluffy animals — the impressive product of more than a century of intensive breeding — are probably much larger than the sheep that grazed Half-Farthing Farm.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Not long after, I came across a reference to "Half-Farthing" in a report of the death of the famous actor, dramatist, song-writer and scene-painter Thomas Dibdin (1771-1841). Dibdin, it says, had studied for a "twelvemonth under Mr. Tempest, of Half-farthing-lane Academy, Wandsworth, where he was taught to speak bad French at dinner-time."

Thomas Dibdin, by William Owen, Museum of Fine Arts Boston.

(Click on image to enlarge)

This must surely be the same school that "Master Bruce" was attending a few years earlier when he played "hare-and-hounds" on the Common. As you may recall, he wrote home about it excitedly on 20 July 1772.

George Brudenell Bruce, c.1768, attributed to William Hoare.

(Click on image to enlarge)

[If you haven't read this story, please do. It's one of my favourites. It would be good to learn more about this school, which must have been located in Allfarthing Manor, on the west side of the kink in Allfarthing Lane. (It's rather pleasing that today's Allfarthing School now occupies this site.)]

Farthing/Half-farthing?

The English Placename Society (EPNS)

My first port of call was the English Placename Society, based at the University of Nottingham. This lists a number of variants, but with no obvious pattern:

Elverding c.1230)

Alferthyng 1268,1371,1379,1413

Halverthyng 1334

Alverthyngg 1365/p>
Alferdyng 1540

Halfefarthing 1544

All fardinge 1597

Allfardthing, Allfardtheng, Allfarding 1644/p>
[EPNS: Allfarthing (supplies references).]

[The EPNS also examines the etymology of Wandsworth (aendel's farm or enclosure), and Battersea.]

[Note to self: I have just learnt that the manor had an earlier name: "le Frithe". Marc Stchedroff reports personal correspondence with Dr Matthew Payne, Keeper of the Muniments, Westminster Abbey (30 October 2023), who writes:

"I am afraid that we have no maps or plans relating to Allfarthing at all . . . Although the manor known as ‘le Frithe’, and later Allfarthing, was purchased by the Abbey in the mid-fourteenth century, it has left relatively little trace among the archives. It was surrendered at the Dissolution in 1540 (having been leased by the Abbey to Thomas Cromwell in 1533), when Henry VIII annexed it to the honour of Hampton Court. So the only limited material we have relating to this estate dates from the late medieval period.

[OLBC: See The manor of All Farthing.]

[Keith Bailey adds "frith (OE fyrhth) has sundry meanings — "a wood", "woodland", "wooded countryside", presumably in this case denoting "land not cultivated" and/or "waste land" i.e. the Common. It often appears in field-/place-names in simplex or unqualified form, as here." [KB to PB, 21 January 2024.]]

All-farthing/Half-Farthing on an early map

I've looked at a variety of maps (all more recent than any of the EPNS entries, of course) and both forms appear fairly promiscuously — though interestingly "Half-farthing" was much the more common name in the C18 and early C19.

Here's the earliest map of our area (that I know of) — of Allfarthing Manor created by Peter Gardner for its new lord, Endymion Porter. The original, of 1633, is lost, but this is a copy of 1644:

The Gardner/Porter map of Allfarthing Manor, 1633-1640. It is oriented roughly west-east, with north to the left. The pink rectangle frames Allfarthing Manor House and the top of what is now Allfarthing Lane (expanded below).

Surrey History Centre, SHC 3991/1

(Click on image to enlarge)

The map as a whole may be a little mind-boggling at first. The Thames runs up and down on the extreme left. The Wandle, which forms a natural estate boundary, runs across from right to left. At the top, the edge of Allfarthing Manor is roughly the crest of the gravel-topped hill that forms "Wandelesworth Common" (the ridge follows the line of today's Lyford Road-Heathfield Road-West Side).

An incursion into the Common, called "Allfarthin Peece" [sic], will become the so-called Toast Rack. On the right, "Garret Green" and a tree plantation, "Burnt Wood", probably the enclosed (and hence protected) relic of a much larger wooded landscape.

Frankly, it's quite hard to make much sense of this map unless you look at it close up and in great detail (which we'd better leave for another time). But I've rotated the map and fitted it (loosely) onto a modern map, and this may help a little.

Here's the area near Allfarthing/Half-Farthing Manor House:

"Allfarthing" manor house and farm buildings (with striking red roofs) to the left (north) of what is now Allfarthing Lane. There are also red-roofed buildings and two small enclosures, each of roughly three acres and called "Sheepe Coat Close" (in black lettering), and the phrase "Sheepe coat", in red.

A "close" is a small enclosure, often a subdivision of a larger "field" (as elsewhere on this map). But what is a "sheep coat" (or "sheepcote")? It appears that these are not fenced folds, which would be temporary and movable, but permanent structures, typically bounded by earthworks and/or hedgerows.

[Incidentally, there's a "Sheepcote Lane" in Battersea, near the Battersea Tangle. I'd like to know more about it.]

OpenStreetMap: Sheepcote Lane, Battersea.

(Click on image to enlarge)

The 13th-century agricultural writer "Walter of Henley" urges that sheep be brought in from Martinmas (11 November) until Easter. Housed in roofed, wooden buildings erected within larger sheepcotes, sheep were easier to protect and feed during winter months, and concentrated together for efficient lambing and shearing in early spring.

Here's a fab. image:

February: Les Tres Riche Heures du Duc de Berry (c.1412-1416).

Wikipedia: Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry

[Notice, by the way, the trio (left), sans undergarments, warming their private parts in front of the fire.]

On the Gardner/Porter map, many of the field boundaries appear to be hedges with occasional standard trees, which suggests these hedgerows were already well-established by the early C17 — possibly the product of Tudor enclosures, or even earlier.

The "bird's mouth" at the top forms the exit through which sheep and other animals passed on their way to graze on "Wandelesworth Common" — and by which they were efficiently funnelled back into their sheepcotes again.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Double portrait of Endymion Porter and Anthony van Dyck, 1635, by van Dyck, set in the Toast Rack, Allfarthing Manor, Wandsworth (only joking). Prado, Madrid.

[It's a fascinating painting. Let me know if you would like me to say more.]

(Click on image to enlarge)

Later maps

Here's John Rocque's beautiful map, made a century or so later, c.1740s.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Gardner/Porter (1633-1640) Allfarthing, Allfarthin

[NB: some books of heraldry describe Porter as "of Alfarthing"]

Senex (1727) Half Farthing

Rocque (1750) Half Farthing

Tirion (1754) Half Farthing

Cary (1786) Half Farthing

Corris (1787) All-Farthing

Faden (1790) Half Farthing

Milne (1800) Allfarthing

OS (1808-1822) Half Farthing

Cruchley (1832) Half Farthing

Tithe (c1840) [not named on map]

Davies, Environs of London (1841) Half Farthing

Cruchley (1847) Allfarthing Lane [first mention on a map?]

Whitbread (1865) Allfarthing Lane

Wyld (1872) Half Farthing Lane

"Half Farthing", Ordnance Survey, 1-inch map (c.1810).

(Click on image to enlarge)

By the time Cruchley and Stanford maps appear (from mid-19th-century) the name is no longer applied to an area but only to a lane zig-zagging its way from the Wandle to Wandsworth Common, and its name has settled down almost exclusively to Allfarthing (All Farthing, Alfarthing).

Stanford, 1862. Allfarthing manor house once stood facing Allfarthing Lane between "Church Lane" (now called St Ann's Crescent) and "The Grove" (now called St Ann's Hill).

(Click on image to enlarge)

Farthings and Half-farthings

If you're older than 65, you'll certainly recall farthings — in effect, "fourthings" — tiny bronze coins worth a quarter of an old penny. They only ceased to be legal tender in the UK on 1 January 1961, but remained in circulation in the Falkland Islands and its dependencies, and also in the British Antarctic Territory, until 31st October 1970. [Why?]

A Wren Farthing — my favourite coin from childhood. The wren replaced the figure of Britannia in 1937. Today, the coin is of even greater significance to me because I have a granddaughter called Wren (born 2018).

In the mid-1950s, I attended Earlsfield Junior School. Farthings were still legal tender. After school more or less every day, I visited the delightful sweetshop on the corner of Tranmere Road and Magdalen Road where we could buy four farthing chews and still have spent no more than one penny in total.

The corner of Magdalen Road and Tranmere Road. The sweetshop of dreams disappeared years ago. Its large windows, once filled with jars of tooth-rotting treats, has been bricked in on both elevations to simulate a regular terraced house.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Oranges and lemons
Say the bells of St. Clement's
You owe me five farthings
Say the bells of St. Martin's

Half-farthings?

For a start, I hadn't even realised a "half-farthing" was ever an actual coin of the realm. Did you? If I'd ever thought about it, I might have assumed it was a medieval coin. But no.

Half Farthing, obverse and reverse, 1845

(Click on image to enlarge)

The half farthing was a British coin worth 1⁄1920 of a pound, 1⁄96 of a shilling, or 1⁄8 of a penny. The coins were minted in copper for use in British Ceylon in various years between 1828 and 1856, and as a bronze proof coin in 1868. In 1842, they were also declared legal tender in the United Kingdom. Half farthings were demonetised along with all other British copper coins on 31 December 1869.

[Wikipedia: Link.]

Alas, according to the Royal Mint Museum, "the coins were a nine days’ wonder and never became popular in this country. They were demonetised with effect from 1 January 1870".

"The widow's mite . . . "

Passionate advocates of the half-farthing (and amazingly there were some) argued that there was mot only a biblical precedent for such a tiny amount, there was even a ready-made name, the "mite".

Gustave Dore, The Widow's Mite, c.1870.

"And Jesus sat over against the treasury [offertory box], and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing" (St Mark, ch.12, v. 41-42.).

(Click on image to enlarge)

Sixteenth-century Mite Box.

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[When I was young, churches gave out small cardboard boxes to encourage us to collect donations of small denominations. Do they still do so? Do they ever call them "mite boxes"?

Remarkably, other fractional farthings were coined, including "Third-farthings" (for use in Malta), and even "Quarter-farthings" (Ceylon).

Readers of Trollope will recall that Plantagenet Palliser, when Chancellor of the Exchequer, toiled frantically to institute a decimal farthing — a "quint" — of which there would be five to the penny. Utterly futile, of course.]

Does the name "half-farthing" signify its origin in some charitable act? Not impossible, but highly unlikely.

Money, money, money — or something else?

Until now, we've assumed that "all-farthing" and "half-farthing" must refer to money — a division of some coin. But what if that which is divided is not money but land?

Keith Bailey in a compelling article for the Journal of the English Place-Name Society writes that Allfarthing/Half-farthing may represent a fraction of the large estate that we can call Battersea-cum-Wandsworth. This was granted to the nuns of Barking Abbey in the seventh century but later transferred by William I to Westminster Abbey (1067).

Using two Anglo-Saxon charters (c.690, 957), a number of local historians (including J.G. Taylor, Dorian Gerhold, Nick Fuentes, Graham Gower, Michael Green and, most doggedly, Keith Bailey) have attempted to trace its boundaries on modern maps. I'm not qualified to enter the debate, or even summarise it, but here's just one (delightful) version, from 1925:

"Battersea with Wandsworth from 693 to the Industrial Revolution" — remarkable (albeit controversial) reconstruction by J.G. Taylor, Our Lady of Batersey (1925). Allfarthing manor is tinted yellow. Roughly an eighth of the total, it appears to have been carved out of the centre of the overall estate.

Other sub-manors include Dunsford, west of the River Wandle, and Downe.

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In the following centuries, Battersea-cum-Wandsworth was sub-divided, one of the smaller manors being Allfarthing. Perhaps significantly, this appears to have been roughly an eighth of the previous whole.

This certainly makes a lot of sense.

But just as we feel we're getting somewhere, Keith undercuts our certainties with a very different suggestion. What if it's not a fraction at all? What if it records someone's name, with an Old English "-ing" on the end?

This is not uncommon in and around the London area, as in Ealing, Barking, Woking, Dorking — or indeed Tooting (possibly named after an Anglo-Saxon chieftain called "Tota"), just up the road from us.

So whose name? Keith helps us out yet again:

Keith Bailey, "Allfarthing: is it really a fraction?ʼ, Journal of the English Place-Name Society, 45 (2013), 42-45.

[Lost letters of the alphabet: the wonky "d" is an "eth", and the elongated "p" is a "thorn". Both are pronounced "th" — either soft (as in our modern word "Wandsworth") or voiced, as in today's "the".]

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Which gets your vote? Fraction or name?

Club outing on "Penny-farthing" bicycles, Wandsworth, date and location?

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Now back to slaughtered sheep . . .

Thomas Cooper, Sheep on the Common, 1873, Manchester Art Gallery

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What was so valuable about fat?

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Mutton fat (or tallow) is 20% fat, with no water, protein, or carbohydrates. Rendering animal fat is the process of melting the original hard fat and straining it to remove impurities and create a stable oil. It's had countless uses historically, and still quite a number today. Here are some:

— Cooking (think suet)

— Baking

— Conditioning leather

— Cleaning guns

— Print-making — applied to metal plates to resist acid etching

— Skin Care

— Soap making

— Lubrication e.g. greasing wooden wheel axles and steam-driven pistons

— Candle-making

— Bell-making — to separate the false bell in casting

— Fuel

— Flux for Soldering

— Sizing, lubricating and softening yarn in textile manufacture

— Treating blisters

Candlight, by Arthur Rackham, unknown date. As a teenager, Arthur Rackham lived on what is now St Ann's Hill.

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Farthing dips and candles

Tallow once was widely used to make molded candles before more convenient wax varieties became available — and for some time after since they continued to be a cheaper alternative. For those too poor even to avail themselves of homemade, molded tallow candles, the "tallow dip" — a reed that had been dipped in melted tallow or sometimes a strip of burning cloth in a saucer of tallow grease — was an accessible substitute. Such a candle was often simply called a "dip" or, because of its low cost, a "farthing dip" or "penny dip".

[Wikipedia: Tallow. Tallow candles tended to be smoky and smelly, but beautiful beeswax candles were too expensive for most people. Enter Price's Candles. See also Gertrude Jekyll: "Rushlights: How the Country Poor Lit the Homes".]

In the nineteenth century, our local Price's Patent Candle Company became the world's largest manufacturer of new types of "composite" candle — part tallow, part coconut or palm oil. (It also became a major producer of lubricants.)

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I hope to write more about Price's soon, but in the meanwhile here's a short piece I wrote in 2022 about Price's splendid "Sperm candles", made from whale oil.

Sperm whale, South Seas. The "Father of British Whaling", Alexander Champion, lived in one of the "Five Houses" on the eastern edge of Wandsworth Common.

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So, what do you think? Which of the many potential uses of sheep fat could possibly have paid our thief/butcher enough to risk slaughtering ten fully grown sheep in a field, and then painstakingly remove all the fat but no meat ("not even the kidneys")? Candle-making, or something else entirely?

At this point I was going to segue into a full history of sheep on the Common, but for now I'd better focus on just one story — also fat-centred.

This is John Buckmaster's cautionary tale of the dreadful fate of a man he had met when he first began to teach, in the mid-1840s. JCB's first appointment was to a penal institution for boys awaiting transportation to Australia at Parkhurst on the Isle of Wight. (Today it is an adult prison, part of "HMP Isle of Wight".)

Distant view of Parkhurst, c.1847.

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School room at Parkhurst, presumably the one that JCB taught in c.1847. The boys are boxed in, to restrict any conversation or interaction.

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It's a fascinating piece of writing — in my view, well worth taking the time to savour:

LECTURE V.

HASHES AND STEWS

Better is a dinner with herbs where love is than a stalled ox and strife therewith.

If music be the food of love, play on.

. . .

HASHED mutton is the horror of most husbands, but this arises from its not being properly prepared . . .

It is now some years ago, more than one likes to remember, that I had a bachelor friend; we used to take long walks together, and discuss the affairs of the country, and put everything right. My friend was a philosopher: he used to say, "Well, I've seen so many fellows make a mess of getting married that I shall be very careful what sort of woman I marry, that is, if I should ever be fool enough to marry."

All this, and much more, my friend used to preach to me whenever an opportunity offered. We were both in the convict service, but not as convicts; he was my mentor and had a salary of about £150 a year, rising up to £250. He was moved from the country to London, and for a time we were separated.

In course of time I came to London, and our walks and our friendship (which was the purest and most disinterested I have ever known) were renewed; but my friend had become a changed character. He talked of the misery of being alone in London, and he frequently spent his evenings at a house where there were two young ladies, one of whom was very accomplished. She could do something in water-colours and wool-work, could talk French, knew all about the kings of Judah, and the march of the Ten Thousand; and, among other accomplishments, she could sing at the Penny Readings. I reminded my friend of a verse in Ecclesiasticus, "Avoid the company of a singing woman, lest thou be overcome with her attempts."

He was a little angry, but was anxious to introduce me to the other daughter, but I had given offence to the mother by a speech at the Christian Young Men's Tea-party, at which the mother and these young ladies were present. I said that half the young ladies of the present day would wonder how the apple got into the dumpling, and all the mothers and the young ladies present considered this very insulting. As all the parties are now dead, there can be no impropriety in my referring to this circumstance.

My friend got married on £200 a year, and a man and his wife may live respectably and comfortably on £200 a year, 1f the woman knows how to cook and the family is not too large. He took a semi-detached villa, one of those ugly plaster things in which the neighbourhood of London abounds, Two months after my friend was married, he wished me to dine with him and be introduced to his wife.

We met by appointment at the station and arrived at the semi-detached villa, which was like a packing-case with square holes. The hideous cast-iron railings in front, the compo steps leading to the front door; the sixpenny knocker, painted black, with a goat's head; the newly varnished door, cracked and split in every direction by the sun, like a map of Europe. The newly gravelled path; the yellow marble paper and narrow passage, with the drawing-room separated from the dining-room by folding-doors, which would neither open nor shut; cheap ugly fireplaces, with iron sufficient to make a railway — 25 per cent. was the leading idea of the man who built it. Inside and outside there was nothing but show and untruthfulness.

The drawing-room carpet was beginning to show by faint white lines the exact width of the flooring boards. The kitchen chimney had caught cold and smoked, so we had to wait about three-quarters of an hour beyond the time appointed for dinner, which neither improved my friend's temper nor his language.

I kept saying it was all right, and as we had nothing to do, waiting was of no consequence.

At last the happy moment arrived. Only a plain dinner, fish and a leg of mutton; they kept a very plain cook and a waiting-maid. I thought this rather strong on two hundred a year, but everybody must be the best judge of their own affairs. A piece of turbot came up like fish-soup, in small pieces; it had been boiled to rags and strained over a colander, and I should never have known what kind of fish it was if I had not been told.

My friend, I could see, was getting uncomfortable; he complained about good fish being spoilt and the waste of food and so on.

Then followed the leg of mutton, black all over except the ends. Attempts had been made to scrape off the black, which had removed the skin, which had been clumsily stuck on again; it looked anything but nice. When the knife went into it off came the skin, and you could see that from about three-quarters of an inch from the outside it was as fresh and as tough as it was in the butcher's shop.

My friend was bursting with anger, but his wife said, very blandly, "Cut off the outside, my dear, the remainder will do for hash; I am told it is all the better for not being too much done."

Then came the vegetables, cabbages and potatoes, the potatoes in a squashy condition and the cabbages raw. My friend now made use of language I had never heard him use before. His wife remonstrated with him, she threw all the blame on the servants, who had, perhaps, never seen a leg of mutton before, except in a butcher's shop.

After my friend was a little more composed he said to his wife, "You ought to have seen to the cooking yourself."

And now for the climax. His wife replied, "Very complimentary to know that when you married me you thought you were marrying a cook." My friend swore, it was not his habit. His wife cried and left the room, and this is how two young persons commenced their married life on two hundred a year.

We went into the garden and smoked; my friend seemed a little comforted with his pipe. I began to feel he had made a mistake, but his was one of those natures that could not or would not be reasoned with. He gradually took to dining away from home, and spending his evenings with sporting men or at billiards, he became a gambler and a drunkard, lost his situation, and died at thirty-one in an hospital.

His wife endeavoured to earn a livelihood for herself and her little child by teaching music, and after a wearisome struggle the child died, and the mother shortly followed to that place where the weary are at rest. What a misfortune that this young lady had never been taught the practical duties of domestic life, for God intended that man and wife should be happy in this world, but Pride, Pretence, and Hypocrisy make us miserable.

JCB's recipe for Hashed Mutton (and domestic harmony)

. . . for the benefit of young ladies whose mothers have neglected their education, I will endeavour to teach them how to make Hashed Mutton an attractive dish . . .

HASHED MUTTON

Ingredients

Eschalots

Cold mutton

Tomato sauce

Bouquet garni

Walnut

Cut up neatly from a leg of mutton or other joint all the meat in pieces about the same size. Remove all the fat, skin and bone, and every piece which is burned or blackened by the fire, or the hash will have a strong disagreeable flavour. The parts not used for hash may go into the stock-pot.

Melt in a quart stewpan one ounce of sweet butter, then two finely minced eschalots and a dessert-spoonful of flour, and stir for five minutes. Now add two gills of stock, salt if necessary, half a teaspoonful of whole pepper, one clove, three allspice, a bouquet garni, a teaspoonful of walnut ketchup, or half the quantity of Worcester sauce, and a tablespoonful of tomato sauce.

Stir continually till the contents come to the boil, keep boiling a few minutes, then strain into another stewpan, and let the sauce cool before adding the meat or it will harden. When cold lay in the pieces of meat, place the stewpan over the fire, and let the contents gradually warm, occasionally shake the stewpan, and be careful not to let the hash boil.

As soon as the meat is sufficiently warmed serve with sippets of bread fried in butter.

John Tenniel, "The leg of mutton got up in the dish and made a little bow to Alice," from Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass (1871).

It was Tom Taylor — the Battersea-dwelling dramatist, editor of Punch magazine and inspirational defender of Wandsworth Common in the run-up to the 1871 Act — who introduced Lewis Carroll to John Tenniel, the illustrator of both Alice books.

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Matters arising . . .

I've already mentioned how an email from Jason Hazeley got me thinking about Half-farthings and mutton fat. But there were a number of other very interesting responses. Here are one or two.

Last month, I wrote about bird-song competitions between "goldfinch mules" held at the Carpenter's Arms on Chatham Road (long since gone, of course), in which I said something very silly:

"Mules" must be cocks/male birds, but what do "Once in the mouth" and "Gaslight" mean?

From Joseph Nash, A Practical Treatise on British Songbirds; in which is given every information relative to their natural history, incubation, &c., together with the method of rearing and managing both old and young birds,, 1824 (pdf here).

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Nobody has come forward (so far) with what "Once in the mouth" and "Gaslight" might mean, but I now know quite a lot more about Goldfinch "mules".

Within a few hours of receiving January's Chronicles, our wonderful wildflower expert Roy Vickery commented:

At one time plants which were hybrids between two species were known as 'mules'. Thus the first hybrid known to have been deliberately made, a cross between sweet william, Dianthus barbatus, and carnation, D. caryophyllus, was known as 'Fairchild's mule', having been created in 1716-7 by Thomas Fairchild.

Probably irrelevant, but possibly 'goldfinch mules' were hybrids between goldfinches and some other species?

For more info. on "Fairchild's mule", see e.g. Herbaria Plants: Dianthus caryophyllus L. x Dianthus barbatus L. (Caryophyllaceae), which starts, "During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, bastard, freak, rogue, monster, mongrel and mule described horticultural oddities."

Almost at the same moment, Barbara Littlechild emailed to say she had found this online:

"British finches are often associated with mules, a term used by cage bird breeders to refer to hybrids of finch species bred in captivity, such as that of a goldfinch and canary . . .

Song — this was the original purpose of cross breeding the canary with finches. If the young mules were moved away from canaries after weaning and kept in earshot of the finch, the young mules would sing pure finch song.

[Wikipedia: British Finches].

Barbara added that it still seems to be current practice with several websites & "training" videos on YouTube.

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Here's a video, one of many online, of a goldfinch mule singing.

YouTube: "Goldfinch Mule Singing 20% Goldfinch Song".

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Spot on, Barbara and Roy — many thanks to you both!

On bird competitions of a rather different kind, see this story of cock-fighting in an unnamed Wandsworth Common beerhouse, 19 February 1838. This too is likely to have take place in Chatham Road.

The Cockpit, from Pierce Egan's Book of Sports, and Mirror of Life: Embracing The Turf, The Chase, The Ring, and The Stage interspersed with Original Memoirs of Sporting Men etc. (1832?).

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A.O.B.

Let's fix the "Missing Link" in the popular Wandle Trail!

Fix the "Missing Link" in the Wandle Trail

At the moment, there's no way through

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This petition was started 27 January 2025 by the Wandle Valley Forum.

Here's the Forum's latest bulletin.

Petition to the Leaders of Wandsworth & Merton Councils

Fix the "Missing Link" in the Wandle Trail

Why this petition matters

The Wandle Trail is blocked by the major railway bridge near Earlsfield. Walkers and cyclists are forced to leave the river and divert via busy roads.

Fixing this "Missing Link" in the Wandle Trail has been a priority for local communities and all who care for the Wandle for many years.

Providing a route through the bridge will be transformational. It will create a major new active travel route for walkers, families with children, cyclists and wheelers. This will address demands arising from significant new development in the area and help meet the wider needs of the Wandle Valley.

The railway bridge lies on the border of Merton and Wandsworth. Both local authorities have identified it as a "priority project" in their Local Plans and Infrastructure Delivery Plans. It is eligible for funding from the community infrastructure levy on new development among other sources.

A feasibility study has now been completed by Merton Council. It provides a preferred option which has the support of Network Rail and Environment Agency and costs c£1.1m.

The feasibility study shows that there is a solution to the "Missing Link" which is deliverable and affordable. We are asking the leaders of Merton and Wandsworth Councils to deliver this preferred option and realise the benefits it will provide.

Please sign this petition . . .

And share this petition in person or use this QR code . . .

The stretch in question at the end of the C19:

OS, 1890s, 5 feet to one mile: Earlsfield railway bridge crossing Garratt Lane and River Wandle.

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National Portrait Gallery

Portrait of the Month: Octavia Hill

Octavia Hill, portrait by John Singer Sergeant, 1898. National Portrait Gallery.

(Click on image to see this portrait on the NPG website.)

I don't know how well Olivia Hill knew Wandsworth Common, but Robert Hunter, her friend and fellow-founder of the National Trust, was a key figure in the saving of the Common in 1871. (He lived 1869—1872 at 5 Louvaine Road, where there is now an English Heritage Blue Plaque.)

Among Olivia Hill's many achievements (perhaps less well known than others) was to help save sections of the Wandle riverbank that are now part of the wonderful Wandle Trail. (See e.g. the Wimbledon Society's article "How the protection of the Wandle Valley started".

That picture puzzle solved . . .

Joseph Wright "of Derby", An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump, 1768. National Gallery, London. A single candle sheds more light on the assembled group than the full moon — but makes the whole scene so much more mysterious and perhaps alarming.

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Chronicles

January 2025

"Two venerably bearded Turks in the full costume of the East".

How are these chaps (or rather ones looking much like them) connected to Wandsworth Common? Answer at the foot of the page.

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Let's start with a story about New Year's resolutions . . .

1 January 1920

A man in a railway carriage coming up to Town confides to his fellow commuters that he has a "terrible awe-inspiring resolve" to commit a "fearful outrage". He wants to kidnap the director of the railway company (the London, Brighton and South Coast line) and then to subject him to "long, lingering, terrible torture".

And the nature of the torture?

"I'm going to . . . make him travel third class on the 8.45. And he will have to get in at Wandsworth Common!"

Yes, it's pretty frivolous stuff, but reading between the lines you can learn quite a lot about the concerns and life-experiences of (middle-class male) suburban Londoners at this time.

Globe — Thursday 1 January 1920

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SWEARING-IN 1920

TALES THEY TOLD IN THE TRAIN TO-DAY

SOME RESOLUTIONS

WHAT WAS YOUR NEW YEAR RESOLVE?

(By a Special Representative of "The Globe.")

The guard of the 8.45 from Streatham Hill blew his whistle and waved his flag and the train gave a jerk.

Bang! Crash! Thud!

Down the stairs, six a time, came Smith. He bolted for the end "smoker," and I could see he was just gulping down the last of his breakfast.

"Hi, stand away there," roared a porter.

But Smith took a flying leap to the footboard. I opened the door, and he fell in.

"Thanks," he gasped out. "That was a near thing. I nearly broke it already.

"My New Year's resolution, I mean," he explained, adjusting his collar. "I had to do something, you know. Making resolutions on New Year's Day is as much a habit as eating hot cross buns on a Good Friday, and saying, 'Isn't he like his father!' to everybody's baby.

SENSIBLE JONES

Now wish I had chosen something sensible like Jones. He's going to

Kill his mother-in-law's parrot,
Hide his boy's punching ball,
Jigger up the family gramophone,
Poison the dog next door,
Send the girl who sings in the top flat a muzzle or some voice lozenges, and
Return his wife's birthday present of cigars.

"Or," continued Smith, with, undisguised envy, take my old friend Brown. He's promised to give up all sorts of things he can't afford, doesn't like, and doesn't want."

GREEN CHUCKLES

Green, who was trying to hang himself in the luggage rack, chuckled and looked knowing.

"My family go in for all the fads," he said, and, of course, I have to follow suit, from jazz to knitting jumpers. So I had to make resolutions like Aunt Maria and the kids. I've sworn off

Whisky Cigars
Billiards Nap."

The occupants of the carriage regarded him with looks of horror, mingled with pity and amazement.

"Poor old chap," said Smith softly, forgetting for the moment his own troubles.

"Oh, I don't mind, really," said Green.

"You see," he added with another chuckle, I don't mind giving up whisky. Beer will do just well. Cigarettes are cheaper than cigars. I prefer skittles to billiards, and I win more at bridge than at nap."

NEVER AGAIN

"I don't mind telling you," said the little man in the corner, that I've sworn on the ashes of my ancestors never again to forecast when

'Chu Chin Chow' ends,
Bolshevism gets on its really last legs,
The ex-Kaiser is tried,
Our rates go down,
Carpentier takes the full count, or a
New 'flu epidemic begins.

"I had a go at all those last year," he said, sadly, but never again. And as for Joe Beckett and Cabinet crises . . . !

"However, I have made one more besides those. If I have to pace the bedroom floor every night at 2 a.m. with the baby, I shan't get wild and tear my hair. No! I shall just smile and be grateful that the baby wasn't twins."

A TERRIBLE RESOLVE

"What's yours ? asked Smith of the absent-minded looking man beside him.

"Brandy and soda."

"Your New Year's resolution, I meant," replied Smith hurriedly.

"I don't think I've made one. Yes I have though, a terrible awe-inspiring resolve which will shake the foundations of our very country, sir. No less than a fearful outrage which will set the papers jumping and make love dramas melt down into paragraphs for the back page."

"W-w-what is it," whispered Smith edging away as far as he could. "M-m-murder?

"Worse," groaned out the other, with a smack of the lips. "Torture — long, lingering, terrible torture!"

He bent towards the horror-stricken Smith and hissed into his ear.

"I'm going to kidnap the director of the L.B. and S.C. and make him travel third class on the 8.45.

And he will have to get in at Wandsworth Common!"

Smith brightened up considerably, and then looked round for new victims.

"Have you made a New Year's resolve my boy," he asked of a youth reading a novel with flaming cover.

"Yus, I have," said the youth, without looking up. It's this. "I ain't going to answer any of your silly questions."

Then there was silence for the rest of the journey.

[BNA: Link.]

By the way, it's the first of January, but clearly the men are travelling to work. I really hadn't remembered that it wasn't until 1974 that New Year's Day became a bank holiday.

One of my favourite postcards of Wandsworth Common Station . .

Can we date it?

Wandsworth Common Station, early C20 — notice there is no ticket office on the Common side.

I wondered when the ticket office was built, and went looking for an answer.

According to the Northern Daily Mail (Hartlepool) (18 April 1908), "The booking office of Wandsworth Common Station was destroyed by fire last night. It was built last year." This implies 1907.

Here's an image of another fire at the station a few years earlier, but this one seems to have involved the wooden bridge over the tracks.

[BNA: Penny Illustrated Paper, 7 March 1903.]

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When I first saw this image, I assumed it was only about Wandsworth Common Station. (Even I, who thinks that the sun, moon and stars revolve around Wandsworth Common, was surprised that so much national attention should be drawn to a fairly parochial incident.)

But then I looked more closely and noticed something very odd in the circle in the centre of the picture.

Take a closer look.

A row of soldiers firing rifles. Shooting commuters? At Wandsworth Common station?

It turned out that the image is a composite of not one but three stories, entitled "SOME INCIDENTS OF THE WEEK":

1. Collapse of a wall near Walworth Road Station.

2. Spanish Guards Fire on a Disorderly Crowd during the Carnival Festivities at Vigo. Several Persons were Killed or Wounded.

3. Burning of Railway Bridge at Wandsworth Common Station.

An odd juxtaposition.

As for the date of the postcard, some time around 1905?

While we're talking railways . . .

Proposed new lines crossing Wandsworth Common, 1863

Proposed new railway lines, 1863 (thick), existing routes (thin). I have aded some colour for clarity. Notice in particular the Putney, Balham and City Junction line (red). This would have gouged yet another great canyon across Wandsworth Common.

[I've also added a pink broken line to show the direct route the Brighton line might have taken from Brighton to Victoria had the people of Clapham been less insistent that it didn't come anywhere near their Common — which meant of course that our Common was transected instead.]

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The course of the Putney, Balham and City Junction line crossing Wandsworth Common superimposed on a modern map.

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The new line was intended to veer off at what would later (1869) be Wandsworth Common Station, then pass in a cutting under Trinity Road (more or less where Routh Road crosses now), loop just south of the prison, traverse St Ann's Hill, span Garratt Lane at the end of Allfarthing Lane, then straddle the Wandle and what is now King George's Park (on a viaduct).

[Keith Bailey tells me that the detailed plans for the Putney, Balham etc are at the House of Lords Record Office HL/PO/PB/3/plan 1862/B27.

"The Putney, Balham & City Junction appears on London Topographical Society 116 (1973) which shows schemes submitted in 1863. It would have used the Chatham & Dover line to reach Blackfriars & Holborn (and thence north). Had they all come to fruition, the scope for housebuilding would have been rather curtailed! The urge to link Putney & environs to the City was finally solved by the Waterloo & City tube.""

Thanks, Keith! ]

The Putney, Balham and City Junction line was not the only extra line proposed to cross the Common. How about this one, about which I know very little (including, frustratingly, the date and source of the map!):

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Branches are shown to/from both the Southampton and the Brighton lines, which is strange because of course they were owned by different companies at this time. (And collaboration was very unusual.) The line would have crossed Wimbledon Common and Coombe Hill, presumably on its way to Kingston.

This next article may be related, but possibly refers to yet another line, since Putney and Barnes lie in a different direction.

South London Press — Saturday 28 January 1882

The London and South-Western Railway propose to construct a railway about quarter of a mile long, to commence by a junction with the main line just westward of the Royal Freemasons' School, Wandsworth Common, and terminating at a junction with the Richmond Railway at Clapham Junction station.

It will pass under a public footpath leading to Plough-lane, and under Wandsworth-road, at a depth of sixteen feet two inches below the roadway.

The scheme includes the widening on both sides of the railway the north side from Barnes station to Clapham Junction, and on the south from Barnes station to within a distance of about five hundred feet west of Putney station.

The widening on the south side will continued from a point about five hundred feet east of Putney station to near the crossing at York-road by Wandsworth station.

The proposed railway and widenings will cross over the Board's main low level sewer in Wandsworth-lane, and again at York-road, Wandsworth; the Putney boundary sewer, near Oxford-road, Putney; and many local sewers.

The Wandsworth District Board will oppose this bill, with the view of obtaining the insertion of certain clauses, which they consider to important in the interests of the inhabitants.

[BNA: Link.]

More information, anyone? Any maps?

Laughter in court — the defendant, who had killed a duck with a catapult, was "only in pursuit of game" . . .

South London Mail — Friday 5 January 1906''

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JUDICIAL HUMOUR.

Charles Matthews, living at 1, Canterbury-place, Mendip-road, Battersea, was summoned before the Hon. John de Grey "or wilfully interfering with a duck at the Wandsworth, Common lake.

The proceedings were taken under the by-laws of the Landon County Council, the prosecuting solicitor said the duck was killed.

Mr. de Grey (smiling): What the cause of death? Was any post-mortem examination made?

The common-keeper stated at the bird first struck with a stone from a catapult, and then taken from the water, its neck rung, and it was then thrown into the furze bushes.

He saw the defendant leave an enclosure, and the bird was afterwards discovered in a dying state. The defendant, he added, left the common, but returned later, and it was then that his name and address were taken.

Mr. de Grey (to the defendant): You see you made a mistake in returning.

The Defendant: Yes.

(Laughter.)

His Worship imposed a nominal penalty of 2s. 6d., remarking that, after all, the defendant was only in pursuit of game.

[BNA: Link.]

The Revd Craig's "Brobdignagian cigar" —isn't that brilliant description — recollected in 1868

Newcastle Journal — Thursday 30 January 1868

The Craig telescope, the world's largest, on Wandsworth Common, as shown in the Newcastle Journal, 30 January 1868. The telescope had been demolished more than a decade earlier.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Mr Craig had manufactured a refracting telescope with an object glass twenty inches in diameter; it was erected on Wandsworth Common, in a tube resembling a Brobdignagian cigar, but so imperfect was its achromatism and aplanatism that it has long been laid aside as practically useless.

etc etc

[BNA: Link]

"Practically useless", perhaps, but it did boast of one major achievement — establishing the existence of a third ring around Saturn:

Wexford Independent — Wednesday 26 January 1853

The Craig Telescope

This giant refractor lately erected on Wandsworth Common, of two feet aperture and eighty feet focal length, has been brought to bear up in the planet Saturn on the first favourable evening after its erection.

The instant result has been to set the question at rest for ever amongst astronomers as to the satellite having a third ring. This Telescope has brought out this third ring beautifully. It is of a bright slate colour . . .

In fine weather the wonders of the heavenly bodies are exhibited by this eighty feet refractor, in a way that the eye of man has never heretofore been permitted to see them.

[BNA: Link]

I love this evocation of the Craig telescope at work on Wandsworth Common. Can the night sky really ever have been so awesome? Image from Greg Smye-Rumsby's wonderful website: www.craig-telescope.co.uk:

"the wonders of the heavenly bodies are exhibited . . . in a way that the eye of man has never heretofore been permitted to see""

[Hmm, I've included the web address but I'm currently (December 2024) having difficulties accessing the site. With luck, by the time you read this things will have been fixed and you'll be luckier.]

"The Planet Saturn, with its third ring, as seen through the Craig Telescope." Really? How did Saturn actually appear to viewers? I couldn't have looked like this!

[Source: Craig-Telescope.co.uk: Observations at the telescope.]

(Click on images to enlarge)

But there were innumerable problems with the telescope itself including too cumbersome to track stars across the night sky, and poor optics), and also its location on Wandsworth Common — too close to the light pollution caused by London's rapid expansion.

It was in effect a grandiose folly, and within a few years it was demolished and sold off as scrap . . .

Learn more about the Craig Telescope by watching this recent video of Greg Smye-Rumsby's talk to the Friends of Wandsworth Common:

(Click on image to enlarge)

THE CRAIG TELESCOPE

24 October 2024 — The story of an iconic building that lives on in name only - by Greg Smye-Rumsby

Around the time of the Great Exhibition, in 1852, a futuristic telescope was built on a corner of Wandsworth Common in an area now called the "Scope". "We now have a much better understanding of this strange and cumbersome instrument and why it never fulfilled its promise, despite employing the minds of some of the greatest engineers of the day", according to Greg Smye-Rumsby — specialist planetarium presenter for the Royal Observatory, Greenwich who has made this subject his own.

[Friends of Wandsworth Common: Videos.]

Sporting Life — 11 January 1882

Engraving of the Goldfinch by local artist Henry Meyer

(Click on image to enlarge)

BIRD SINGING

The final handicap for the season 1881, for a handsome lamp, presented by the proprietor of the Carpenter's Arms, Chatham road, Wandsworth Common; thirteen pair of goldfinch mules put up.

F. Rush's bird won with 3 score 8.

A linnet handicap is now coming on, for two handsome prizes. Other races to follow.

H. Collins is open to sing any goldfinch mule (gaslight), once in the mouth, for £1. H.C. will be in waiting at the above house on Saturday, January 14, from seven to nine.

[Largely irrelevant, but here's a terrific short exposition of the symbolism of the Goldfinch in art, from the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

Chatham Road was once abundantly supplied with public houses. Here are some of them:

— Eagle, 104 Chatham Road, Miss Young

— Gardeners Arms, 109 & 111 Chatham Road, Miss Arlott

— Bolingbroke Arms, 17 Chatham Road, Briggs

— Carpenters Arms, 39 Chatham Road, Barrow

Today, only The Eagle remains (of course the road itself is only half as long — it once stretched all the way to Bolingbroke Grove, on the edge of the Common).

Some questions:

"Mules" must be cocks/male birds, but what do "Once in the mouth" and "Gaslight" mean?

How were singing contests scored, and who judged?

Incidentally, a search for more information about The Eagle found this interesting note from the publican, David Law:

I'm the current Publican for the above site and have been so since 1996. I am currently researching the building for possible planning and historical protections. So far I have discovered that it was originally one of five pubs on this road and started life as a beer house.

I have yet to find out its original build date although from other building info I suspect it was 1863, being substantially rebuilt in 1890 by the Holloway Bros, to designs by Karslake & Mortimer Architects. The Holloway Bros also built Albert Bridge on the Thames and the most recent remodelling of the Bank of England."

[LondonWiki: LondonPubs: The Eagle, 104 Chatham Road, SW11 6HG.]

Stanford, 1896. The Eagle, on Chatham Road, is more or less opposite what was then a Baptist Chapel. The chapel was demolished and the Gardener's Arms built on the site. Why so many pubs?

Even this small fragment of a map should provide hours of fun. Notice, for example, how Northcote Road has yet to run through to Broomwood Road - to be joined up with "Swaby Road". Belleville School is shown, but not Honeywell. Historic England states that it was built in 1891 to a design by T.J. Bailey. So why does it not appear on this map?

The Gardener's Arms, opposite the Eagle. My old friend Alan Turk recollects we drank there in the 1960s, early on in our drinking career - it must have been early, he writes, because "it was a Watney's pub! I remember paying 2 shillings for a pint of Red Barrel and thinking 'That's a bit steep!' "

(Click on image to enlarge)

A block of flats now stands on the site. ClosedPubs.co.uk says last orders were called at the Gardener's Arms in February 2011 and the pub was demolished in July 2011.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Birmingham Mail — Wednesday 31 January 1900

Two "professional" ratcatchers to the London County Council were appointed yesterday — one for Battersea Park at a fee of £5.15s per annum, and the other for Clapham and Wandsworth Common at £5.5s.

[BNA: Link.]

Daily Mirror — Wednesday 13 January 1915

(Click on image to enlarge)

WAR WEDDING FROM HOSPITAL

A lieutenant acted as a private's best man at the Oratory of St. Mary Magdalen, Wandsworth, yesterday, when Private John Foley, a patient at the Patriotic Hospital, Wandsworth Common, married Miss Nellie O'Keefe, of Cork.

The bridegroom, as a private in the 18th Royal Irish Regiment, had his leg smashed by shrapnel at Valay, and the limb had to be amputated. The operation nearly proved fatal owing to loss of blood, but he made a wonderful recovery.

[BNA: Link.]

Some other newspapers added snippets of information:

Belfast News-Letter — Thursday 14 January 1915

WOUNDED SOLDIER'S ROMANCE

Wounded and removed to the Patriotic Hospital, Wandsworth Common, Private Foley, of the 18th Royal Irish Regiment, was married St. Mary Magdalene, Wandsworth, Tuesday Miss Nellie O'Keefe.

For some time the soldier's life was in danger. His left leg was amputated, and owing to loss of blood his condition became precarious. But slowly he recovered, and then decided to marry without delay the young lady whom he had been engaged before war broke out.

Miss O'Keefe entered the church on the arm of Colonel Bruce Porter, the officer commanding at the hospital, and she was attended by the matron, Miss Holden, as bridesmaid. The wedding breakfast was given the hospital by the officers, and later the other wounded men attended reception.

Lady Constance Butler sent bunch of shamrock from Kilkenny, and the wedding cake was present from the Honourable Winifred Douglas-Pennant.

[BNA: Link.]

The England & Wales, Civil Registration Marriage Index, 1837-1915, confirms that John Foley and Nellie O'Keefe married in Wandsworth in the January Quarter of 1915.

Photoraph of Edith Holden, Matron, 3rd London General Hospital, Gazette, March 1916.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Full-length portrait of Lt-Col. H.E. Bruce Porter by George Coates, Gazette, January 1916.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Searchlight and Gun Stations for sale, Wandsworth Common . . .

Daily Express — 12 January 1920

(Click on image to enlarge)

Ministry of Munitions.
By direction of the Disposal Board.
Huts and Building Materials Section.
Sale by Auction of
Hutments and Contents,
at Bolingbroke Grove and Spencer Park

Searchlight and Gun Stations,
Wandsworth Common.

On Friday, January 23rd, at 12 o'clock and 2 o'clock respectively.

Including:

Stoves, Shelving, Benches, "Colinda" Range,
Farm Boilers, Baths.
1200 ft. Corrugated Iron Fencing,
3 Canvas Hut Tents . . .

[BNA: Link.]

The playground area near Chivalry Road — where the searchlights and anti-Zeppelin gun were sited during World War One.

(Click on image to enlarge)

Mud, mud, glorious mud . . .

The Sportsman —Monday 12 January 1903

HARLEQUINS v. BLACKHEATH

MUD SPOILS THE MATCH

Rarely is a game contested under such adverse conditions as that witnessed at Wandsworth Common between these leading clubs on Saturday. For the best part of the week Harlequins' ground had been under water, and although by means of pumping, etc., an effort had been made to get the pitch in something like order was still in a very sloppy state, pools of water were to be seen in places.

Strange to say, the players seemed to have a particular affinity for the worst spots, for the majority of the game was contested where the mud was thickest, with a result which can be well imagined, and which, whilst disconcerting to the players, provided plenty of amusement for the three or four thousand spectators.

Some of the men were quite unrecognisable before the game was any minutes old, and both they and the ball were subjected to frequeat scrapings for the purpose of removing superfluous "upper crust". But still, despite all tbeee drawbacks, the game was a keen one, and although naturally confined largely to the forwards an interesting one to watch. . . .

As it was, the game ended in a pointless draw, which was undoubtedly the most satisfactory ending to the struggle in the mire.

[BNA: Link.]

Incidentally, I am GREATLY enjoying Sport and the British, Clare Balding's "30-part series charting how sport has shaped the British and how Britain has shaped sport" (BBC Sounds). Highly recommended, even if (like me) you're not much interested on sport.

As you must have gathered by now, I strongly believe the current shape, nature and layout of Wandsworth Common has been largely determined by the history of sport played on its denuded, smoothed, levelled, drained surfaces - see e.g. videos of a couple of talks I gave for the Friends of Wandsworth Common a few years ago.

South London Press — Saturday 15 January 1881

PROPOSED ERECTION OF AN IRON CHURCH AT WANDSWORTH

On the recommendation of the building act committee, it was resolved that the application of the Rev. J.E. Clarke for the approval by the board of a plan for the construction of a temporary iron church in Darley-road, Bolingbroke Grove, Wandsworth Common, be granted.

[Source: Link.]

This "iron-church" (or "tin-tabernacle") is the future St Michael's, opposite the Three-Island Pond. The incomparable John Erskine Clarke had already used a prefabricated iron church to establish St Luke's on Ramsden Road. The impressive brickwork was erected around the iron structure, which was removed from within on completion — services were scarcely interrupted.

"Switch off that LIGHT! ", 1940

Norwood News — Friday 5 January 1940

"Switch off that LIGHT! Less Light — More Planes"

(Click on image to enlarge)

Unscreened Lights

Lewis Fisher, Stormont-road, Battersea, was fined 2s. 6d. at the South-Western Police Court for allowing an unscreened light at his flat at 6.30 p.m. It was stated that the light was showing from a top-floor window. Defendant said. "I have just taken over the house, and have not had time to put up the black-out yet" Defendant added that he was out of work.

Mrs. Lilian Langridge, North-side, Wandsworth Common, was fined 10s.. for a similar offence at her flat at 9.p.m.

P.C. Willis stated that a light was showing from a third-floor window. It came from a candle on a dressing-table in front of the window. Defendant said, "I took the curtains down to wash them, and forgot to put them up. Will it go against me? I have three sons in the Army."

[BNA: Link.]

"CARROTS keep you healthy and help you to see in the blackout"

(Click on image to enlarge)

Here's an odd story. Perhaps you can make more sense of it than I can. But it's interesting, even if you can't .

It involves a Wandsworth Common "college-man" at the University of Cambridge who may not be entirely the gentleman he purports to be, and two "venerably bearded Turks in the full costume of the East".

Two fashionably dressed Turkish men, c.1820. Such a wonderful print I couldn't stop myself using it, but not necessarily anything like the two men in our own story. (For one thing, they're not fully bearded.)

(Click on image to enlarge)

Star— Friday 25 January 1822

POLICE. BOW STREET.

A pair of venerably-bearded Turks, in the full costume of the East, appeared before the sitting Magistrate, a few days ago, attended by one of the porters belonging to the Home Secretary of State's Office, who informed his Worship, that Mr. Hobhouse had desired they should be conducted before him, they having some complaint to make against a member of the University of Cambridge.

Neither of the Asiatics could speak a syllable of English, but they were accompanied by a man who offered himself as their interpreter, and who also called himself a Turk though he was an exact personification of an English stage-coachman a sturdy, curly headed, red-faced, knowing-looking fellow; in top-boots, bird's-eye fogle, and poodle benjamin.

[According to the indispensable (Green's Dictionary of Slang):

"bird's-eye fogle" — a silk handkerchief with a birds-eye pattern. Perhaps significantly, fogles were used as a prizefighter's colours.

"poodle benjamin"? Unknown, but a "benjamin" is a coat or waistcoat.]

To this man one of the strangers talked for nearly a quarter of an hour, with astonishing volubility, and most redundant gesticulations; and, having concluded, the man delivered the following narrative partly in English, partly in French, partly in Turkish, and partly in a dialect of his own, composed of all the others:

The Turks, in the course of their travels, had sojourned some days at Cambridge; and whilst there had sold about ten pounds worth of their merchandize to a "college man," (a collegian — one Mr.__________, of Wandsworth Common, as appeared from an address written on a slip of paper which they produced). The "college-man" did not pay them for the merchandize at the time of their bargain; but promised to be ready with the money on a future day.

When the day arrived, however, he was "gone somewhere away," and they could not find him. Some days more elapsed before he made himself visible; and then another day of payment was appointed; but when the day came he was gone away again.

In short, as the interpreter said, he was "always far off, round about in the countries sometimes here, and sometimes there, sometimes every where, and sometimes nowhere at all."

In all these eccentricities the poor Turks endeavoured to keep up with him; and urged the chace so warmly that, it would appear, he began at length to grow confoundedly tired of it; and, hopeless of exhausting their patience by this kind of wild-goose chase, he hit upon the following queer contrivance to rid himself of their troublesome presence:

Having apologised for the delay that had occurred, he appointed to meet them on the following morning at a certain public-house, about five miles from Cambridge, on the road to London.

The Turks were exact in keeping their appointment, and they had not waited long before the "college-man" made his appearance. He was accompanied by a young woman; and he proposed to the Turks that they should escort this young woman to town for him; that they should take great care of the young woman, as she was very dear to him, and wait altogether at the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, till he joined them; that he would follow them in a day or two at farthest, and immediately on his arrival in town he would give them a cheque upon his banker for the original debt, and the travelling expenses altogether!

White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, by James Pollard, unknown date. One of the best-known coaching inns.

(Click on image to enlarge)

This would have been a comical proposition to have made to an Englishman, but it answered very well with the poor Turks' they readily agreed to it; not doubting but he would keep his word when they had a Lady in pawn who was so "dear" to him and they took their departure for the Metropolis by the first coach that passed; the "college-man" taking a tender farewell of the Lady, and the simple Mussulmans escorting her along the road with as much care as though they had been conducting some fair Circassian to the Seraglio of the Grand Seignior.

They arrived at the White Horse Cellar in due course, and waited day after day for the arrival of the "college-man;" but to their astonishment he never came, and their patience and faith evaporating together, they at length sought redress from the laws.

The Magistrate (G.R. Minshull Esq.) said it appeared that the collegian, by this unprincipled trick, had killed two birds with one stone" he had disburthened himself of his creditor and his mistress at once.

The stratagem, he said, was the more unprincipled, inasmuch as it was played off upon foreigners, who were utterly ignorant of the customs of the country, but still he was afraid it did not come within his jurisdiction.

After some further conversation, his Worship having learned that the young woman was still under the protection of the Turks, he desired that she might be brought before him: and the Turks, with their interpreter, left the Office for the purpose of fetching her; but they did not return in the course of the day.

[BNA: Link]

And there, alas, the story ends.

Or does it?

Season's Greetings, Common People !

Chronicles

December 2024

Snow at the 3rd London General Hospital, compiled from images in The Gazette, 1914-1920, set to "Let It Snow", by Sammy Kahn and Juli Styne, performed by Josh Turner.

(Click on the image to play the video. Turn up your volume.)

— tiny version, small enough to download and send as an email attachment.

— higher-resolution version on YouTube.

This video-card grew out of a talk I did last month that you can view from the Friends of Wandsworth Common website, or here:

(Click on the image to play the video. Turn up your volume.)

Christ born on Wandsworth Common . . .

Sydenham, Forest Hill & Penge Gazette — 2 August 1884

"Taking Hyde Park as representing Jerusalem . . . Bethlehem would be on Wandsworth Common."

(Click on image to enlarge)

COMPARATIVE OUTLINE OF THE HOLY LAND

Mr. John MacGregor (Rob Roy) describes the size and the bearings of the Holy Lend in a way very intelligible to a London audience, and to others familiar with English geography.

Taking Hyde Park as representing Jerusalem, the relative positions of the Temple, the Mount of Olives, the Dead Sea, Bethlehem, the Sea of Galilee. and other localities. Ihe outline is, of course, but a rough one, but it is suggestive.

Jerusalem occupies, as it were, that part of Hyde Park to the east bounded by the Serpentine. The site of the Temple — Mount Moriah — the space north of Achilles' statue, and Zion — the Dairy.

Gethsemane would he located at Grosvenor-square, and the Pool of Bethesda at Grosvenor-gate, while the Pool of Siloam would be Buckingham Palace Gardens water, and Kedron River Park-lane.

The Holy Sepulchre would be in the site of the barracks, and strange to say, Herod's Palace on that of the of the Royal Humane Society.

The Guards' house at the bridge represents the Jaffa Gate, and the Mount of Olives — 2,700 feet above the sea-level — would be in Bond-street. The upper Pool of Gibon would be at the Round Pond in Kensington-gardens, and the Damascus Gate would be represented by Victoria Gate. Petersburg place, Bayswater-place, would be the site of the Russian convent, and Rachel's tomb would be close to Chelsea-bridge.

Bethlehem would be on Wandsworth Common; Hebron at Redhill; the Dead Sea — 1,300 feet below sea-level at Erith; Carmel at Leicester Nazareth at Peterborough; and Mount Hebron at the mouth the Humber; while the Sea of Galilee would be in the fens of Norfolk. near Stoke, and the Mediterranean at Great Marlow . . .

[Source: BNA: Link.]

Buckmaster's Cookery — 150th anniversary of John Buckmaster's pioneering book

Drat! I missed celebrating this event last month. But better late than not at all. And besides, December is a very culinary month.

We may chiefly remember John Charles Buckmaster today for his powerful influence on securing Wandsworth Common, but there's a lot more to him. Here's another of his many personae — cookery lecturer and author:

Buckmaster's Cookery remained in print from 1874 at least until the start of the First World War. (I hope to sort out the details of its publishing history, but not quite yet.)

(Click on image to enlarge)

JCB, writing from St John's Hill, Wandsworth, dates his Preface "2 November 1874":

It was with much reluctance that I accepted in 1873, the invitation of Her Majesty's Commissioners of the International Exhibition to deliver a course of lectures on Cookery. One of the exhibits that year was Food, and it was thought this section might be more instructive by lectures . . .

But there was a small problem: John Buckmaster knew absolutely nothing about cooking. But fortunately for him his wife, Emily, daughter of a Cambridge butcher, certainly did. Doubtless she coached him thoroughly, and his lectures were a triumph. (Though so far as I know he never credited her contribution.)

John Buckmaster lecturing (sermonising?) on Cookery at the Third International Exhibition, 1873, held at South Kensington. One newspaper reported his talks to be “far more entertaining than most plays going on these days”. During its run, JCB famously taught Queen Victoria how to cook an omelette.

Notice the demonstrators — five of the six are female — preparing food to hand out to the audience to try. The cook at the back, in front of a range and open grate, wears a large crinoline — not ideal where open fires were involved.

The demonstrators in front are cooking with gas — Buckmaster's lectures did much to promote the installation of gas in homes at this time. (We should not forget that Wandsworth Gas Works, close to Wandsworth Bridge, and another in Battersea, were among of London's largest — both gasworks survived until fairly recently. Edwin Rayner Ransome (on whom more below) was a director of the Wandsworth gasworks.)

(Click on image to enlarge)

The International Exhibition building at South Kensington, 1872. See Link.

(Click on image to enlarge)

A single event symbolises the birth of the domestic subjects movement, a movement that was to promote tirelessly the re-education in housewifery of the British female. On 1 April 1873 J.C. Buckmaster of the Science and Art Department, South Kensington Museum, gave a series of lectures and demonstrations on the application of scientific principles to cookery, as part of the third International Exhibition that had been organised after the success of the Great Exhibition of 1851.

The lectures were spectacularly successful; crowds flocked to them and one newspaper reported them to be “far more entertaining than most plays going on these days”.

This missed the point; something far more momentous than entertainment was intended, and what started as a fad among the fashionable of London society soon spread to become a movement bent on raising the standard of cookery and household management in all private homes.

Within three months a prospectus for a National Training School for Cookery was issued. Its aim was “to teach the best methods of cooking articles of food in general consumption among all classes". Over the next 30 years women in this movement assiduously promulgated the need for domestic instruction across the nation.

[Annmarie Turnbull, "An Isolated Missionary: the domestic subjects teacher in England, 1870-1914", Women's History Review, vol.3 no.1, 1994.]

Incidentally, John and Emily were great entertainers at their home on "New Road" (now Prested Road), near the new Clapham Junction railway station. (Their house itself was demolished many years ago, when the station expanded.)

As their son Martin described ruefully years later:

My father . . . could not afford a large family and although we kept two or three servants, in the Victorian manner, as well as a governess, I found myself very much a backstairs slave, cleaning the household boots and knives — no rustless steel then.

My father and mother were most hospitable, and if friends called they were usually invited to lunch or dinner, no fuss or preparation, only a few more plates and knives and forks for me to tackle later.

I did not much mind slavery in the kitchen and scullery, but I hated the servitude of the dinner parties, when my father dressed me as a waiter, in a boiled shirt and white tie, to wait on his guests and my brothers, through a five course dinner.

I know I was a snob but I hated the patronage of the guests who told me "how well I waited". I was then about sixteen years old, a very sensitive age.

I hope one day to write in detail about this aspect of JCB's life's work, which had a profound effect on the teaching of Domestic Science in schools (and probably on very much more).

At this point I was going to relate one of JCB's cautionary tales — probably the one about how a young wife's culinary failings caused the breakdown of their marriage ("Hashed mutton is the horror of most husbands"). But I'll leave that for another time.

I hope to pick this up again in April next year. But in the meanwhile, if you're interested in learning more, and perhaps in researching this topic for yourself (or just want to try cooking some of JCB's recipes!), please get in touch.

AOB

One of the most thrilling sides of producing the Chronicles month after month, year after year, is that people with no obvious connection to Wandsworth Common stumble across things I've written and get in contact. Some ask for extra info., but mostly they add something completely unexpected. I love it when this happens.

There have been a number of examples this month, including a wonderful picture from the photographer Fred Kingsbury (who owned the studio on Bellevue before Dorrett and Martin), and the splendid discovery of a velocipede from 1869 made, it seems, by Edwin Rayner Ransome's company — Ransome lived on North Side, and was among the stoutest defenders of the Common prior to the 1871 Wandsworth Act, and (as a Conservator) way beyond.

Fred Kingsbury, Photographer, 16 Belle Vue Road

(Click on image to enlarge)

A week or so ago, I received a very interesting email about Fred Kingsbury, whose studio on Bellevue was later used by Dorrett and Martin (they took over the lease 1 April 1899):

"I came across your website while searching for the photographer Fred(erick) Kingsbury.
I don’t know any more about him than you already do except that he took the attached wedding photo of my great-grandparents Max Schliephak and Charlotte Poulsen. I don’t know if the photo was taken on the day itself, but the wedding was on 31st December 1898.

You can see the name Fred.k (short for Frederick) Kingsbury and the address 16 Belle Vue Road at the bottom.

This page at the National Archives also seems to detail a photo of his from 1897 that they have. It refers to 16 Belle Vue Road.

You’re welcome to use the photo on your webpage if it’s of any interest.
All the best.

David

Thanks, David!

I rather wonder if Max and Charlotte had a connection with Wandsworth Common, but there's nothing obvious yet. Here is their marriage, on New Year's Eve 1898:

(Click on image to enlarge)

Did the couple travel down to Bellevue from Paddington? Or did Fred Kingsbury travel there (which seems unlikely). Were they perhaps honeymooning locally?

David also sent me a link to an image (undigitised, or not online) in the National Archives catalogue of

Photograph of the ladies Eileen and Ruby Elliot grouped. One figure seated with legs crossed, the other figure looking down with right foot on sofa.

[Copyright: Frederick Kingsbury, 16 Belle Vue Road, Wandsworth Common, registered 5 June 1897.]

[National Archives: Link.]

Alas, no image is available to view online. It would be good to have a copy, wouldn't it.

I wonder if Eileen and Ruby Elliot lived locally?

David replied:

My great-grandfather, Max Schliephak, was originally from Germany, and the first place I know of when he moved to London was at 90 Victoria Street. He did some kind of apprenticeship there.

Their marriage certificate shows that he called himself a “Chemist” at the time they got married, though I’m not sure of the difference between that and a pharmacist in those days. Coming from a German background, he would have been called an “Apotheker”. I have a postcard written to him at 90 Victoria Street from Germany, where he is addressed as “Apotheker-Chemist”.

I don’t know if you have access to Ancestry.co.uk, but I think there’s a good chance that this is the likely family of Lady Eileen Elliot and Lady Ruby Elliot. If so, they seemed to be daughters of the 4th Earl of Minto. Whoever that is. It might explain by the National Archives bother to keep a photo. It adds a bit of colour to Fred Kingsbury’s life if he was taking photos of the aristocracy.

They both married in the Westminster area. So, I wondered if he perhaps he had more than one studio, either at the same time or consecutively.

Then I found this article. It says about Fred and about 16 Belle Vue “On April 1st, 1899 Dorrett and Martin entered into a partnership and bought the premises of Fred Kingsbury, who had a photographic business at 16, Belle Vue Road, Upper Tooting (1 p. 63,64 ; 10) and for a short period also at 60, The Strand, in London ( 1 p.64;p.114 n. 126; 3 p. 18)” then it also mentions “… while Martin had stayed near the Bellevue Road business… “

Fred(erick) also seems to have taken some well known photographs of Constance Wilde, the wife of the famous Oscar Wilde.

On this page, it says “It did strike me that, as I put it in my article, the photograph showed ‘a woman whose beauty had lost some of its bloom since the familiar Frederick Kingsbury studio photographs of 1892.”

On this Sotheby’s page, if you click the second photo down, you can see a photo of Constance, taken by Frederick in 1892. The address on it is 45 St George’s Place, Knightsbridge.

The same photo of Constance is here on the National Portrait Gallery website.

I hope some of this is interesting. It adds some detail about one of 16 Belle Vue’s occupants but, as we now know that Fred had several studios, it probably makes it less likely that either my great-grandparents, or the Ladies Eileen & Ruby Elliot had any specific connection to Wandsworth.

[Readers with access to Ancestry.co.uk can read more about Max and Charlotte here.]

Thanks once again, David — so much very useful info. to add to the picture. I'd completely forgotten Fred Kingsbury's studio in Town, even though I'd mentioned it in a talk I gave (with Chris Allies) on Dorrett and Martin for the Friends of Wandsworth Common in October 2023:

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"PIONEERS OF PHOTOGRAPHY ON AND AROUND WANDSWORTH COMMON - PART II 10/2023 - The second instalment of our heritage talks about pioneering photographers, this time focussing on Paul Martin and Harry Dorrett, who worked together at a studio facing the Common at 16, Bellevue Road (Athol House). Martin pioneered the use of ‘snapshots’ taken with a hidden camera and images taken with very long exposures at night. "

Constance Wilde, taken by Fred Kingsbury in his Knightsbridge studio, 1892 (three years before Oscar Wilde's imprisonment in Wandsworth).

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Velocipede, 1869, by S. & E. Ransome

Photo Colin Kirsch.

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A fortnight ago, Colin ("WingYourHeel") Kirsch emailed me about his latest acquisition:

I have a bicycle museum (online) and have recently managed to acquire an 1869 velocipede with a stamping (cartouche) by S. & E. Ransome of Essex St Strand. I’ve just started researching the company.

Edwin Ransome is mentioned in a Quaker periodical relating to the establishment of a school in Tasmania. At the moment I am assuming he is the "E" in S. & E. Ransome. But I’ve also seen him mentioned on your page as having an interest in Wandsworth Gas Company (below) and a wider family connection to Ransome’s lawnmowers.

I wondered if you had any information that shows his connection to S. & E. Ransome Ltd?

I did have some info., and I shared it with Colin. Here's something I wrote about Edwin Rayner Ransome a couple of years ago:

Edwin Rayner Ransome, a Quaker and a passionate campaigner for Wandsworth Common.

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Visit Colin's wonderful Online Bicycle Museum for numerous fine images of the velocipede in question: 1869 | E.R. Ransome, the French Velocipede Company.

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"This velocipede represents an important part of British cycle history because its cartouche, engraved and stamped into the backbone, shows it to be built by Edwin Rayner Ransome of 10 Essex St, Strand, London, and licensed by the French Velocipede Company of 14 The Strand, London.

This company was one of the first to import velocipedes from France for resale in Britain: “A boneshaker with forged ironwork, and front wheel of 32 inch, 34 inch or 36 inch was £10 or £12 according to finish and fittings.” ££12 in 1869 would be around £1750 today."

[Online Bicycle Museum: 1869 | E.R. Ransome, the French Velocipede Company.]

You may recall I wrote about velocipede racing on Wandsworth Common a couple of years ago:

— HoWC: Chronicles: April 2022: Velocipede Racing on Wandsworth Common.

Two wheels good, four wheels bad

Morning Advertiser — Thursday 22 April 1869

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RACE WITH VELOCIPEDES

Yesterday a race took place with the now fashionable recreation of velocipede riding level road on Wandsworth-common, between six amateur velocipedians, for a stake of £15. The distance contested was two miles, and two of the competitors, who travelled with two-wheel machines, were handicapped, and put 25 yards below the starting point. The other four, who contended with the old-fashioned four-wheel velocipedes, started level.

The race was commenced at a sharp pace, Mr. Canton (four wheels) finishing the first mile in five minutes and 32 seconds, and commanding a good lead a spirited race was kept up, the riders of the two-wheel velocipedes working easier than their opponents; and when within half a mile of the winning point a French gentleman (M. de Ferne) on a two-wheeler came from the rear, passed his opponents, and won by several lengths.

The last half-mile was covered in two minutes and 28 seconds, and the two miles accomplished by the winner in 10 minutes and 30 seconds.

[BNA: Link. Also e.g. South London Press — Saturday 24 April 1869.]

I wonder how these speeds might compare with a modern bicycle? Any cyclists out there prepared to provide some times?

The straight, level "two-mile" course must be our Trinity Road, which at that time stopped at North Side. But in fact the distance is a little less — just over 1.8 miles.

Four- and three-wheeled velocipedes. The latter is described as a "Rantoone" — Colin may know otherwise, but can we assume the "Rantoone" owes the first part of its name to Edwin Ransome? In which case, who or what des the "Toone" refer to?

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Beating the Bounds

Mike Tuffrey, historian of Clapham and a regular correspondent, tells me that the three old parishes that form the Borough of Lambeth (Clapham, Streatham, Mary Lambeth) may be beating the bounds next May. Very exciting news indeed.

"It's looking like the three old parishes in modern Lambeth — Clapham, Streatham and St Mary Lambeth — may organise a joint beating the bounds on May 24th next year. I went on a bike ride of St Mary's as part of this year's Lambeth heritage festival, organised by Jon Newman, and the idea has grown from there. 'Joint' as in doing it on the same day with potential to actually meet up at Clapham New Park where the three join, if we can get the timing right . . .
My first task is to walk the route and see how close we can get. The boundary on the west is described as "the watercourse" — I'm guessing Mayford Road, then back east along Nightingale. We'll get to wave at your Common at least!"

Which raises puzzles about the precise route of the Clapham parish boundary.

There are two major questions. What is the course of the boundary with Battersea that crosses Clapham Common? (On tithe maps drawn up in the early 1840s, for example, Clapham claimed the whole of Clapham Common, but Battersea disagreed.)

— More on the Battersea/Clapham boundary crossing Clapham Common

And second, even closer to our Common, the enigma that is "Clapham Detached", which you can see marked on the map below. In this case Nightingale Lane is its northern boundary. (The centre of the road? Or one side of the road? The issue is in part which parish had responsibility for the upkeep of Nightingale Lane.)

Stanford, 1878: "Map of London and its Environs, Shewing the Boundary of the Jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Board of Works. Also the Boundaries of the City of London, the Parishes, the Districts & Extra Parochial Places."

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Clapham attached or detached?

I replied:

Yes, it looks like the boundary of "Clapham (Detached)" included part of the northernmost of the two tributaries to the Falcon Brook (Anglo-Saxon "Hildaburna"; "York Sewer" from mid-C19) that met/meet at the corner of Calbourne Road and Mayford Road.

So the mysterious Clapham Detached's southern border — the "watercourse" in question — ran beneath most of today's Oldridge Road — the eastern half of Calbourne Road — northern part of Mayford Road — Birchlands Avenue (centre of road, or through the back gardens and edge of Nightingale Housw?).

OS, 6-inch map, c.1868, marked up to show the boundary of "Clapham Detached". W.C. refers to Wandsworth Common; C.C. to Clapham Common; B. is Battersea parish; and S is Streatham parish. The tributaries of the Falcon Brook, and ornamental lakes created by damming it, are marked in blue.

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If you're interested in participating, contact me and I'll forward.

And finally, wonderful news from from the Friends of Wandsworth Common . . .

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BLACK POPLAR PLANTING

[We'll soon be planting] some rare black poplars close to where the three once grew near Skylark and the Cat's Back bridge.

The young saplings have been grown from cuttings from the one in the playground next to Skylark which has been genetically verified as a pure native rather than a hybrid. It is therefore one of the rarest natives in the country.

Black Poplars are among my very favourite trees. Every one that dies is a grievous loss to the Common.

Here are some links:

— HoWC: Wandsworth District Board of Works orders an avenue of Black Poplars to be planted on the Common, 1869

— Woodland Trust: Black Poplar (Populus nigra subsp. betulifolia)): "Imposing, elegant, rare. The black poplar was once a staple of Britain’s landscape but these days, the trees are few and far between."

— Wikipedia: Populus nigra.

— National Trust: "Saving our native black poplars".

SO many more stories still to tell. But that's all for now, folks.

If you would like to receive occasional notifications of new Chronicles, let me know.

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Philip Boys ("History Boys")

December 2024

The History of Wandsworth Common

Top of this page . . .

CHRONICLES - ALL TEXT SO FAR

Months . . . .

Chronicles: All text so far . . .

2025

2024

Top of this page . . .

2023

Top of this page . . .

2022

Top of this page . . .

2021

Chronicles

September 2025

The Quest for PY Betts

Written and presented by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons

Part Two

The Quest for Christopher Hawtree

Chronicles

September 2025

The Quest for PY Betts

Written and presented by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons

Part One

The Quest for PY Betts

Written and presented by Stephen Midlane and Sue Delafons

The setting

The Domestic Domain

The Domain of Education

The Domain of Madness

The Domain of Crime

The Domain of Wounds

The Domain of Death

Click on the score to hear the music.

At this point, let's take a break.

Chronicles

August 2025

Part Two

What Lies Beneath?

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Thomas Henry Huxley: "A great Med'cine-Man among the Inqui-ring Redskins" by "Ape", Vanity Fair (28 January 1871).

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Battersea-born Samuel ("Soapy Sam") Wilberforce (1805-1873), son of the anti-slave-trade MP William Wilberforce. By Ape, Vanity Fair, 24 July 1869.

The "Five Houses" and Broomfield (later renamed Broomwood) House shown as an inset on H.N. Batten's A Plan of Clapham with the Common & its Environs (1827).

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And now back to Thomas Henry Huxley . . .

Huxley has drawn a section across the Wandle Valley, with Wimbledon Common in the west, Wandsworth Common in the centre, and Clapham Common in the east.

[I have added a caption locating the Falcon Brook, which now runs beneath Northcote Road and Falcon Road.]

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[Huxley, Physiography, p.280.]

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Joseph Prestwich (1812-1896).

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One the geological origins of Nappy Valley

Nappy Valley, Battersea. Tell a lie, his original caption actually says "Grand Canyon, Colorado". But Huxley's argument is that the principle is exactly the same. Both have been formed by the erosion of rocks by rivers.

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Going down . . .

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Big beasts . . .

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Prestwich, Three Lectures, p.32.

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Woolly-mammoth (Mammuthus-primigenius). Illustration by Mauricio Anton.

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Christie's, 19 October 2016.

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Another memorable mammoth . . .

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Map of the Month:

Ordnance Survey, Geological, (1: 10,560, 6 inches to the mile), 1913.

[London nVIII.SE (6 inches to the mile). OS revised: 1913, Geological Survey surveyed: 1912, Published: 1936. NLS: Link.]

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Click on the image to see the map in more detail.

And here is Wandsworth Common . . .

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