I am delighted to welcome a new guest to All Things Georgian, Jennie Goutet. She is the best-selling author of eighteen historical romances, including the Clavering Chronicles, Memorable Proposals, and The Bridwells’ Grand Tour series. Her books have received first place in historical romance for the New England Reader’s Choice Awards and have hit the number one spot in Regency Romance on Amazon. They have been translated into six languages, and Publishers Weekly has written of her Georgian romance that “Historical romance fans looking for a vacation from Regency England will find this hits the spot.” Jennie is an American-born Anglophile who lives with her French husband and their three children in a small town outside of Paris, but her imagination resides in Georgian England, where her proper historical romances are set. You can learn more about Jennie’s books and sign up for her newsletter on her author website, jenniegoutet.com.
Until I cast around for where to set the first book in my Georgian series, I had never even heard of the city of Spa. This is a bit remarkable to me since I live in France and can get to it in about four hours. Of course, I could not write an authentic first book without actually going to Spa to see it for myself, so that is precisely what I did.
There is evidence that the Romans passed through Spa and benefitted from the sources—unearthed pieces of broken pottery, a tomb, and a coin from the first century, the writings of Pliny the elder depicting ferruginous fountains in the vicinity—but Spa was not renowned for its curative waters until Peter the Great visited in 1717, drank the waters, and declared himself cured. After that, Spa became a place where Society and therapeutic cures were joined, and where renowned guests travelled from all over Europe to see and be seen—and to drink the waters.
There are a few sources in Spa, and it also boasts the rare distinction of having hills in the otherwise flat Netherlands. (Although Spa is now part of French-speaking Belgium, a country that did not exist before 1830, it was then part of the Bishopric of Liège under the Holy Roman Empire). The main source in town where Peter the Great’s monument was established is called Pouhon.
In the 18th century, the curists would start at Pouhon as early as five o’clock in the morning before taking rented carts up the hill to the Géronstère source. The going was laborious as the drivers needed to alight and remove rocks from the path or help the carriage wheels over tree roots. Many curists would then continue on to the Sauvenière source with its rust-colored carbonated water (and the bitter cold Groesbeeck source right across from it) before returning to town, usually not before the entire train of carriages came to a halt as desperate curists scrambled for a bush to relieve themselves behind.
A few dedicated souls went to the Watroz source across the marshy plain that was like walking on soft cheese, or to the Tonnelet source with tree roots as its basin where little bubbles climbed up the skin if you sank into the water. But these were usually reserved for the ones who had been specifically prescribed a cure from those sources. (Prescriptions to be carried out to the letter, for many physicians thought the waters could cure every ailment). A few intrepid souls dared to bathe in the freezing water at the base of the Hôtel Waldeck as it cascaded down the hill, but they often had to suffer the indignity of watching vegetable peels or strings of rubbery tripe float by from merchants who cleaned their goods upstream.
The locals named the curists “les bobelins,” which means “the great drinkers of water.” The visitors bought early tourist items called “les jolités de Spa” (Spa’s pretty little things) that were anything from lacquered snuff boxes, jewelry boxes, or tea canisters to carved wooden canes. You can see some of these jolités in Spa’s museum if you visit today.
Les bobelins often played at being peasants, wearing coarse clothing for their morning cure and special Liège shoes made of thick leather to walk in the mud. They sometimes went out to buy their own produce from the market. But this was an affectation, for the visitors were wealthy and distinguished indeed.
It was German’s Emperor Joseph II who labeled Spa the Café de l’Europe, as it was quickly becoming a meeting point for royalty, philosophers, artists, and other influential people. Descartes and Henry VIII came in the 17th century, and in the following century Spa welcomed Casanova, Marmont, Fragonard, the Princess Dashkova, Gustave III, the king of Sweden, the Prince of Orange and of Nassau, along with a great number of nobility and their entourage who came in droves each season.
The casino, called La Redoute, was built in 1763 and the curists assembled there in the mornings for a simple breakfast of chocolate, fortified wines, and bread after drinking the waters. It served as a place for gaming throughout the day and as an exclusive hall for assemblies at night until 1770 when Waux-Hall opened its doors.
Life in Spa for the curist proved simple, and this rhythm pleased some. It induced others to throw themselves into the second attraction of Spa—that of Society—with some even gambling away their entire fortunes. Since the official cure involved taking the waters, rest, and physical activity, three spaces for walking were created.
The Capuchin Monastery had a closed garden that was open to both sexes for walking in the afternoon. The Parc de Quatre-Heures was the space to walk at four o’clock as its name suggests. And the Promenade (or Parc) de Sept-Heures was where one went at seven o’clock in the evening, and where concerts and impromptu dances were held on the nights where nothing else was organized. The rigid social hierarchy was lessened while in Spa … slightly. One could not precisely approach a person of higher status, even when the person in question was traveling under a pseudonym, as was usually the case. But there might just be a chance that the person in a higher sphere would unbend enough to speak to you.
Visitors to Spa stayed in a few hotels that are still open today (the Hôtels Lorraine, Autriche, Irlande, Bourbon, Suède), as well as guest houses throughout the town and in hamlets nearby. The gentlemen were expected to leave their guns and swords at the town entrance in exchange for tokens, to be retrieved on the day they left Spa.
There was to be no politics, no feuding, nothing unpleasant to mar the town’s reputation for rest and amusement. And travellers were required to sign their names for the weekly visitor’s list that was published, La Liste des Seigneurs et Dames, noting their address while in Spa, the family members who came with them, right down to the number of servants who attended them.
The effects of the French Revolution reached far beyond its borders, and Spa suffered and declined under the Reign of Terror. Later the thermal town revived to welcome notables such as Wellington, Napoleon III, Dumas, and Victor Hugo. Today it is a lovely town with restaurants, thermal baths, and a mix of old and new architecture. Between the two assembly halls, only Waux-Hall still stands as a UNESCO site, although it is in sore need of restoration.
It was an absolute joy to plunge into the history of Spa, so I could bring Georgian era Society there back to life in A Love Once Lost. I love to capture periods gone by so they are not lost to us entirely, and Spa’s uniqueness among the bathing towns for its rituals and continental society made it especially fascinating.
What about you? Have you ever heard of Spa?
Sources (besides our tour guide) used to write my book and this article:
Spa, Histoire et Bibliographie by Albin Body
Spa, Carrefour de l’Europe des Lumières under the direction of Daniel Droixhe
Two Sketches of France, Belgium, and Spa by Stephen Weston
The Spas of Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, France, and Italy, by Thomas More Madden
Spa et les Capucins by Pierre Lafagne
Le Waux-Hall à Spa by Jean-Marc Monville
Les Grandes Heures de Spa (2018) This is a video that plays in the Musée de la ville d’eaux, and you can find it on YouTube in French.
I was delighted when Elaine Thornton contacted me about another story she had unearthed some new information about, so I’ll hand over to Elaine to tell you more about a tale with an unexpected ending.
While looking through the Home Office papers for 1786 for an earlier article on Margaret Nicholson, I came across an intriguing letter. It was addressed to Lord Suffield, who had been the Member of Parliament for Norwich for the preceding thirty years; he had just relinquished his seat and been raised to the peerage. The letter, dated 29 October, was from a Norfolk squire, Jacob Preston of Beeston Hall, who told Suffield that he was writing on behalf of ‘two Lovers in Norwich Castle’.
Norwich Castle 1845
The mediaeval Castle in Norwich functioned as the county gaol at the time, and the couple, who had met there as prisoners, were both under sentence of transportation. Their petition was an unusual one. Preston explained that they were not asking for their punishment to be mitigated, but were requesting to be transported together, as they could not bear to be parted. He felt that allowing the couple to stay together might help to reform them and told Suffield that he believed ‘so singular a case’ deserved a hearing. He asked Suffield to use his influence with the Home Secretary, Lord Sydney, to obtain authorisation.
Lord Suffield. Yale Center for British Art
This romantic couple were Henry Cable and Susanna Holmes. Henry (whose surname was also spelt Keable, Cabell and Kable) was a young labourer from Laxfield, a village in Suffolk. ‘Cable’ is the version of his surname used most frequently in official documents, such as the prison lists. ‘Keable’, which appears on both Henry’s and his father’s baptism records, may have been pronounced ‘Kable’ by the family, which would explain the various spellings.
In early February 1783, Henry and his father (also Henry Cable), together with a friend, Abraham Carman, had burgled a house belonging to a Mrs Abigail Hambling of Alburgh, a village on the Norfolk–Suffolk border. The burglary was traced to the three men, who attacked and injured a constable who had gone to Carman’s house looking for the stolen goods.
The Cables and Carman were tried at the Norfolk Assizes at Thetford on 19 March 1783 and sentenced to death. In the younger Henry’s case, however, the sentence was reduced to seven years transportation, probably because of his youth. He was eighteen at the time. Henry senior and Carman, who had admitted to other thefts, were hanged on 5 April.
In November that year, Susanna (also spelt Susannah) Holmes, aged nineteen, and from Surlingham in Norfolk, was imprisoned in Norwich Castle, accused of the theft of clothes, linen and silverware from Jabez Taylor, a butcher in the village of Thurlston. She was convicted at the Assizes the following March and sentenced to death, commuted to fourteen years transportation.
Henry and Susanna had both been sentenced to transportation to America. Under normal circumstances, they would have left England shortly after their sentencing and would almost certainly never have met. These were not normal times, however: in 1783, the year of Henry’s trial, the American colonies gained their independence and were no longer willing to accept British convicts. The government was forced to look for an alternative location for transportation. Both Africa and the east coast of Australia, where Captain Cook had first landed in 1770, were mooted as possibilities.
While the government was considering the options, prisoners awaiting transportation were left in limbo. Henry and Susanna continued to be held in Norwich Castle. Georgian gaols were essentially holding pens, designed to house prisoners until they were tried and any subsequent punishment – typically execution, transportation, whipping or the pillory – was carried out. Gaols had few single cells, and male and female prisoners were not strictly segregated.
Henry and Susanna met at some point during their imprisonment in the Castle. It was clearly a committed relationship, as they asked for permission to marry, but were refused – probably because, as convicted felons who had been sentenced to death, they were considered ‘civilly dead’ and had no legal rights. In 1786, Susanna gave birth to their child, a boy they named Henry. By this time, they had been in Norwich Castle for around three years.
The Home Office files of the period are full of letters of complaint from the keepers of overcrowded gaols around the country, requesting the removal of their transportees. On 7 August 1786, the sheriff of Norfolk sent a petition to the King asking for the prisoners awaiting transportation in Norwich Castle – among them Henry and Susanna – to be moved elsewhere. There were more than forty prisoners confined within the Castle, which was not built to hold so many; some were housed in huts built against the prison walls. There had been attempts at escape, and the Sheriff also feared infectious diseases breaking out.
The deadlock ended when the government finally decided on New South Wales in Australia as the most appropriate destination for convicts. While the ships for the first transportation fleet were being fitted out, prisoners began to be moved from gaols to ports of embarkation, where they were held in hulks – old, unseaworthy ships used as floating prisons.
The Discovery hulk at Deptford
Susanna was told that she would leave Norwich Castle on 30 October to travel to Plymouth, where she would be taken on board the hulk Dunkirk to await transportation to Botany Bay. Henry had not been selected to go. At this point, the authorities were looking for more female convicts to join the first transports, to ensure a reasonable balance of the sexes in the new settlement. The Home Office had ordered two other women to be moved to the Dunkirk from Norwich along with Susanna, but no male prisoners.
Susanna and Henry were distraught at the prospect of parting. They approached the prison chaplain, begging to be kept together. The chaplain enlisted the support of Squire Preston, who appealed to Lord Suffield. Suffield took up the case and wrote to the Home Secretary on 31 October.
Suffield commented that ‘I confess that it is not in my power to help feeling interested that these two poor Creatures should be permitted to go together’. He assured Lord Sydney that the pair had never, to the best of his knowledge, been accomplices in any wrong doing: ‘these wretches never were confederate in any Crime or Misdemeanour but that of Child making’. He asked Sydney to make every effort to get Henry onto a ship with Susanna and their child.
Interestingly, Lord Suffield’s letter seems at some point to have been copied wrongly, in a way that makes him sound less sympathetic to the couple. In these accounts, his comments are rendered as, ‘I confess it is not in my power to feel interested that these two poor creatures …’ and ‘these wretches never were considerate in any misdemeanour but that of child making’. These versions do not tally with the original in the Home Office files, which is unequivocally supportive.
Sketch of Lord Sydney (Thomas Townshend, Viscount Sydney). NPG
Susanna was not allowed to remain in Norwich pending the outcome of the appeal. On 30 October, the day before Suffield wrote to Lord Sydney, she and her baby were sent off on the lengthy cross-country journey to Plymouth, under the guard of a Norwich Castle turnkey, John Simpson. She did not know whether she would ever see Henry again.
Worse was to come. When she arrived in Plymouth, around a week later, Captain Henry Bradley, the keeper of the Dunkirk, told Susanna he had no authorisation to accept a child and peremptorily refused to take young Henry on board. In an act of inhumanity, Susanna was dragged onto the hulk, frantic with grief and threatening suicide. The turnkey, Simpson, was left literally holding the baby.
If Simpson had been an uncaring man, the child’s future might have been bleak. Young Henry was around five months old and would have been unlikely to survive a lengthy separation from his mother. Luckily, Simpson was both kindly and determined, and he decided to take the responsibility for the family’s fate onto his own shoulders. He went up to London, taking the child with him, to ask the Home Secretary for help.
Simpson was turned away by Lord Sydney’s staff, but he was persistent and waited for the Home Secretary to appear. He waylaid Sydney, who was at first unwilling to listen, but Simpson’s story caught his attention. The exact sequence of events is unclear, but Sydney would almost certainly have already seen Lord Suffield’s letter and would have been aware of the case. He gave Simpson a sympathetic hearing, and took swift action, sending Captain Bradley orders to accept the child onto the Dunkirk.
Sydney also took steps to ensure that Henry and Susanna were kept together. On 8 November, the keeper of Norwich Castle received orders from the Home Secretary for Henry Cable to be removed immediately from the gaol and sent to the Dunkirk at Plymouth, for onward transportation to Botany Bay.
On 16 November, Captain Bradley wrote to the Home Office to report that the convict Henry Cable and ‘a male child’, who he ungraciously describes as ‘said to be’ the son of Susanna Holmes, had both been taken on board the Dunkirk the previous day. Bradley stressed that he had accepted the baby ‘in obedience to Lord Sydney’s commands’. The note has a grudging tone, but Susanna’s emotions at the reunion with her baby and her lover on the same day can only be imagined.
The national newspapers picked up on the story and there was a great deal of sympathy for Henry and Susanna – very unusual at a time when convicts were generally seen as members of an unregenerate ‘criminal class,’ and feared as a threat to society. A public subscription was opened by a Mrs Jackson and raised the considerable sum of £20. The money was used to buy a parcel of clothing and other goods for the couple, which they were to be given on arrival in Botany Bay.
The turnkey, John Simpson, deservedly enjoyed his own moment of fame. The newspapers praised him for his ‘singular humanity’ and his ‘tenderness and charity’ towards his charges. He also received a more material reward, as Lord Chedworth gave him £10, and Lady Cadogan six guineas, in recognition of his compassionate behaviour.
First Fleet 1788. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales
After these dramatic events, there was a long wait on the Dunkirk until the first fleet of eleven ships finally sailed to Australia on 13 May 1787. The Cable–Holmes family were among ninety-seven convicts on board the Friendship. They did not make the entire journey together, as Susanna and the baby were part of a group transferred to another ship, the Charlotte, at Cape Town, to make room for livestock. The fleet finally reached Australia on 21 January 1788, after an arduous eight-month voyage. Over forty people had died en route, but Henry, Susanna and the baby had all survived.
Transporting convicts to an entirely new colony, rather than to an existing society such as America, was a huge undertaking for the government. The settlement in New South Wales would have to be built from the ground up, with an administrative and legal framework established by officials sent out from Britain. It was an experiment that offered both uncertainty and opportunity.
Sketch (by Dutch artist so New South Wales called ‘New Holland’. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales
On their arrival, Henry and Susanna were married, along with three other couples, on 10 February 1788, in Port Jackson, which later became the harbour area of the city of Sydney. It was the first marriage service in Australia. There was disappointment as well as happiness for the Cables, however. The parcel of goods bought for them by public subscription in London, which had been carried on the cargo ship Alexander, had been plundered while in transit.
Extraordinarily, the Cables decided to take the master of the Alexander, Duncan Sinclair, to court for negligence. This was another first – the first civil court case ever held in Australia. Sinclair had apparently boasted that a couple of convicts could not touch him. This would have been true in Britain, where the couple had no legal rights, but the situation was not so clear cut in the new colony, and the Cables were granted the right to sue him. The case was decided in their favour, and Sinclair was ordered to pay them £15. The Australian legal documents bear Henry’s and Susanna’s marks, rather than their signatures, suggesting that they were illiterate.
This legal victory was an auspicious start to what became a success story. The Cables’ life in New South Wales is well known and well documented. As ‘first fleeters’, Henry and Susanna are people of historical importance in Australia. Although the early Australian documents (the marriage record and court papers) use the name ‘Cable’, the spelling changed at some point, and they and their descendants are known in Australia as ‘Kable’.
The first years in New South Wales were not easy, but Henry and Susanna had shown remarkable determination throughout their story. Henry eventually became a wealthy man, as a shipowner, merchant and landowner. It was a tough environment, and he had his ups and downs, but in a plot twist worthy of a novel, Henry, who had seen his father hanged and been sentenced to hang himself, became a long-serving police officer in the new colony, at one point holding the office of chief constable.
The Cables had eleven children in all and ended their lives as respected members of New South Wales society. Henry died in 1846, at the age of eighty-four. Susanna had predeceased him in 1825. Theirs is a truly extraordinary story: a prison romance that gained the sympathy of the nation and took two young people from lives of poverty and crime in England to wealth and prominence as founders of a new society on the other side of the world.
Today, we will take a brief look at spring fashionable London dress from two hundred years ago courtesy of the trusty reference book, Ackermann, Repository of arts, literature, commerce, manufactures, fashions and politics. The 1820’s saw a transition in fashion from Neoclassical to the Romantic and guidance was readily available for the fashion conscious woman of the day so that she dressed appropriately.
We begin with an image from the Victoria & Albert Museum, ‘Fashionable Evening & Morning Dresses for April 1826′.
For April 1826 Ackermann’s provided detailed guidance from head to toe:
Carriage costume
Pelisse of Turkish satin of a bright blue or hyacinthine colour, lined with white sarsnet and fastened in front ; the collar square and turned down ; the corsage plain and close to the shape, and ornamented on each side with a row of diamonds of the same material as the dress, edged with a narrow satin rouleau of the same colour, and united with a satin button. The two rows diverge towards the shoulders and meet in front at the waist, where the diamonds unite in pairs, and gradually increase in size as they descend ; two rows of swansdown adorn the bottom of the dress, between which is an elegant satin scroll. The sleeve is still en gigot, but much smaller from the elbow to the wrist, which has three diamond ornaments to correspond, placed perpendicularly. The ceinture has a highly wrought gold buckle in front; deep square collerette of British Brussels lace ; cap of white crepe lisse; a bouquet of damask roses on the right side, and others variously disposed. The hair in large curls, arranged to accord with the border of the cap, which is full, and of folded crepe lisse. Gold earrings and bracelets ; gold chain and eyeglass; jonquil -colour kid gloves and shoes.
Evening dress
Beautifully sprigged Urling’s lace dress, over a primrose-colour Turkish satin slip, made with a frock-body of a moderate height and fulness, confined at the top with a narrow satin rouleau, and trimmed with a row of deep falling lace, put on very full. The sleeve is short and extremely full and finished with the same kind of lace as that round the bust, and equally full. The skirt has an elegant wreath of various sorts of flowers, surmounting two very deep flounces of rich scallop lace, which are headed with satin piping, and put on with much taste, slightly partaking of the festoon ; the rise of the upper flounce is opposite to where the lower recedes, and displays a well-arranged selection of flowers within each space ; a wreath of single leaves and a row of rich scollops terminate the dress. The ceinture has a beautiful cameo in front. A rouleau of primrose and hair-colour gros de Naples forms the head-dress ; and the hair is disposed in ringlets, a far more becoming and elegant style than the stiff large curls which have disguised the beautiful tresses of our fair fashionables. Shaded gauze scarf; pearl earrings and necklace, with a gold chain ; broad cameo bracelets outside the gloves, which are long white kid and French trimmed ; white satin shoes.
By May we have, again from the V&A, ‘Fashionable Morning & Court Dresses for May 1826.’
And finally, for June, to end the spring season we have an evening costume of Urling’s lace.
Evening Costume of Urling’s Lace V & AUrling Lace Regent Street. Aug 1826. British Museum
I was curious to know what Urling lace was, so with a little more research I discovered that Urling lace was one of the very best laces of the period and was manufactured by the Urling company from the early 1800s, if not before.
Urling lace was clearly in vogue and here we have an advert for the manufacturer, George Frederick Urling who was, in 1826, moving premises to more prestigious premises 224 Regent Street.
The Morning Herald, 06 April 1826
Courtesy of the Lewis Walpole Library we have a copy of a royal letter of appointment for George Frederick Urling dated 1817. (Click on the highlighted link to find out more).
In 1821 George was appointed by the Master of the Robes to provide the coronation ruffs for George IV’s coronation, as we can see below in this portrait of George IV’s coronation, so not only manufacturing fashionable lace, but also prvoviding it for royal occassions.
The Globe newspaper, also from 1821 confirms that Urling’s lace was manufactured in the centre for lace making at that period, Nottingham. It also tells us that his lace dresses were priced from 3 to 100 guineas which equates to a stating price of around £300 today, so definitely not cheap wearing apparel.
Alford is a small market town in rural Lincolnshire, which, in 1823, had a population of under 2,000. In December of that year, however, it gained national notoriety. Why? Sadly, it was due to a young woman named Sarah Arrowsmith, who died at the hands of her ‘partner’, John Smith. He was charged with poisoning her with arsenic and not only her, but other members of the family were poisoned as well.
To return to the start of the story, Sarah, aged 24, her widowed mother, and several of Sarah’s siblings had moved to Alford from Brinkhill after the death of her father, James, in 1820. Presumably not long after they moved, Sarah met a man named John Smith, formerly employed by a gentleman named Mr Ancient, a farmer at Saleby, Lincolnshire. After a while, Smith promised to marry her. It is unclear whether this was because she was already pregnant or whether she became pregnant shortly after the proposal.
The Unwilling Bridegroom, or Forc’d Meat will never digest. British Museum
Smith, however, had a change of heart and wished to defer the marriage, which was agreed to, but nature took its course, and a few months later their child, a boy, was born. The press named him ‘Hennan’, but as is so often the case, they got it wrong. His name was Inman Arrowsmith, and he was baptised on 26 November 1819 at the parish church of Cumberworth, just a few miles from Alford. His illegitimacy was noted in the register as we see here:
Despite the postponement of the marriage, Smith again promised to marry Sarah once his circumstances were more stable, and she appears to have accepted this. He later broke off the relationship for a time, then renewed it, and once again Sarah became pregnant. Sarah told Smith that they really ought to marry this time.
He said he would have the banns published both in the parish church of Saleby, where he lived, and at St Wilfrid’s Church, Alford, Sarah’s parish church. Smith then told her that this had been done and that they could marry the following week.
According to the Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser, 29 December 1823, Smith decided that as he could not go through with the marriage, he would have to find a way of getting rid of Sarah and her unborn infant. The report continued:
On Thursday, the 4th of the present month, Smith called upon the young woman, and having sat with her for a great part of the night, on parting he said that she should eat no more oat cakes, as he did not think they were either good for her or the child, and that he would bring her some flour from the miller at Saleby, who owed him some money.
It later transpired that he had already purchased a large quantity of arsenic from the druggist in Alford and had it with him when he obtained the flour.
On Monday, 8 December 1823, between six and seven o’clock, before the family were up, Smith arrived at Sarah’s home and knocked on the upper chamber window of her room. Still in her nightclothes, she opened the window. Smith said:
I have brought you the grinding of flour I promised you,
and handed it to her, placing it on one of the prongs of a pitchfork and passing it up through the window. Sarah thanked him, and he left.
The following day, Sarah invited some guests to take tea with her, for which she made several cakes. The guests were Eliza, Smith’s sister-in-law; Mrs Dobbs, a neighbour; two of Sarah’s younger sisters, Hannah (7) and Maria (10); and finally, her three-year-old son.
In less than a quarter of an hour after eating the cakes, they were all taken seriously ill, suffering from burning in their throats, excruciating stomach pains, and nausea. Sarah noted that while baking the cake she had eaten some of the dough and that it had a strange taste. She asked Mrs Dobbs for her opinion, who said she thought the miller might have mixed chalk or whiting in it and advised her not to eat any more. A few minutes later Mrs Dobbs went into convulsions; Eliza Smith and the three children also became very sick and appeared to be dying. Doctors were sent for—though given how ill they all were, it is unclear who summoned them.
The doctors gave them antidotes and emetics to empty their stomachs. The stomach contents were analysed, confirming the presence of arsenic. This information was immediately passed to the magistrates, who sent officers to apprehend John Smith. The following day he was examined at the Justice Room before the Alford magistrate. It was reported that Smith, aged 25, was
remarkably apathetic and continued in a state of extreme stupor, from which nothing could rouse him.
A deposition was taken from Sarah, whose situation was described as ‘hopeless’ and the magistrates feared that if they delayed any longer, it would be too late. They went to the house, where they found Sarah in bed. She managed to raise herself slightly and told them what she knew. Smith was also brought in to hear her statement. She confirmed everything stated above.
Sarah said –
I am sure, John, that you did not mix the poison with the flour.
A tear appeared in his eye and he answered,
I am sure I didn’t, Sarah.
He said goodbye to her and was taken from the room.
The Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser continued:
The eagerness of the inhabitants of Alford and the neighbourhood, of every class, to see Sarah was so great that crowds forced themselves into her bedroom; and such was the weight and pressure on the floor of that apartment, which was supported by only one cross-joist, that it snapped in the middle. Had not every person, except the sufferer who was in bed, made a hasty retreat, the floor would have fallen in and caused serious, perhaps fatal consequences to those in the room below. Props were procured to support the ceiling, and no further damage was sustained.
On the following day, Sarah Arrowsmith, after enduring the most dreadful agony, expired in a convulsive fit, and a jury was instantly summoned to hold an inquest on the body.
The inquest was held at the White Hart, Alford. Mr Robinson, an Alford chemist, stated that he recalled Smith purchasing one pound of white arsenic. He assumed it was required for agricultural purposes, so asked no questions. Smith paid him nine pence and left. Robinson had known Smith for several years and said he was in good employment and a remarkably sober, industrious young man.
Tyson West, one of the surgeons from the neighbouring town of Louth, gave evidence stating that perhaps about one-sixth of the bag of flour contained arsenic, and he had no doubt that this caused Sarah’s death. Needless to say, the arsenic also killed Sarah’s unborn child. Following the inquest, Smith was committed to Lincoln prison for trial.
On 14 December 1823, Sarah was carried to the grave by six young women from the parish and buried in Alford parish church.
In the meantime, Smith continued to protest his innocence, but at trial he was found guilty of her murder and sentenced to death. The Hereford Journal of 24 March 1824 reported:
Lincoln Assizes, 12 March 1824 – John Smith, aged 24, charged with having administered arsenic, mixed up in some flour, to Sarah Arrowsmith, who was pregnant by him, was condemned and has been hanged, and his body given to the surgeons for dissection.
It is unclear who raised Sarah’s young orphaned son, Inman, but genealogical records indicate that he went on to marry in Louth in 1842.
Today, I am delighted to welcome back Elaine Thornton, who has carried out extensive research into ‘The Madness of Margaret Nicholson‘ and will set the record straight regarding various aspects of her life, which have been misquoted for generations.
On 2 August 1786, a small group of people were waiting outside the garden door of St James’s Palace to see George III arrive for an afternoon levee. As the royal carriage drove up to the entrance the spectators, among them a middle-aged seamstress called Margaret Nicholson, pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the sovereign. Margaret, who was clutching a roll of paper, told those closest to her that she had a petition to present to the King. The crowd parted good-naturedly to let her move to the front.
Coloured mezzotint ‘Margaret Nicholson attempting to assassinate his Majesty ….’ published by Carington Bowles, after Robert Dighton. Hand-coloured mezzotint, circa 1786 National Portrait Gallery NPG D47049
As the King stepped out of his carriage, Margaret rushed forward brandishing her petition. He turned to take it from her, bowing politely. A shock ran through the crowd as they saw a knife flash in her hand. They screamed and gasped as she stabbed at the King; he stepped back, dodging the blow. As she raised her arm to stab again, a footman ran forward to disarm her. The King called out to the angry crowd, ‘do not hurt her, the poor creature is mad – you see I am not hurt!’
Margaret Nicholson was forty years old. She had been born in 1745 as the fourth child of a barber in the Yorkshire market town of Stokesley and had left home at the age of twelve to go into service. She had moved to London around 1766, where she had continued working as a maid for about ten years. She had then left service, and had since lived in lodgings, supporting herself by sewing. She had never married.
Following her attack on the King, Margaret was taken into custody and the Privy Council, chaired by Lord Sydney, the Home Secretary, was hastily convened to examine her. As she was accused of attempted regicide, a treasonable offence that carried the death penalty, Margaret was treated as a state prisoner. She was held for questioning at the house of a King’s Messenger, a Mr Coates.
Margaret told the Council that she had ‘petitioned his Majesty twenty different times upon a property due to her from the Crown of England’. When questioned on her grievance, she said it was a ‘mystery’ she could not talk about but agreed to write it down. She produced an incoherent account: ‘my cause is concerning my right in blood and understanding for the Crown of England by which I am sensible of securing the right kingly marriage … and unless I do this I am sensible of the most fatalest catastrophes for some thousand years’.
She said that she had never meant to kill the King – the knife she had used was a small dessert knife, which had been sharpened – but she also said that she had been thinking of regicide for about a week, and that if she did not have her claims met, ‘a woeful war would ensue’.
The roll of paper that Margaret had used to conceal the knife proved to be blank, but the Council were shown a petition that she had sent the King a week earlier, concerning ‘the state of this Crown and Kingdom’. In it, she had written ‘I earnestly entreat your Majesty will assist me know [now] apparently in preventing regicide if possible … which I am by every means on my side of the question inevitably obligated to commit without your Majesty’s accommodating circumstances enable me to withstand it’. She repeated the words of this petition almost exactly in the written account she produced for the Council.
Suspecting that Margaret was mentally ill, the Council called a number of witnesses to her character, including her younger brother George, who kept a pub, the ‘Three Horseshoes’ in Milford Lane, off the Strand. George told Lord Sydney that Margaret had lived with his family for a while after she had left service, but his wife had been frightened by her behaviour, which had included ‘muttering to herself, fits of laughter and violent gestures’. He had asked Margaret to move out into lodgings.
George admitted that he thought his sister insane, and would have liked her to be confined, but as she was ‘harmless and industrious’ he had done nothing about it. His wife, Jane, confirmed his evidence, adding that she had always thought Margaret ‘flighty’ and considered that she dressed above her station in life.
Margaret’s landlord, a bookseller called Jonathan Fiske, was also interviewed. Fiske said that he had not thought her insane but had noticed that she muttered to herself constantly and that she had talked of having ‘expectations of a place at court’.
While the inquiry was going on, Margaret’s lodgings in Fiske’s house were searched. Copies of letters she had written to Lord Loughborough and Lord Mansfield, both senior legal figures, were found. These papers, like all her writings, consisted of jumbled phrases that made little sense, but again, the central theme appeared to be that Margaret believed she had some sort of claim on the throne.
A letter to General Bramham, the Army’s Chief Engineer, was also found among the papers. Surprisingly, it appears that the General was Margaret’s uncle: George Nicholson stated in his evidence that Bramham had married ‘his father’s sister’. The Bramham’s daughter, Jane, had been born in Stokesley in 1754. In his statement, the General referred to Margaret as a ‘relation’ of his. He had last seen her about two years previously, when she had behaved strangely. He had thought her deranged.
There was huge public interest in the attempted regicide. The newspapers seized on the story and rumours proliferated as the shocking news spread. As the Gentleman’s Magazine put it, ‘this attempt circulated through the city with amazing rapidity, and, gathering as it flew, a thousand fictions were added’. There was wild talk of a conspiracy, although the Home Office was certain that Margaret had acted alone, and ministers were anxious to ‘discourage as much as possible every disposition to imagine plots and conspiracies’.
Georgian newspaper editors seldom wasted their time verifying facts, however. They frequently imported articles and paragraphs wholesale from other papers and magazines and reproduced them word for word. An error in one paper would spread unchecked to other national and local papers and rapidly become accepted fact.
Within days of the attack, pamphlets also began to appear – the inaptly named Authentic Memoirs of the life of Margaret Nicolson was on sale by 9 August. Margaret’s landlord, Jonathan Fiske, wrote a pamphlet which capitalised on his personal knowledge of Margaret, but which also contained inaccurate reports taken verbatim from the newspapers, and his own embroideries.
Some of the misinformation has persisted to this day. For example, the prime minister, William Pitt, is widely believed to have presided over Margaret’s interrogation, although he was never recorded in the official papers as attending any of the examinations.
The newspapers also reported wrongly that Margaret came from Stockton-on-Tees in County Durham. This may have arisen from an error in the Home Office report on Margaret’s examination, where her home town is designated as ‘Stokesley upon Tees’. Stokesley is not on the Tees, but on the smaller River Leven. It is around ten miles distant from Stockton, and lies within the county boundaries of Yorkshire, not Durham.
It is possible that the person writing up the records simply confused the market town of Stokesley with the larger Stockton, and this initial mistake was then compounded by the newspapers. In any case, the anomaly is cleared up by the parish records, which confirm that Margaret was baptised in Stokesley on 9 December 1745.
Stokesley baptismal entry for Margaret, daughter of Thomas Nichoslon, a barber. North Yorkshire County Record Office. PR/STY 1/4
Margaret’s parents, Thomas and Ann Nicholson, were still alive and living in Stokesley at the time of her attack on the King. A few months previously, they had written to her brother George complaining that they had not heard from Margaret for some time: ‘as for your sister Margaret I think she has forgot she hath eather [sic] father or a mother’. George must have passed the letter to Margaret – perhaps to encourage her to contact them – as it was found in her lodgings.
Baptismal entry for George Nicholson, son of Thomas Nicholson, a barber. Stokesley. 6 April 1750. Borthwick Institute for Archives
The widespread publicity surrounding the attack benefited the King, as his presence of mind and compassionate treatment of Margaret made a positive impression. The newspapers described his behaviour as evidence of ‘his greatness of mind – his command of temper – fine sensibility – humanity, and everything laudable and amiable!’
Explanations were sought to account for Margaret’s state of mind. Little was understood about mental health at the time. There was a belief that women were susceptible to being driven mad by romantic disappointment, and a number of publications repeated a story which seems to have first appeared in the London Chronicle on 10 August, that Margaret had been jilted by a fellow servant, a valet, and that this abandonment had tipped her over the edge of sanity.
Margaret’s brother George had a different, but equally stereotypical theory: he suggested that his sister’s habit of reading ‘high stiled’ books, such as Milton’s Paradise Lost, had ‘contributed to turn her brain’. It was commonly believed that any attempt to study or read serious books could disturb women’s weak minds, which were not thought to be designed to cope with such weighty subjects.
The anonymous author of the Authentic Memoirs suggested that Margaret suffered from delusions of grandeur, accusing her of being ‘arrogant’ and ‘insolent’, although this does not square with witness statements which describe her as quiet, orderly, sober and industrious.
Sculptures at the Gates of Bedlam. Wellcome Collection
The Council called in Dr Thomas Monro, who, with his father, Dr John Monro, ran Bethlem Hospital in Moorfields, known colloquially as ‘Bedlam’. Ironically, Thomas Monro would be consulted when the King himself succumbed to mental illness.
When Monro pronounced Margaret to be insane, the Home Secretary ordered her to be committed to Bethlem indefinitely and without trial. Sydney made this decision because at the time there was no law that allowed the authorities to detain defendants in criminal cases once they had been acquitted by reason of insanity. They were usually released back into society, running the risk that they might repeat their crimes – in Margaret’s case, that she might make a further attempt on the King’s life.
Bethlem was one of the very few public institutions for the treatment of mental illness. There were numerous private asylums, but these were profit-making enterprises and only accepted paying patients. Although these private establishments had to be licenced, there was no system of supervision and conditions varied considerably. Poor people who became mentally ill were generally either ignored, or, if violent, confined in workhouses.
Hogarth. Tom Rakewell in Bedlam. Wellcome Collection
As the causes of mental illness were not understood, much of the treatment at the time was inappropriate and did more harm than good. Both physical and mental illnesses were believed to be due to imbalances in the body’s ‘humours’. Patients were bled and given emetics to ‘purge’ them; if violent, they were put in chains and left to their own devices. For many of their patients, asylums were more like prisons than hospitals.
On her arrival in Bethlem, Margaret’s mind was not so disordered that she did not know where she was. On 28 August she wrote to her parents saying that ‘as to my confinement, tis true I am a captive and in Bedlam House’, adding that ‘this bondage … is worse than death’.
Three days later she asked Lord Sydney to remove her from this ‘melancholy situation’. The King’s Messenger, Coates, had treated her kindly while she was at his house, and she asked, rather pathetically, if she could go back there.
Dr John Monro had stopped the practice of allowing the general public indiscriminately into Bethlem in 1770, so Margaret was at least spared the humiliation of being exposed to mocking crowds. Visitors were still allowed, but on a ticketed basis, and accompanied by a keeper. Two of these privileged visitors wrote descriptions of Margaret shortly after she was committed to Bethlem. Their accounts may throw some light on her beliefs about her claim on the Crown.
Margaret Nicholson etching by Isaac Taylor, published by Alexander Hogg published in the Lady’s Magazine 30 September 1786 National Portrait Gallery NPG D14895
The German novelist Sophie von la Roche, who was touring England, noted her encounter with Margaret in her diary:
She sat there, neatly dressed, her hat upon her head, holding gloves and a book in her hand. She stood up when we appeared and fixed her frightening grey eyes a little wildly on us’.
She added that the book, which Margaret had been reading ‘intently’, was a volume of Shakespeare. The keeper told Sophie that Margaret believed that she was descended from the House of Lancaster and was the true heir to the throne. She wanted to kill the King as she considered him a usurper, but she also wanted to marry the Prince of Wales in order to legitimise him as the future King.
William Knollys, a young army officer and heir to the earldom of Banbury, described Margaret in a private letter to his mother:
she was sulky and seemingly very proud, and said that although she was chained by the leg nobody could prevent her dying – she has a dictionary to read and plenty of paper to write upon, and talked with great glee of the death of the K— [King] and her marriage with the P. of W— [Prince of Wales]. She is chained by a long chain and they will not suffer her to eat anything by way of cutting, so she is obliged to tear her meat to pieces with her teeth.
From these accounts it is clear that Margaret had access to books and writing materials in her cell. It seems that the whole Nicholson family were at least literate, judging by the letter written by her parents which had been found in Margaret’s lodgings. However, Margaret’s reading habits – which, according to Sophie von la Roche and George Nicholson included both Shakespeare and Milton – suggest a level of literacy that seems unusual in a barber’s daughter. Even in higher social circles, women were frequently discouraged from serious reading.
In 1787, Margaret was moved to the ‘incurable’ long-stay wing of Bethlem, where it seems she had more freedom of movement. According to newspaper reports, she escaped briefly in 1790 and fled to her brother’s pub. She was recaptured at the Three Horseshoes but resisted being returned to Bethlem and had to be taken there by force. In 1791, the hospital’s records note that Margaret’s chains were removed, so it seems likely that she had been temporarily shackled again following her escape.
Although Margaret’s detention without trial had drawn some criticism from the newspapers – the Morning Herald described it as ‘the illegal confinement, for life, of a British subject’ – the issue was not taken up by Parliament until 1800, when another attempt on the King’s life was made, by an ex-soldier called James Hadfield, who shot at the King in the Drury Lane theatre.
Coloured print James Hadfield portrait British Museum
Hadfield had suffered head injuries in battle, which appear to have left him with mental health problems. His case led to a new law being rushed through. The unfortunately named ‘Criminal Lunatics Act 1800’ established a legal process for the detention of offenders acquitted on grounds of insanity. Courts were now required to assign them to a secure place ‘until His Majesty’s pleasure shall be known’. In 1815, Bethlem Hospital moved to a new building in Southwark, which contained a special criminal wing. This was used to house mentally ill offenders until Broadmoor was established in the 1860s.
Margaret remained in the ‘incurable’ wing of Bethlem, where she was incarcerated for over forty years. She must have become institutionalised over the long years in confinement. She was reported in her later life as being ‘quiet and civil’ and in good health physically, although she had gone deaf.
Margaret Nicholson in old age etching after a drawing by John Thomas Smith. British Museum
According to the anonymous author of Sketches in Bedlam, published in 1823, Margaret now claimed that her actions had been misinterpreted: that she had happened to have a knife in her pocket as well as the petition, and had accidently clutched the knife instead of the paper in her anxiety to attract the King’s attention. This later version is contradicted, however, by her own statements regarding regicide around the time of the attack, and the fact that the ‘petition’ was blank. Margaret had told the Privy Council that ‘she had no other intention in presenting the blank sheet of paper than to conceal the knife’.
In her last years, Bethlem may have been the safest place for Margaret. Her brother George had died in 1795, her mother in 1791, and her father, Thomas in 1799. Thomas had been eighty and had continued working as a barber right up to the last day of his life.
Derby Mercury – 11 April 1799. Death of Thomas Nicholson – barber
With no welfare state to look after her, Margaret would almost certainly have sunk into dire poverty. She died in Bethlem in 1828.
Saint George the Martyr: Borough High Street, Southwark. London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P92/GEO/230
While James Hadfield, whose case changed the law, has largely been forgotten by the public, Margaret has remained a figure of fascination. Her story has featured in novels, poetry and plays, and in the 1990s, some two hundred years after the event, her attempt on the King was portrayed dramatically in the opening scenes of Alan Bennett’s play and film, The Madness of King George.
Sources:
Archives:
Hampshire Record Office, 1M44/90/15
The National Archives, Home Office Papers, HO 42/9
Published Sources:
Anon, The Authentic memoirs of the life of Margaret Nicolson, London, 1786
Anon [Constant Observer], Sketches in Bedlam, London, 1823
Jonathan Fiske, The life and transactions of Margaret Nicholson, London, 1786
Sophie von la Roche, Tagebuch einer Reise durch Holland und England, Offenbach am Main, 1788
Now, I’m not sure quite where to begin with this complex and sorry tale about Maria Theresa Phipoe, or Phepoe, the spelling of her surname varied throughout the story, also known as Mary Benson, as to which name was true we may never know.
According to her prison record of 1797, she was aged 34, 5 feet, six inches in height, with a fair complexion, brown hair and blue eyes, and a widow of Dublin.
England and Wales Criminal Register 1797
This is a tale full of discrepancies. Maria’s prison record stated that she was from Dublin, which doesn’t tally with her execution confession, in which she said she was born in Amiens, France in 1750, an only child, and that when her parents died she received a legacy of one thousand pounds, with which she left France for England, placing her money in the bank immediately, although despite checking, there is no evidence to support her claim.
According to this confession she arrived in England in 1780, so, at the age of thirty. However, a prison record of 1795 stated she was aged 28, so born c1767. So, which one was true? We may never know, as any possible birth record for her has been lost to history.
The Times newspaper of 25 May 1795 reported that she was the sister of a very respected brewer in Dublin. Having checked this, there was indeed a respectable brewer in Dublin around that timeframe, but his surname was Phepoe rather than Phipoe, which given that Maria’s surname seems to have varied, this is a feasible option. She was also described a widow in the prison register, which provides even more confusion, so was she Maria/Mary Phipoe née Benson, or was this part of her life pure fiction on her part?
She claimed that upon her arrival in England from either Dublin or France, she became acquainted with a man named John Courtoy or Courtois (spelling vary), someone who changed his name on arrival from France. He was actually born Nicolas Jacquinet (1729-1818). Courtoy was a famous extremely affluent, but eccentric peruke maker/hairdresser, but his life is another story.
However, suffice to say how he made some of his money appears rather questionable, given that no matter how good a hairdresser he was (and he was), he would have been unlikely to have made the millions that he did make by making wigs and styling hair, so he must have had other strings to his bow. It is known that he was also a money lender and operated a register for servants, supplying many to the elite, of which I have written about previously. It is documented that his appearance was curious and that he spent no money on anything he didn’t need, including his clothing which apparently he had worn for decades so perhaps he simply continually saved all his money. For those familiar with the research into Dido Belle, you will be aware that Courtoy was a witness to their marriage in 1793.
Having digressed, we return to Maria, she claimed that in 1780 she lived with Courtoy, did he take in this young woman out of kindness or could she have lived with him as a servant? The simple truth is we have no idea, but Maria claimed that she and Courtoy cohabited for several years, then eventually separated, at which time she went to live at the upmarket address of 5 Hans Place, near Sloane Street, Knightsbridge, was she perhaps set up in this house by Courtoy? A clue might have come in a court case after Courtoy’s death.
The idea of her cohabiting with Courtoy about 1780 is curious, as during that time he was busy fathering five children with another woman who lived with him at that time, Mary Ann Woolley (1749-1822). Their relationship ended at some stage and in the early 1800’s he took up with another woman, Hannah Peters (1781-1849), ‘a courtesan of some standing’, who was introduced to him by Mary Brown, Maria’s maid, and remained with him until his death in 1818.
He also reputedly fathered three daughters with Hannah, but questions were subsequently raised as to whether or not he was the father, despite Hannah claiming they were, a more likely candidate being named in a court document, but Courtoy was, by then, suffering from mental health issues, had them baptised with his surname.
Court of Chancery, Nov.4 – Extraordinary Case. The New Times. 5 November 1825.
There is no surviving factual evidence as to how Maria spent the subsequent years, except for the above, but she stated that late 1794/early 1795 she wrote to Courtoy requesting he should call at her house to settle some money matters. This raises questions for me, what money matters could they possibly have had to discuss if they hadn’t been in contact for several years, unless perhaps she was being kept by Courtoy (mere speculation, of course).
So, how did Maria end up where she did? On 14 April 1795, Courtoy eventually paid Maria a visit at her Brompton home, at about 7pm, having received yet another letter from her requsting he should attend her home.
According to an account in The Times, 31 December 1818, following Courtoy’s ultimate demise, it described the macabre setting of the room he was shown into by Maria’s maid. How truthful this description is, I couldn’t possibly comment, it does read as if there was a little media spin put on this account:
One evening when she was certain of his calling, she had her apartment prepared for his reception in a species of funereal style – a bier, a black velvet pall, black wax candles lighted etc. No sooner had her old friend entered the room than the lady, assisted by her maid, pounced on him, forced him into an armchair, in which he was forcibly held down by the woman, while the lady, brandishing a case knife razor, swore, with some violent imprecations, that this should be his last.
The pair had a long conversation, or to be accurate, Maria launched a full on tirade at him, in French, which, if nothing else, struck me as somewhat curious if Maria really was from Dublin, rather than France. Where would she have learnt to speak fluent French, I wonder, unless she was educated?
With the knife in her hand and also threatening to shoot him, Maria demanded a promissory note from him.
From the Old Bailey court transcript:
March 30, 1795. Two months date, I promise to pay Miss Maria Theresa Phipoe, the sum of two thousand pound, for the value received. John Courtoy, Oxendon-street.
Having written the note, it is unclear as to exactly what happened next, but it would appear that in some sort of tussle, Maria cut three or four fingers of his fingers with the knife:
Courtoy, in the two arm chair, sitting holding the pocket handkerchief to his fingers and his pocket handkerchief was very much bloody; my mistress desired me to go down stairs into the kitchen to the dresser drawers, and bring out a bit of white linen rag; she told me that Mr. Courtoy had cut his fingers and wanted a bit of rag to put about them.
Maria, then offered him a drink, but he declined, suspicious that she was trying to poison him, was it her her plan to kill him off one way or another? As the saying goes, ‘Dead Men Tell No Tales’. However, Courtoy finally managed to make his escape from her clutches about at 11pm, so the whole incident having lasted some four hours. He immediately left the house and reported what had happened.
The Old Bailey. Microcosm of London.
The following morning, Maria was arrested and later appeared at the Old Bailey on 20 May 1795, charged with violent theft and robbery, for which she was found guilty, but the judgment was respited on a technicality. Maria was indirectly punished though, as she lost her lovely home in an affluent part of London and ‘her gentleman customers.’ according to Naomi Clifford, author of Women and the Gallows 1797-1837: Unfortunate Wretches
Mrs. Phipoe was, however, subsequently, on the 23rd of May, indicted for the common assault upon Mr. Cortois, and a verdict of guilty having been a second time returned, she was subjected to twelve months’ imprisonment in Newgate.
Once freed, Maria was forced to seek lodgings in the small home of Letitia Munday at 18 Great Garden Street, Stepney (described as consisting of just four rooms). Upon moving there, Maria, described herself as a ‘French Emigrantwho hadconsiderable property in litigation.’ Her attire was described as expensive, and that when she went out in the morning she wore black silk and on her return change into white muslin and as she did this several times a day, it led to her neighbours suspecting that she was connected with smugglers.
… but worse was yet to come for Maria.
In December 1797, Maria, who by this time, had changed her name to Mary Benson, was indicted for the murder of Mary Cox in St. George’s in the East.
Neighbours heard sounds of scuffle and screams coming from her neighbour, Mary Cox’s house, rushed in, to find Cox covered with blood and mortally wounded. When the police arrived, they found a blood-covered knife and a severed finger on the table. Maria admitted to the attack and said it was her own finger that had been cut off in the struggle.
During the altercation with Mary Cox, Cox referred to Maria returning to London again, to be ‘OldCourtoy’s whore,’ which may or may not have been true and was denied by Maria, but, in my opinion, it perhaps says more about his morals rather than hers, given his predilection for younger women. His ‘partner’ Mary Ann, whom he never married, was some twenty years his junior, then his partner, Hannah Peters who was over fifty years his junior and we shouldn’t forget, he had at least one noted meeting with the infamous courtesan, Harriette Wilson (1786-1845).
Cox was rushed to hospital, but before she died, despite having such potentially fatal injuries, she managed to give a statement confirming that Maria had attacked her. Cox testified that the attack occurred after she bought a gold watch from Phipoe and asked for a coffee cup as part of the deal. As Cox reached for the cup, Phipoe stabbed her repeatedly in the neck and body, threatening to kill her so she could not tell her story. This was as much as Cox was able to confirm, as she died shortly after.
Burial of Mary Cox 1 November 1797 aged 35. London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: P93/GEO/073
Maria claimed to have little to no knowledge of the event and claimed that she had taken too much laudanum which had affected her senses. The jury rejected her claims and it took them just 20 minutes to deliver a guilty verdict at which time Maria was sentenced to death. She was executed on 11 December 1797, but not before she could give the hangman one guinea and another for the most deserving debtor.
The accounts record that in April 1798, Mr. Walton received £7 7s. for the use of part of his stable yard to expose the body of Maria Theresa Phipoe.
Other Sources Used
Wilkinson, George Theodore. The Newgate calendar improved; being interesting memoirs of notorious characters who have been convicted of offences against the laws of England, during the seventeenth century; and continued to the present time, chronologically arranged.
The National Archives; PCOM 2: Metropolitan Police: Criminal Record Office: Habitual Criminals Registers and Miscellaneous Papers
Newgate Calendar of Prisoners, 1785-1853
England & Wales, Criminal Registers, 1791-1892
The last dying speech and confession, Birth, Parentage, and Behaviour, of Mary Benson, alias Maria Theresa Phipoe, who was executed this morning facing the debtor’s door, Newgate, and the extraordinary speech she made while she was standing under the gallows.
Murray State University. Women Who Kill: An Analysis of Cases in Late Eighteenth- and Early Nineteenth-Century London
Godson, David. Courtoy’s Complaint
The Proceedings of the King’s Commission of Peace, Oyer and Terminer and Gaol Delivery for the City of London and Gaol Delivery for the County of Middlesex 1797-8
General Evening Post, 31 December 1797
The Times, 12 December 1797
Maidstone Journal and Kentish Advertiser, 19 December 1797
With that introduction I’ll hand you over to Judith.
A small, strange-looking object sits in a glass display case at the National Institute of Science and Technology Museum in Gaithersburg, Maryland, on the outskirts of Washington, DC. This museum houses a collection of measurement devices, scientific instruments, artefacts, and archives relating to measurement, standardisation, science and technology in the United States. The object is a small copper cylinder with a little handle on top. It weighs one kilogram and it’s called a ‘grave’. Looking at it, most people would not know and could not guess its purpose. Nevertheless, this seemingly inconsequential object has a dramatic story to tell; one based on international relations and fraught with peril on the high seas during the Georgian Era. The story begins with Thomas Jefferson’s desire to bring the French metric system to the United States.
Figure 1: An early copper grave (1793) on display at the National Institute of Technology and Standards Museum, Washington, DC. The NIST website notes, ‘It’s possible that this object…was once a pirate treasure.’
Thomas Jefferson’s Plan for the US to Adopt the Metric System
Serving under President George Washington, Thomas Jefferson (1743 – 1826) was the United States’ first Secretary of State (1790 – 1793). Among his other priorities, he wanted the US to adopt a nation-wide standard of weights and measures. At the time, the country used a hodgepodge of measurement systems. New York used Dutch measurements, while most of New England relied on English measurements. Jefferson knew that a standardized system would end the practice of merchants buying goods according to one unit, selling in another, and pocketing the ill-gotten profit. Moreover, a standardized system would simplify scientific calculations and promote international trade.
Jefferson was interested in advancements in science, and he loved the precision of mathematics. In 1784, as a member of the Virginia delegation to the Congress of the Confederation, he proposed that the US adopt a unified currency, based on the most familiar coin then in use, the Spanish dollar, which would henceforth be called the US dollar. However, the Spanish dollar was composed of halves, quarters, and eighths. Jefferson proposed that the US dollar would consist of decimal units. Thus, under the Coinage Act of 1792, the US dollar became the first decimal-based currency in the world (although the US still has the US quarter). Jefferson also wanted a standardized, decimal-based system for weights and measures. He wanted the US to adopt the newly-developed French metric system.
Figure 2: Official Presidential Portrait of Thomas Jefferson, oil on canvas, 1801 by Rembrandt Peale. Location: US White House, Washington, DC.
Jefferson was a Francophile. From 1785 to 1789 he was the US Minister to France, appointed by the Congress of the Confederation. During his five years in Paris, he played a leading role in shaping US foreign policy. He was a supporter of the French Revolution. He was also a regular companion of the Marquis de Lafayette, using Lafayette’s influence with Napoleon’s government to procure trade agreements between the US and France. Jefferson was also a friend of the Marquis de Condorcet, secretary of the Paris Academy, who introduced Jefferson to the decimal-based metric system. French scientists were developing this system to do away with the country’s hundreds of measurement units and to simplify trade and manufacturing.
In 1790, having returned to the US and serving as Secretary of State, Jefferson submitted to Congress a ‘Plan for Establishing Uniformity in the Coinage, Weights, and Measures of the United States’. Hoping that Congress would implement his plan, Jefferson corresponded with his contacts in France, arranging for the delivery of a one-meter copper rod and a one-kilogram copper weight from the Paris Academy. At the time, the set was one of six in existence in France. The National Assembly chose Joseph Dombey to deliver the two objects to the US.
Joseph Dombey
Joseph Dombey (1742 – 1794) was a French physician and prominent botanist whose career was overshadowed, it seems, by continuing misfortune. In 1778, with the agreement of Charles III of Spain, he accompanied Spanish botanists Jose Pavón and Hipolito Ruiz on an expedition to Peru, South America to study exotic plants and minerals that might be useful in France. He would be there for five years. In 1780 he sent a portion of his collection home to France, but the British seized the vessel carrying those plants. Today, that collection resides in the British Museum. The incident became known as the ‘Dombey Affair’.
Figure 3: A bust of Joseph Dombey, from an illustration found in Anales de la Sociedad Cientifical Argentina, 1910. (Trans: Annals of the Scientific Society of Argentina).
Following that loss, Dombey accumulated a second collection, and hired local artists to make over 300 botanical drawings of indigenous herbs, vegetables, and flowers. As he prepared to ship these drawings to France, Peruvian authorities confiscated the works and gave then to Pavón and Ruiz, who later published them in a book titled La Flora Peruana.
In 1782 he visited Chile, again to collect indigenous plants. In Concepción, he took a year off from his task to offer his services, at no charge, as a physician to the local government during a cholera outbreak. Chilean officials also persuaded him to report on the potential re-use of abandoned mercury mines in Jarilla and Coquimbo; while there he also studied the types of wood used to fire the ovens in mercury production and made notes on the economic value of indigenous plants such as those used locally for incense. In 1784, he sailed for Europe, with a four-month stopover at Brazil to gather more plants.
When he landed at Cadiz, Spanish customs authorities seized half his collection, allowing him to retain the other half on the condition that he would not publish his findings until Pavón and Ruiz first published theirs. The living plants in Dombey’s collection died in the customs houses. Pavón and Ruiz did not leave Peru until 1788.
Returning to France, Dombey was depressed by his lack of success and disgusted with politics. He decided to live in Lyons and practice medicine at a military hospital. His colleague, George-Louis Leclerc, the Comte de Buffon, director of the Jardin du Roi (now Jardin des plantes) intervened. At Buffon’s urgings, the French government granted Dombey an indemnity of 10,000 francs and an annual pension of 1,200 francs. His remaining botanical collections were transferred to the French botanist L’Heritier, who fled to London with them when Spain demanded these also.
In 1793, at Jefferson’s request, the French National Assembly agreed to deliver a set of copper artefacts to the US: A one-meter rod and a grave (eventually called a kilogram) to serve as the US prototypes for a metric system of weights and measurement. Dombey volunteered to carry these objects to the US. He was eager to escape the bloodshed that the Jacobins had inflicted on Lyons and he wanted to collect plants native to North America.
With his understanding of the scientific importance of accurate weights and measures, the French thought it likely Dombey could help Jefferson persuade Congress to adopt the French standards, which would later come to be known as the metric system. Dombey was also sent to sign an agriculture agreement that would strengthen the ties between France and the US.
Dombey Sets Sail for the US
On 17 January 1794 Dombey boarded the brig Soon sailing for Philadelphia from Le Havre under the command of Captain Nathaniel Williams Brown of New York (sources do not say what flag the brig sailed under). Dombey bore a letter of introduction from the Committee of Public Safety, the executive body that ruled France during the Reign of Terror. At the time, France was at war with England and a number of other countries in the War of the First Coalition, so the crossing would be risky.
In March, as the brig crossed the Atlantic, a fierce storm damaged the vessel and blew her course into Caribbean waters. When the crew put in at Point-à-Pitre in Guadeloupe, Dombey’s luck went from bad to worse. Robert P Crease, professor of philosophy at Stony Brook University, writing for Physics World blog (2010), described what happened next:
This French colony was as politically divided as France itself. Its governor was royalist, but Point-à-Pitre was full of revolutionary sympathizers. Dombey was helpless to avoid becoming a political pawn. The presence of an emissary of the revered Committee of Public Safety from the home country inflamed the fervour of the locals against the governor, who had Dombey arrested and imprisoned. A mob amassed to demand the release of the man who was an official representative of the French government.
Dombey’s release incited the mob to take revenge against his captors. Standing on the bank of a channel, Dombey tried to stop the violence, but was pushed off the bank into the water. He was unconscious when fished out and caught a raging fever. The governor took Dombey into custody, interrogated him and put him back aboard the Soon….Back in France, the Committee of Public Safety was occupied with its own troubles, nobody was concerned by the absence of news from Dombey, and it learned of his fate only in October.
When the brig left Guadaloupe, two British privateers captured the vessel, seizing all the valuables. Dombey tried to disguise himself as one of the Spanish sailors, to avoid capture. Yet somehow, he failed to blend in. Once the privateers discovered his status and his papers, they took Dombey to their base in the British colony of Montserrat and imprisoned him.
Figure 4: Modern-day Montserrat. Source: Wikipedia (public domain).
Andro Linklater wrote about the incident in Measuring America, the story of the early westward expansion of the US.
He [Dombey] was a valuable prize, too valuable to hang. Among his papers were diplomatic codes to be used by the French legation in the United States, for which the British would pay well, and Dombey was imprisoned in Plymouth, Montserrat’s capital, until France was prepared to negotiate for his release. Captain Brown was soon returned to an American port, while the Soon together with her cargo, including the copper bar and weight, was destined to be sold as a prize. (p137)
Still ailing from fever and under mistreatment from his captors, Dombey died in prison. He was buried in Montserrat. Today, his remaining South American specimens are on display in museums in London, Paris, and Madrid. His manuscripts on plants in Peru and Chile were published posthumously.
What Happened to the Metric Prototypes?
Sources vary as to what happened to the two copper prototypes. Some sources (Budanovic, Martin) state that the privateers auctioned off the brig’s cargo and the two copper standards were sold. However, apparently through a series of negotiations, French intermediaries eventually delivered a set of standards to Jefferson’s successor, US Secretary of State, Edmund Randolph (1753 – 1813), who, in the end, took no further interest in the matter. Whether this set was the original or a replacement is not clear.
Figure 4: Portrait of Edmund Randolph by Casimir Gregory Stapko, 1943, after Flavius J. Fisher, after the original by an unidentified artist. Located in the repository of The Diplomatic Reception Rooms, US Department of State, Washington, DC.
Another version (Mandresh) has it that Dombey carried the prototypes in luggage marked for delivery to Thomas Jefferson, US Secretary of State. When the privateers saw the name of the recipient, they decided not to open the luggage. Somehow, the luggage made its way to New York and was delivered to Edmund Randolph, Jefferson’s successor. Randolph accepted the delivery but had no idea what to do with the meter rod and grave.
Linklater wrote that the Soon’s cargo was auctioned off probably in New York or Boston, where the prototypes were bought by a ‘French sympathizer, who sent them on to the French minister in Philadelphia, Joseph Fauchet’. In August, Fauchet presented them to the new Secretary of State, Edmund Randolph. ‘Neither man was a scientist, and without Dombey there to explain things, they failed to appreciate the significance of the two standards.’
The US Archives contain a letter dated 8 January 1797, from Thomas Jefferson, at Monticello, Virginia, to his friend Constantin François Chasseboeuf, Comte de Volney (1757 – 1820), a French philosopher, writer and politician. In the letter, Jefferson indicated that he was aware of the arrival of metric prototypes on US shores:
About the end of 1793, I received from Mr. Dombey (then at Lyon) a letter announcing his intention to come here. And in May 1794. I received one from a M. L’Epine dated from New York, and stating himself to be master of the brig Le Boon [sic]Capt. Brown, which had sailed from Havre with Mr. Dombey on board, who had sealed up his baggage and wrote my address on them, to save them in case of capture; and that when they were taken, the address did in fact protect them. He mentioned then the death of Mr. Dombey, and that he had delivered his baggage to the custom house at New York. I immediately wrote to Mr. L’Epine, disclaiming any right or interest in the packages under my address, and authorizing…the Consul at New York, or any person the representative of Mr. Dombey, to open the packages and dispose of them according to right. I enclosed this letter open to Mr. Randolph then Secretary of State, to get his interference for the liberation of the effects….In any event I can do no more than repeat my disclaimer of any right to Mr. Dombey’s effects, and… Certainly it would be a great gratification to me to receive the Mètre and Grave committed to Mr. Dombey for me, and that you would be so good as to be the channel of my acknowledgements to Bishop Gregoire or any one else to whom I should owe this favor.
This letter verifies that Dombey’s meter and grave did reach the US and, apparently at the insistence of Thomas Jefferson, were subsequently delivered to Edmund Randolph. In turn, Randolph gave them to Andrew Ellicott (1754 – 1820), an accomplished land surveyor who set the boundaries of the territory that would become Washington, DC (in 1791 -1792). Ellicott also trained Meriweather Lewis in survey methods prior to the Lewis and Clark expedition to map and explore the western territories of America.
Andrew Ellicott (1754 – 1820), oil on panel by Jacob Eichholtz, 1809. Property of New York Historical Society (public domain).
Apparently, Ellicott accepted the gift. At some point, the grave was separated from its length-measure counterpart. The grave remained in the possession of Ellicott’s descendants until 1952, when they donated it to the Bureau of Standards. The Bureau of Standards was renamed as the National Institute of Standards and Technology in 1988. Today the copper grave is on display in the institute’s museum. While some may speculate as to whether the grave is one that Dombey carried, or its replacement, it is most likely the former.
A Missed Opportunity?
Jefferson’s reform of weights and measures was never adopted by Congress, leaving the country reliant on the English-influenced Imperial system. Today many US industries have adapted the metric system, but the public has little interest in changing over to it.
In the book Measuring America, author Andro Linklater points out the extent of the opportunity lost with Dombey’s unfortunate journey:
The sight [in Congress] of those two copper objects [Dombey’s meter and grave], so easily copied and sent out to every state in the Union, together with the weighty scientific arguments supporting them, might well have clarified the minds of senators and representatives alike. And today the U.S. might not be the last country in the world to resist the metric system. (p135)
Author’s Note: This article was originally published in the Kedge Anchor, Spring Edition, Issue 63, the magazine of The 1805 Club.
Sources
Amir Alexander, ‘Thomas Jefferson Fights for the Metric System’, History News Network, 2024.
Andro Linklater, Measuring America: How the United States was Shaped by the Greatest Land Sale in History (New York: Plume).
Blake Stilwell, ‘Why Pirates Might be the Reason the United States Does Not Use the Metric System’, Military.com blog, 29 April 2021.
Nikola Budanovic, ‘A Pirate Attack in 1794 is Why the United States Doesn’t use the Metric System’, The Vintage News, 12 April 2018.
_____, Joseph Dombey: Wikipedia
Joe Palca, ‘How Pirates of the Caribbean Hijacked America’s Metric System’, The Two-Way on National Public Radio, 28 December 2017.
Keith Martin, Pirates of the Caribbean (Metric Edition)’, NIST blog, 19 September 2017.
Sarah Kaplan, Pirates are to be Blamed for Why the US Doesn’t Use The Metric System’, Washington Post, 20 September 2017.
Robert P Crease, A Missed Metric Moment’, PhysicsWorld.com blog, 01 July 2010.
Jason Mandresh, ‘The Man who Died to give American the Metric System: Joseph Dombey’, Founder of the Day blog, 2022.
Letter from Thomas Jefferson to Volney, Constantine Francois Chasseboeuf, Comte de, Monticello Jan.08.97. Jefferson Paper, US Archives, Washington, DC.
_____ Biographies: Joseph Dombey (1742 – 1794), jstor.org
In a previous article I looked at those who worked at Kenwood House, which led me on to take a look at how employees were recruited.
Many servants acquired their position via word of mouth and were able to supply a good reference from a previous employer, although of course, at that time there was no legal requirement to provide one, but without such a reference it would have been virtually impossible to find employment. I have also looked at the typical wages of servants in a previous article which can be found here. Many employees only lasted for a couple of years in their position, unlike those we looked at last time who remained at Kenwood House for many, many years.
The classified adverts carried numerous examples of potential employees advertising their skills, often giving a shop address, such as a haberdasher, greengrocer and hairdresser, for potential employers to go to, to find out more about them, very much the way it might be one today by paying a small fee and putting a notice in the newsagents window, as we can see in this one from the General Advertiser and Morning Intelligencer, 21 May 1779:
The other option was by registering with a servant register office and that’s what this article is specifically going to take a look at.
It is unclear quite how the process worked in the early years of such agencies, but it would appear that servants registered providing their details, their skill set such as previous work experience and the type of role they were seeking. Many agencies charged both the potential employee and the employer for what today we would describe as a ‘matching service’.
One of the very earliest Servant Registers, known as the Universal Servant Register, in The Strand, was established by Sir John Fielding and his brother on 19 February, 1749. Here we have one of their adverts in the General Advertiser, 28 March 1750:
From 1777 until the middle of the Victorian era, a tax was applied to households employing male servants. In 1779 this tax was one guinea per servant. This would of course, have impeded households employing men and therefore more women were employed to avoid this tax.
Following Fielding’s register, many more registers began to spring up both in London and across the regions of the country, especially as there was a demand for French servants, although, as I have mentioned in the past, this was not popular with everyone, especially at British servants who felt their jobs were being taken.
As you would expect in order to attract customers these agencies advertised in the newspapers with great regularity, for example:
Register and Intelligence Office for hiring Servants at No. 1 in New Street, Covent Garden.
One at Johnson’s Court, Charing Cross, but no owner’s name was provided.
Another simply entitled, Servants Register Office, No. 181, High Holborn, near Drury Lane
Messrs Whitehouse, The Register Office, No. 362 The Strand
Weller’s Office, No. 62 Oxford Street – Mr and Mrs Weller informs men and women that they would have to pay one shilling, boys and girls 6 pence, if poor, sent free. Public House servants pay nothing.
Mr Alder’s General Register Office, Chancery Lane, twelve doors from Fleet Street
Whilst some agencies appear to have been legitimate, as there were no regulations they were open to abuse, in more ways than one. Some registers advertised for servants and took a fee from potential employees, even though they knew full well that there were no jobs available at the time.
Statute Hall, or, The modern Register Office Lewis Walpole Library
Others were far more unscrupulous, as can be seen in this extract from a very lengthy and damning article about the lives of women, from The Times of 27 September 1791 and addressed directly to Queen Charlotte:
The influx of females from all parts of the country to the metropolis and to the great trading and manufacturing towns and cities of the kingdom is very great. They all come as they themselves term it ‘to better their fortunes’ either recommended by friends from the place of their nativity to some respectable family in town, or else on the bare speculation of doing as well as a few others had one, who were fortunate enough to escape that common wreck, which destroyed the greater part of those who quitted their native plains for the false pleasures of a city.
When a female servant arrives in town, if she has no place to which she has been recommended her application is immediately made to one of these nurseries of vice called a REGISTER OFFICE FOR SERVANTS.
Here a description of her person is accurately taken, and if he be young and handsome, she is immediately recommended to the house of some debauchee – or to one of those nocturnal receptacles of infamy, known by the appellation of brothels. Her consequence is obvious; she remains there until her face and person become too common, and then she is sent into the streets to seek a livelihood by the instruction she has received in that place from which she has just been discharged.
Hundreds every year are forced upon the town in this manner. But they make only a small part of those unhappy wretches who are actually forced into a life of prostitution by which they might earn and honest livelihood.
When a servant quits her place, her resource, if she has not a large circle of honest acquaintance which seldom is the case in the middling and lower ranks of life, by application to a Register Office, where if she does not succeed before her little saving are all expended, and the greatest part of her wardrobe pawned, she is obliged for want of bread to betake herself to that line of life which her virtue may probably abhor. This initiates her at length amongst a set of the most abandoned of mankind, who live by plundering the rest of the world. Here she imbibes a kind of friendship for those wretches and lays herself out to become an accomplice in their guilt.
She again applies to the Register Office, and by paying for a fictious character, gets into a place; for strange as it may appear to your Majesty, there are persons of credit who bear a good name in their respective parishes, and who, notwithstanding the late law to the contrary, actually make a trade of selling recommendations, that is of receiving money from the servant to give her a good character and these persons are all known to, and connected with the offices.
Her seeking advice now is no longer an act of necessity, she does it in the way of trade and remains no longer in the place than just to cover her plan of knowing the family – observing what property is in the house – how it is secured, and in what manner that property may in the safest manner be conveyed away.
Having made herself mistress in these matters, she quits the service, gives a description of everything she saw to her paramour and his gang, and if the house is an object of plunder, it is certainly broke open and robbed.
Clearly, issues surrounding the management of such organisations were making the newspapers, and The World, 26 July 1791 reported:
Some regulations respecting the numerous Register Office for servants in this town, would be worthy the attention of the legislature. There is more swindling in this business than in all the other trades together.
To conclude, I just need to let you know that posts on All Things Georgian will be a little more sporadic for a while. I’ll get back to my usual schedule as soon as I can, so please bear with me 😊
To date, the life of Dido Elizabeth Belle and her extended family has been researched and written about extensively here on All Things Georgian, and I realise that this article is extremely lengthy, but as it’s the last one for this year hopefully you’ll find time over the festive period to read it at your leisure.
Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778 by David Martin. Scone Palace
By 1784, Dido was in her early twenties when a key influence in her life, Lady Elizabeth Mansfield died at the start of April of that year, leaving in the house, the then approaching 80-year-old Lord Mansfield, his two nieces, Ladies Anne and Margery (both in their early fifties and the sisters of Viscount Stormont, later to become the 2nd Lord Mansfield) and, albeit briefly by then, Lady Elizabeth Murray, Lord Stormont’s daughter who moved out in 1785 to begin a new chapter in her life.
Following Lady Mansfield’s death, who had largely managed the household, including the domestic accounts, responsibility for these tasks passed to Lady Anne Murray. Lady Anne was also responsible for helping Lord Mansfield with letter writing in his later years, even writing one of the codicils of his will, on his behalf, with Dido writing one known letter on his behalf.
The account records cover the brief period from 1785 until Lord Mansfield’s death in 1793. The late Ian Trackman, a former guide at Kenwood House, transcribed these accounts, then he and I worked together to trace some of the people mentioned in them. This article is written very much in his memory, as he suggested I publish it once I had taken the research as far as I could.
After Lady Mansfield’s death, Kenwood became a large home with just five, then four residents, plus the staff employed by the Mansfields. The employees have not been written about before, so it’s time to shed a little light on who they were. These were people Dido would have come into direct contact with on a daily or regular basis. The names matter, as, to date, nothing appears to have come to light about any friends or acquaintances Dido may have had during her time at Kenwood, nor anyone she stayed in touch with afterwards — no surviving letters or documents have been found as yet to offer any clues.
Having discussed it with William, the current Viscount Stormont, he reflected that “whilst the family was perhaps on a pedestal and there were very clear hierarchies in place, at the same time, in some ways and in some cases, staff and family were one.” Having researched these employees I wholeheartedly agree with his view.
I have the distinct impression that Lord and Lady Mansfield were benevolent employers. One thing that comes across loud and clear from the accounts is that many of those who worked for them formed their own ‘little family,’ and many remained in contact with each other after Lord Mansfield’s death.
Martin, David; William Murray (1705-1793), 1st Earl of Mansfield, Lord Chief Justice; National Galleries of Scotland
It also appears the employees were well cared for — medicine and nursing were provided when they were ill, such:
‘a truss for Charles Taubman, at one pound, 1 shilling;’ ‘Scorbutic Drops for Hunter, at three pounds.’ Lord Mansfield also paid one shilling and sixpence for ‘Turfing Mrs Cooper’s Grave’; payment of 10 shillings and sixpence for nursing the dairy maid. Each year servants were also given between them £1, one shilling in celebration of Lord Mansfield’s birthday and were given a bonus upon the marriage of Lady Elizabeth Murray in 1785.
We can also see an overlap between those who worked for Lord Mansfield and those who later worked for his nieces, Lady Anne and Lady Margery, after his death. They, along with Dido, moved out of Kenwood shortly after their brother took possession of Kenwood, bringing in some of his own staff. A case of “new broom,” as it were.
Alongside the household accounts, Lord Mansfield’s will with its numerous codicils and the wills of both Lady Murrays have also been invaluable in this research. The names contained helped us learn more about some of the employees. It is always difficult to uncover much detail about domestic employees, as by the nature of their work, they left little by way of a paper trail, but nevertheless, the few fragments found offer a fascinating glimpse into their lives and perhaps some of the names will mean something to their descendants. In alphabetical order, we have:
Casamajor/Cassmajor, Henrietta (1752-1808)
With such an unusual name you would have thought it would be easy to track her down, but this has proved not to be the case, as yet. There was a large family of Casamajors in Gloucestershire, but whether she was part of that family, I’m really not sure. If she was, then her father was Henry Casamajor (1714-1775). Henry and his wife definitely had a daughter named Henrietta, so I’m hopeful I have the correct family, but there are no clues as to why she worked for Lord Mansfield. There was another female named Henrietta Casamajor, but as she wasn’t born until 1782, she was discounted.
The fact that Henrietta last appeared in the accounts in 1785, the year Lady Elizabeth Mary Murray married, it seems to indicate that, combined with her statement at the Old Bailey below, from 1780, she may well have been Lady Elizabeth’s lady’s maid and the accounts confirm she was paid seventeen pounds, seven shillings and sixpence.
HENRIETTA CASSMAJOR sworn.
I am Miss Murray’s maid. I know the linen to be the property of Lord Mansfield, by having often seen it there. I am certain of it.
Was you present when the prisoner was examined before the justice? – I was. I understood her in general to say, that they had been in her possession some time, I do not know how long, some were given her by a relation, and sent from Ireland. They were in Lord Mansfield’s house on the 6th of June.
Clutton, Owen
Clutton received £7 paid half yearly, but does not appear to have been consistently employed by Lord Mansfield. Prior to working at Kenwood, his name appeared in the Old Bailey records following an alleged assault upon him at which time he stated his occupation as a gentleman’s servant, which would indicate that this was probably his role at Kenwood too.
A Lady’s Maid Soaping Linen by Henry Robert Morland; Tate
Cooper, Clara Anna
Clara appeared in the accounts the year after Henrietta Casamajor, which made us wonder whether she was her replacement hired to assist the Ladies Murray and/or Dido. She was paid a similar amount as Henrietta. Clara died June 1789 but had been named in Lord Mansfield’s will, his bequest originally being a lump sum of £300, but this was amended in a codicil to her salary for life.
However, given that Cooper died before Lord Mansfield she would not have received the legacy. It was also Cooper for whom Lord Mansfield paid for her funeral at the cost of £22, 15 shillings, one pence, followed by one shilling and six pence for ‘turfing Mrs Cooper’s grave’ at St Michael’s, Highgate, Camden.
Cradduck/Cradock, Mary
It is unclear as to Mary’s role during her time at Kenwood household, but the accounts confirm that she was paid eight pounds a year each year. Mary clearly worked for the family from at least 1780, as her name appeared in the Old Bailey records as a witness during the Gordon Riots, along with another servant, Dorothy Webster, of whom nothing further is known.
After the death of Lord Mansfield, Mary became the housekeeper for the Ladies Murray and was left legacies in their wills. There is no reference in Lord Mansfield’s will to her, which is curious given how long she worked for him. She was very clearly well thought of by Lady Anne Murray, who died at her home in Brighton, in 1817:
I further give to Mrs Mary Cradduck the sum of two thousand, five hundred pounds she has spent the best part of her life in faithfully attending upon me & is not in a state of health to seek any other situation. I also give to the said Mrs Mary Cradduck besides my wearing apparel, gold repeating watch gold chain as already mentioned in my aforesaid will, all my linen of every description whether white or black & also my furs of every kind.
I further give to Mrs Mary Cradduck a small gilt filling case containing a tea stove standing in drawing room now, standing in ditto a tea chest made by Mr Lesley, also to the said Mrs Mary Cradduck my smallest silver tea pot silver cream pot gilt within also my silver gilt cream ladle the two pairs of plated candlesticks belonging to housekeepers room the time piece & all the ornaments on chimney piece in ditto all the tea caddies in d[itt]o the toasting fork brass trivet in d[itt]o the two largest black leather travelling trunks the broach of my dear sisters hair set round with diamonds Mrs Mary Cradduck having cut me this hair I promised she should have the said broach(sic) at my death whenever that event take place .
Mary also received a legacy of £20 from another Kenwood employee, Elizabeth Kendall. After the death of Lady Anne in Brighton, Mary appears to have been completely lost to history, so far.
Dawkins, William, was the under butler. His name isn’t obvious in any of the household accounts, the only mention so far occurred in the Old Bailey records during the Gordon Riots, so it’s possible that he worked at Lord Mansfield’s town house, which was destroyed during the riots in 1780, rather than at Kenwood House.
Douse, Thomas and wife, Susan
It appears uncertain as to what role Thomas Douse had within the household, but he also appears to have been connected to Lord Mansfield’s professional life, as he was described in 1780 in A Complete Collection State Trials, as ‘one of Lord Mansfield’s officers.’ From 1788, Lord Mansfield paid Douse an annual annuity of £150, which equated to three times the highest member of staff’s wages.
Douse died in 1815, leaving his estate to his wife, Susan, who in turn, left half her estate to Dido’s son, William Thomas Daviniere. Dido’s bank account also confirms that she made a payment of £50 to Douse just after the death of Lord Mansfield in 1793, perhaps this was a legal transaction toward the purchase of her new house in Pimlico, but there is no known supporting evidence for this theory. Douse’s name appeared in several wills as a beneficiary, such as Lord Mansfield who bequeathed him £400 plus a £100 per year annuity, which was virtually the same as Dido; 2 guineas in Lady Anne Murray’s will, however, she outlived him. He was also bequeathed 2 guineas for a mourning ring in the wills of Mr Minshull and Elizabeth Kendall.
Thomas Douse may originally have been one of the estate employees, but by the time he appeared in the Kenwood estate accounts for 1785-88, he was making small payments to Lord Mansfield (perhaps rent).
In 1806, his name appeared in the margin of the probate of the will of George Wilkinson, another of Lord Mansfield’s servants, as ‘Thomas Douce(sic) of Hadley in the County of Middlesex, gentleman.’
Front garden Kenwood by William Russell Birch c1789 YCBA
Mr French
All that is known is that Kenwood employed a gardener by the name of French and that he received an annual remuneration of £32, but was not mentioned in Lord Mansfield’s will.
The autobiography of the enamel painter William Russell Birch includes many glimpses of daily life here, ranging from the Earl’s morning walks with his resident physician, Dr Combe, to the arrival of Mr French the gardener after dinner proudly bearing a plate piled high with fresh peaches from the Orangery. In earlier times, when Lord Mansfield left regularly for Westminster Hall, Mr French would lay a sweet-smelling nosegay by his breakfast cup of coffee to take with him.
Groves, William
26 May 1784, Groves confirmed at the Old Bailey that he was Lord Mansfield’s porter, now whether this was at Kenwood House or at his town house, is unclear, but a porter appeared in the accounts in 1787 and 1788, then nothing again until 1792, confirming that a porter received £14 per annum, but Groves was not named anywhere apart from the Old Bailey reference.
Hunter, Edward
Hunter was born in the early 1740s and, according to his obituary in the London Packet and New Lloyd’s Evening Post –
He had been almost 50 years in the confidential employ of “the Great”, the late and the present, Earls of Mansfield.
Hunter was Kenwood House’s estate manager/land steward, possibly having progressed to that post from gardener. This was one the most senior posts at Kenwood and he would have reported directly to the Lords Mansfield. According to the Linnean Society Hunter became a member in 1790.
He died at the age of 71 and was buried, as several Kenwood House employees were, at St Michael’s, Highgate, Camden, on 6 March 1824. To date, there is no sign of him having left a will. He, on the other hand, received a legacy in Lord Mansfield’s will of £100 and he was also witness to Lady Margery Murray’s will.
Gamekeeper and Cook by David Wilkie; Bradford Museums and Galleries
Inwood, Daniel
Inwood was born 1734 and married Frances Price in 1764. They had two children, Sarah and William (1769-1843). William who was born at Kenwood trained as an architect, one of his most important works being St Pancras New Church and Westminster Hospital. Inwood was the estate bailiff with a salary of £10 per quarter. In 1786 and 1787, his wife received a payment of one pound one shilling for feeding the turkeys ( role which was subsequently taken over by a William Cock until 1792). Inwood received a bequest in Lord Mansfield’s will, of £100 and like, Edward Hunter, was witness to Lady Margery Murray’s will. In 1798, his wife died, but Inwood lived on for almost 20 further years, dying in 1817. Whilst he died intestate, Letters of Administration were issued and his estate valued at under £1,000 was left to his son, William.
Isard, William
Isard was bequeathed £100 by Lord Mansfield, but nothing conclusive has so far been found about him.
Jones, Jane
Her role is unclear, but she was clearly well known to Elizabeth Kendall, as she received her wearing apparel in her will to be shared with Mrs Lloyd and Elizabeth Wallace. She also received a legacy in Lord Mansfield’s will of £20 per annum. Her salary was £8 per annum.
Kendall, Elizabeth
Kendall seems to have first appeared in the household accounts in April 1786, but she was clearly working for the family in 1780 as her name appeared in the Old Bailey records during the Gordon Riots –
ELISABETH(Sic) KENDALL sworn.
I live at Lord Mansfield’s.
Look at these petticoats and aprons? – They came out of Lord Mansfield house; they were in the two-pair-of-stairs floor at the time the house was broke open. They are the property of Miss Mary Murray , Lord Mansfield’s niece.
Following Lord Mansfield’s death, she went on to work as housekeeper for Lady Margery and was a much valued employee. Lady Margery left her a legacy of £50, then increased to £100 plus all her wearing apparel. In Lord Mansfield’s will, she received £100, then in one of the many codicils added a further £100 and finally added £30 per annum to her legacy, so you could say that she did quite well from both Lord Mansfield and Lady Margery for her work and loyalty to the family.
Kendall died on 25 September 1799, at the age of 61, and was buried at the Holly Road, Garden of Rest, Twickenham, which confirms that she was living and working for Lady Margery who died just a few months before her, on 26 April 1799, at Twickenham.
She left her own will in which she left a legacy to Elizabeth (Betty) Wallace her wearing apparel and bequests to Mary Cradduck, John Lloyd, his wife and their daughter, Hannah. Two guineas to Mr Douse for a ring. Her will was witnessed by Anne and Margery Murray. Lord Mansfield left her £30 per annum and Lady Margery Murray left her £50 (Lady Margery died in April 1799).
Lloyd, John
Lloyd was one of Lord Mansfield’s coachmen and upon the death of Lord Mansfield it would appear from his will that he went on to work for Lady Margery, then Lady Anne, in the same capacity. The accounts note that first coachman was paid £15 and 9 shillings per annum, so it could be suggested that Lloyd was that in that role given that Lord Mansfield left him £30 a year in his will, i.e. roughly two years’ salary.
Whilst he proved more difficult to find, given a relatively common name, I did eventually manage to trace him. He was married with two sons, John Thomas and William.
However, more importantly, having found the will of the John Lloyd who worked for Lord Mansfield, it was definitely the correct person. Apart from his two sons, John Thomas and William he also named his daughter, Hannah Bremner (she had married John Bremner in 1810, whose parents were named in the will of Susan Douse),and John Lloyd also named Thomas Douse of North End, so it all links them all together.
Lloyd died in 1823 and it would appear from the parish registers that he was buried at St James, Piccadilly, at the ripe old age of 81.
He was left £100 in Lord Mansfield’s will, plus £50 in Lady Margery’s, then a further £100 by Lady Anne, so not insignificant amounts for a coachman. Lord Mansfield amended his will and wrote:
I leave to George Walker, John Lloyd, Thomas Wilkinson, Elizth Kendall, in lieu and satisfaction of all other Legacies, thirty Pounds per annum each, during their respective lives.
Minshull, John (c1722-1785)
When Lord Mansfield wrote in his will in 1783, he made provision for his ‘old servant’
My old Servant John Minshull ought not now to want assistance after what I have done for him, but lest he should, I leave him fifty pounds a year during his life. Mansfield. 9 October 1783
However, John did not outlive Lord Mansfield, as he died December 1785 and was buried at St Michael’s church, Highgate alongside his wife, Ann who died 1782.
Upon his death, John helpfully left a will in which he described himself as a gentleman. With a little research, it transpires that he was not what we call a servant today, rather he was clerk of the Nisi Prius and marshal of the court of King’s Bench, which perhaps explains why he referred to himself in his will as a ‘gentleman’. He was also believed to have descended from an ancient family.
He left his son, also John, £1,000 in bank stocks, although his son was living in New York, then Nova Scotia when his father wrote his will. He and his American wife, however, returned to Highgate sometime prior to his death. He was buried on 30 April 1822, at the same church as his parents and was aged 77.
John also left a legacy to his daughter, by then, Mrs Ann Jaques, who along with her husband were still living in the Highgate area, and his other son, Richard.
As well as leaving a gift to his servant, he also made the following bequest of two guineas to some of his friends/colleagues, to buy rings in his memory – Elizabeth Kendall, George Wilkinson, Clara Cooper and Thomas Douse. This is another example of how close they all were.
Rich, William
Paid £14 per annum, but nothing else to confirm his role within the household.
Richards, Henry
He was the cook or possibly, under-cook, paid £25 per half year, according to the household accounts, so not an insubstantial salary but little seems to be known about him. Richards was also named in the Old Bailey, Gordon Riots of June 1780, which saw Lord Mansfield’s house being destroyed.
HENRY RICHARDS sworn.
I am cook to Lord Mansfield. I know the two salad(sic) dishes, and two of the plates, to be my lord’s property; they were in the house on the Tuesday night; the prisoner, upon her examination before the justice, said, she had had some many years in Ireland, and some from Bristol.
Taubman, Charles
Given his salary of £14 per annum, it would suggest that he was a liveried servant, like Vaughan and Rich – see below, but apart from that, there appear to be no further sightings of him except the truss purchase for him, mentioned earlier.
Vaughan, James
Vaughan and a William Rich, liveried servants, were named in an Old Bailey trial in 1787 regarding an assault on them. Both names appear in the household accounts where they received £14 per annum.
Walker, George
Walker was a groom and like John Lloyd, he too was left £100 in Lord Manfield’s will, which was subsequently amended down to £30 per annum, but with no explanation being offered.
Chardin, Jean-Baptiste Simeon; The Scullery Maid; Hunterian Art Gallery, University of Glasgow
Wallace, Elizabeth (Betty)
Her job title remains unknown, but what is clear is that she earned £8 per annum during her time at Kenwood. Lord Mansfield left her £20 plus a £30 a year annuity and she was bequeathed some of the wearing apparel of Elizabeth Kendall. Wallace died in August 1818 at the age of 82, and like many of the other employees, was buried at St Michael’s, Highgate. Upon her death, her will confirms that she left £20 in the 4% annuities, Bank of England to Edward Hunter, the same to a John Lloyd, bargeman of Broseley, Shropshire (highly likely to be the son of John Lloyd above) and the same amount to each of her relatives. Her overall estate was valued at just under £1,500, the bulk of it going to her niece, Mary Cotton and her husband, John Cotton, Esq. of Devonshire Street, Portland Place (next door to the ‘father of the computer’, Charles Babbage).
Way, John Raymond (1732-1804)
Way received an extremely high legacy in Lord Mansfield’s will and considerably more than Dido’s £500, plus her £100 annuity.
He was bequeathed £1,000 in the main will, plus £1,000 in a codicil, followed by a further £1,000, totalling a legacy of £3,000 and an additional £500 per annum on top of this. Why so much? The very short answer is that he was responsible for managing all of Lord Mansfield’s financial affairs. We carried out a great deal of research into Way’s life, but given the length of that story, it will be one for another time, suffice to say ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a Way.’
Wilkinson, George
Like other members of staff, after Lord Mansfield’s death, George took up employment for Lady Anne and Margery Murray. George Wilkinson buried 5 January 1806, St John, Hampstead, but upon the death of Lord Mansfield he was one of those named in his will and initially was to receive £300, this however was reduced to £100, as he was no longer working for Lord Mansfield, but the legacy was bequeathed as ‘a token of my regard an approbation, and I give him no more because he has been otherwise provided for.’
Like so many of Lord Mansfield’s employees, George also left a will, in which he left £200 to his sister, Margaret and various amounts to other family members, but to ensure that it was the correct George Wilkinson it was necessary to find someone named who definitely worked for Lord Mansfield, and sure enough, there was Thomas Douse, to whom he left £100.
Wilkinson also benefitted from John Minshull’s will with a token gesture of two guineas with which to buy a mourning ring. When Elizabeth Kendall died she left numerous bequests, but to Wilkinson, she left ‘All the rest of my property in the stocks annuities or elsewhere I give to George Wilkinson my sole executor.’ Additionally, he received £50 from Lady Margery Murray.
Wilkinson, Thomas received £100 in Lord Mansfield’s will, plus a further £100 in a codicil, then another £100 in a later codicil, but this was then amended to £30 per annum. To date it hasn’t been possible to find anything else about him.
York, William
York received a legacy of £50 in Lord Mansfield’s will.
These were the key members of staff at Kenwood House, but of course, there were a few others about whom we know little or nothing, although perhaps in time it will be possible to fully account for them.
These included Mary Pace, who received £8 per annum; an unnamed postilion, who earned a little over £5 per annum. Mary Salisbury in 1788 and Phoebe Crosshold in 1789, were each paid £1 1 shilling, but there are no clues as to their roles, perhaps they were simply casual employees. There is a burial record for Crosshold, which confirms that she died in 1790. Jenny James and Betty Randall who were each bequeathed £30 in Lord Mansfield’s will. There was also a groom who was paid £10 a year, but who was unnamed, an unnamed dairy maid who earned £8 per annum. A kitchen maid who was paid £7, 7 shillings for the period March to December 1785, was also unnamed.
Martha, the housemaid, who could feasibly have been Martha Darnell, who was a witness at Dido’s wedding, but that’s not conclusive, especially given that Martha was such a popular name at that time, but it seems feasible.
Several people in the accounts were simply noted by their job title, such as the second coachman (£14, 12 shillings per annum), which in all likelihood was John Tipton, who, along with Daniel Inwood witnessed the will of another employee, John Courtnay, who died 1791. Nothing further is known about Courtnay’s role at Kenwood.
Courtnay wrote his will whilst in the Middlesex hospital and described himself as ‘a servant to Lord Mansfield’. He bequeathed £40 to a Mary Sinkfoil or Sinkfill, of Tottenham Court Road explaining that had he lived, he would have married her. Courtnay wrote his will on 22 February 1791 and died the following morning. When the will was proven, the other witness, a John Saxby was unable to attend as he too was a patient in the hospital, having just had his leg amputated and was dangerously ill. All of Courtnay’s money and possessions, after bequests, were then granted to his sisters, Sarah Sutton and Mary Groom.
Edward Tryer, who earned £14 per annum in 1786 and 1787, at which time he was discharged, no explanation as to why was provided.
Sarah Chandler who was paid £1 one shilling in 1792 and 1793, as such it would seem likely she was a scullery maid.
In 1792 and 1793 a payment of £8 per annum was made to Mary and/or Margaret Johnson, but again no role was provided.
In conclusion, it is quite clear from this article that Lord and Lady Mansfield had a large, very close establishment, who retained contact with each other, plus other staff who came and went over time.
Sadly, however, there remain very few documented sightings of Dido whilst she lived at Kenwood, and only one of the employees, Thomas Douse and his wife appears to have had any connection with her after she moved out in 1793, but she would definitely have known all those named above.
If any of the above names mean anything to you, please do feel free to contact me.
James Mansfield was born on 10 May 1734 to a Hampshire attorney, John James Mansfield (1700-1762) and his wife, Elizabeth (née Fezard) (1700-1740). John James had, apparently, at some stage, changed his surname from Manfield to Mansfield. James and Elizabeth were the owners of a lovely Georgian property in the village of Ringwood, in Hampshire, known as The Manor House in Ringwood.
James was one of seven known children, and along with his younger brother, Richard Fezard Mansfield, they followed in their father’s footsteps by pursuing a career in the legal profession. Richard remained in Ringwood, completing his articles of clerkship under his father’s tuition, and spent his life serving the local community by providing legal services for them.
James’s other known siblings were:
Elizabeth (1732–1796)
William James (1735–1735)
John (1736–1740)
Ann (1737–1760) She died from consumption whilst at Hotwells.
After the death of James’ wife, Elizabeth, it was four years later, in 1744, that John James remarried. His second wife was Grace Benyon (1700-1747), with whom they had another child: Charles Benyon (1745–1810).
Returning now to their eldest son and heir, James. At the age of 11, he was the only pupil from the local school to be selected for Eton‘on election’. He later attended King’s College, Cambridge, where he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1755, followed by a Master of Arts.
Having completed his academic studies, he was called to the Bar at the Middle Temple in 1758. He practised both common law and chancery and was involved in several state trials. In July 1772, he was appointed as a King’s Counsellor and appointed counsel to the University of Cambridge.
That same year, James was involved in the landmark case of James Somersett, an enslaved man brought to London from Jamaica in 1769. Somersett was freed in June 1772 following an historic ruling by Lord Mansfield.
Martin, David; William Murray (1705-1793), 1st Earl of Mansfield, Lord Chief Justice; National Galleries of Scotland
It is important to clarify at this stage that there is absolutely no familial connection between James Mansfield of Ringwood’s family and that of William Murray, Earl of Mansfield (Lord Mansfield) (1705-1793). The reason for this clarification will become apparent later.
It has proved difficult to establish whether James ever formally married, despite suggestions that his wife was named Grace and his second partner was Sarah/Sally Lane, but he is known to have had at least six known children. Five of whom were named in his will:
Mary (c.1771–1842)
Charlotte (c.1776–1821)
John Edward (c.1778–1841)
Edward (c.1779–1826)
William (c.1781–1854)
During this time, James was involved in a famous or infamous cases, that of the Duchess of Kingston, in 1776, when she was charged with bigamy—again with the Lord Mansfield presiding, so despite no familial connection Lord Mansfield and James’s paths would have crossed on several occasions.
Sir James was appointed Chief Justice of Chester in July 1799 and Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas on 24 April 1804, at which time he was also knighted and became Sir James Mansfield.
He died on 23 May 1821 at his house in Russell Square, London. In his will, he left legacies to his five surviving children: John, William, Edward, Mary, and Charlotte. He also instructed that all his personal papers be burned after his death but proffered no explanation for this unusual request.
Records of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, Series PROB 11; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1651Sir James Mansfield by and published by Charles Turner, after Henry Edridge,mezzotint, published 1 December 1820 NPG
My interest in this family was initially piqued by Etienne Daly, who has been researching the life of Dido Elizabeth Belle for the past twelve years, came across a painting for sale. The seller on 1st Dibs describing the portrait as being by Thomas Hudson and the sitter as Lady Mansfield of Ringwood, with the description below providing more information about her.
Portrait of Lady Mansfield of Ringwood. 1stDibs. The description – Portrait of Lady Mansfield of Ringwood. The younger sister of Elizabeth Mary Murray, Henrietta, was born in Dresden, however, she died an unfortunate young death in Vienna followed by their mother Henrietta shortly after at the age of 29. The sister’s shared the 2nd Earl of Mansfield, David Murray, as their father.
I then spotted another painting on the same website, this one, again described as Lady Mansfield of Ringwood, but the description connecting her to the 2nd Lord Mansfield, saying she was born in 1760 in Poland, that would indicate the portrait was of Lady Elizabeth Mary Murray, the young woman accompanying Dido Elizabeth Belle in the famous painting.
Portrait of Lady Mansfield of Ringwood. 1st DibsPortrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778. Scone Palace
I noticed that both paintings referred to as Lady Mansfield of Ringwood, but with the provenance noting that both paintings ‘descended through the family estate.’ The reference to the first one being that of Lord Stormont’s daughter, Henrietta, was definitely incorrect as she died in infancy.
In my opinion, both descriptions are incorrect, and it is far more likely that they are likely to be of Sir James Mansfield’s sisters, Elizabeth and Ann. The fashion, hairstyles, and jewellery in the paintings are consistent with the mid-18th century, matching their lifespans. Additionally, the dates of birth and death align well with the style of the paintings and Thomas Hudson’s most active years (roughly the 1740s to 1760s).
Having contacted the gallery selling the portraits, they have confirmed that both portraits were owned by the Mansfields of Ringwood, but exactly who the two sitters were, may perhaps remain a mystery for now, at least.
I am delighted to welcome back a regular guest, Elaine Thornton to All Things Georgian to tell us an interesting story I hadn’t come across before:
In the early afternoon of 1 December 1804 groups of excited people began to gather outside London’s Covent Garden theatre. When the doors finally opened, a huge crowd stampeded into the auditorium, fighting for seats.
Covent Garden 1809 British Museum
The scene quickly descended into chaos: several hundred spectators jumped down from the packed lower boxes into the pit, adding to the crush in front of the stage. The situation became so serious, with audience members in danger of injury or suffocation and unable to escape, that the military were called in to restore order before the play could begin.
The cause of the hysteria was not the play itself, which was a mediocre tragedy called Barbarossa. The theatregoers were desperate to catch a glimpse of one of the actors, William Betty, who was making his London debut in the role of Selim, Sultan of Algiers.
William Henry West Betty by John Smart, England, 1806, watercolor on ivory. Cincinnat Art Museum -DSC04376
William was just thirteen years old. Child actors were not uncommon, especially in theatrical families, but they usually played parts suited to their age or participated in performances with other children. William took on lead roles in adult productions. He had already caused a sensation – and earned a fortune – dazzling audiences in Ireland, Scotland and northern England with his performances as Romeo and Hamlet.
Betty Hamlet by Northcote. Yale Center
William Henry Kent Betty had not come from a theatrical background. He was born in Shropshire on 13 September 1791, to an Irish father, also called William Henry Betty, and an English mother, Mary Stanton. Both parents came from well-off families: Betty senior was the son of a well-known Lisburn doctor, and Mary – also known as Polly –had inherited Hopton Court, a large country house and estate in the Shropshire village of Hopton Wafers.
They had married in 1790, but it soon became evident that William Betty was a gambler and a spendthrift. He is said to have sold his wife’s property secretly to pay his debts. By 1800, the family had moved to Northern Ireland, where they took a lease on a farm in County Down – and where Betty senior continued to pile up debts.
Young William must have had an aptitude for acting – and he must also have had a phenomenal memory, as he apparently learnt the role of Hamlet by heart in three hours. He was said to have been inspired to go on the stage by seeing the great Sarah Siddons act in Belfast in 1802, telling his father tearfully that he would ‘certainly die’ if he did not become an actor.
Whether or not this story is true, it seems that Betty senior was actually the driving force behind his son’s precocious career. He engaged the prompter of the Belfast theatre, William Hough, to coach young William, and persuaded the theatre’s manager to let the boy act in a tragedy called Zara. William’s debut went well, and over the winter of 1803 he appeared in theatres in Dublin, Cork and Waterford, playing major Shakespearean roles to enthusiastic applause.
William was successful enough in Ireland to be engaged for a tour of Scotland and the north of England the following spring. Hough accompanied him as mentor and tutor. Betty senior had developed a flair for publicity and reports of the boy’s sensational achievements began circulating in the media. William was hailed as ‘the Young Roscius’, a name that linked him to David Garrick, the greatest actor of the Georgian era. Garrick, who had died in 1779, had been nicknamed ‘Roscius’ after a famous Roman actor.
William quickly became a national celebrity: the northern tour was a triumph, breaking all box office records. The manager of the Birmingham theatre considered that William’s drawing power ‘must absolutely surpass anything ever witnessed in the theatrical world.’ By the summer of 1804, the boy was hot property: Drury Lane and Covent Garden were competing for his services.
Kemble as Coriolanus British Museum
In the end, Covent Garden won the contest by offering William the immense sum of fifty guineas a night, more than Philip John Kemble, the leading actor of the time, earned in a week. It was also agreed that William would act at Drury Lane in between his appearances at Covent Garden.
William’s arrival in the capital was greeted with frenzied press coverage. Betty senior had intensified his publicity campaign, making sure that ‘Betty merchandise’ – which included miniature portraits, and mugs, medals and snuff boxes carrying the boy’s image – was on sale in the London shops before his debut.
William’s first performance at Covent Garden, as Selim in Barbarossa, caused a furore. He was proclaimed to be a natural actor ‘governed by a wonderful instinct and by the magical inspiration of genius’, and he was compared to the young Mozart. The newspapers reported people in the audience fainting during his performances.
William’s appearances on stage were attended by all of high society, from the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Devonshire to the government ministers of the day. William Pitt the Younger, Lord Sidmouth and Charles James Fox were all devotees: during a performance of Hamlet, Fox whispered to his neighbour that in his opinion, the Young Roscius was ‘better than Garrick’.
William, who was a very attractive-looking child, had his portrait painted by several fashionable artists, including John Opie and James Northcote. The Duke of Clarence, later William IV – whose mistress was Covent Garden’s comic actress Dora Jordan – accompanied the boy to pose for his portrait by Northcote and kept him amused during the lengthy sitting.
The strain on William must have been tremendous. He was being driven hard. He was on stage several nights a week, taking a leading role in every performance, and was paraded at fashionable dinners and parties until the early hours of the morning. By the end of December he was ill, and in mid-January he collapsed. The Duke of Clarence invited William to recuperate at his country home, Bushy Park.
It seems that William’s mother, Mary, had not wanted her son to become an actor at such an early age, but her objections had been ignored, and she had been overruled by her ambitious husband. William’s collapse had justified his mother’s concerns, but he was allowed little time to recover his health. By 31 January he was back on stage.
One person at least was having to grit his teeth as he watched Master Betty’s triumphal progress. Philip John Kemble was manager and part-owner of Covent Garden as well as its leading actor, and he had to swallow his pride – which was considerable – in order to stand aside and allow a boy of thirteen to take over his roles. Both he and his sister, Sarah Siddons, avoided appearing on stage with William.
The bubble was bound to burst at some point, and in April 1805 Betty senior made a fatal mistake. He sacked William Hough, the Belfast prompter who had acted as young William’s mentor from the start of his career. Shortly afterwards, the boy appeared as Richard III – a poor decision, as he was bound to lack credibility playing such a psychologically complex character. The Morning Chronicle commented that William’s ‘friends’ had been ‘injudicious’ in allowing him to appear in the role.
Later that year, Kemble tried a little sabotage. William’s success had started a fashion for child actors, and Kemble took advantage of this to introduce a Miss Mudie, who was seven or eight years old, onto the Covent Garden stage. He seems to have intended her to fail by casting her in an inappropriate role, which he hoped would discredit children playing adult parts.
The Morning Advertiser described Miss Mudie’s role of Peggy in Garrick’s comedy The Country Girl as ‘a wanton and indecent character’, and reported that the audience was ‘shocked and disgusted’ by the sight of a little girl performing love scenes with an adult man. The poor child was hissed off the stage.
Betty as Orestes British Museum
If it was a trick, it was a cruel one, but it did little to halt the flow of aspiring child prodigies. When the normally tolerant and good-natured Dora Jordan tripped over four-year-old Master Wigley, who had been hired to play the bugle at Covent Garden, she is said to have muttered ‘Oh for the days of King Herod!’
William was hired for a second London season, but with Hough gone, it started to become apparent that he was not the natural genius he had been proclaimed, but had been carefully coached by his mentor in each role. Criticism started to appear in the previously adulatory newspaper columns. The Sun decided that the role of Hamlet was ‘far above his reach’, and the Oracle thought that his performance as Romeo proved that ‘though a Boy may be taught to talk, he cannot be instructed to feel like a Man.’
William was not offered a third season in London, although he continued to tour the provinces successfully for several years. He retired from the stage in 1808 and went to university, matriculating at Christ’s College, Cambridge – although he left in 1810 without having completed his degree. His father died in 1811. William had no need to work; he had earned enough money to be able to live comfortably for the rest of his life.
Financially, the brief career of the ‘Young Roscius’ had been a run-away success, but it must have been at a psychological cost. William had to cope with becoming a celebrity at the age of twelve and a ‘has-been’ by the time he was seventeen. He made several attempts at come-backs, without success. In 1821 he was reported to have attempted suicide after a contract at Covent Garden was cancelled before his first appearance. Soon afterwards, in 1824, he gave up trying to return to the stage and settled down to the life of a country gentleman.
Rather sadly, he put his son, Henry, on the stage at the age of fifteen. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that he was hoping to enjoy a vicarious success. Henry turned out to be a decent, but in no way outstanding, actor.
William Betty was a victim of fashion and of his father’s ambition. His youth, looks and the publicity surrounding him touched off a hysteria that seems comparable to the ‘Beatlemania’ of the 1960s, but as he grew up and lost his boyishness he fell out of fashion, and was abandoned by the high society supporters who had idolised him. There was no way back to the stardom he had experienced so early in his life. He died in 1874 and was buried in Highgate Cemetery.
Sources:
Jeffrey Kahan, Bettymania and the Birth of Celebrity Culture, Lehigh University Press, 2010
Linda Kelly, The Kemble Era, Bodley Head, 1980
Giles Playfair, The Prodigy, Secker & Warburg, 1967
This was a case covered by many of the newspapers of the day due to its horrific nature and its subsequent trial at the Old Bailey, and yet it seems to have been lost to history, so let’s begin at the beginning.
Samuel Wild Mitchell was born in 1751, just a year after his parents, James Mitchell and Elizabeth Wild’s clandestine marriage and was baptised at St Botolph church, Aldgate in the City of London. At the age of aged 21, he married Hannah Kelley, with whom he had a son, named for his father, born 1772, and a daughter, Mary (born 1774) and another daughter.
By 15 September 1794, Mitchell was a widower when he married for a second time, his new bride being Elizabeth Crow, also widowed, the couple marrying at Saint Leonard church, Shoreditch, Hackney. Mitchell signed his name, whilst Elizabeth made her mark with the usual X. A witness to their marriage was Edward Delaforce, a journeyman, broad-silk weaver; his was a name that would appear again, later in the story. According to Mitchell, he and Elizabeth had known each other for a long time prior to their marriage, with both having had previous marriages.
On Christmas day of 1795, Mitchell and his wife presented their only child, a daughter, Sarah, for baptism.
Extract from Horwood’s Map of London, showing Wheeler Street, Spitalfields
The family lived in the garret of 24 Wheeler Street, Spitalfields, where Mitchell worked as a silk weaver; no mention was made as to Elizabeth’s occupation, but presumably she too worked in the silk trade as it was common for this to be a trade carried out by the whole family, very much a cottage industry.
By the end of 1804, the marriage was breaking down, with Mitchell and Elizabeth having many arguments, according to Mitchell, with faults on both parts, until eventually they decided to go their separate ways with Elizabeth moving out. Mitchell swore though, that their young daughter, Sarah was never going to live with and be raised by her mother.
On that fateful day, 18 December 1804, just one day after Elizabeth had moved out, something in Mitchell appears to have snapped.
Little Sarah (who he affectionately called Sally), aged just nine year and described as a ‘fine child’, returned to her home on Wheeler Street, at lunchtime, a usual, from Spitalfields School of Industry, having recently been admitted there. Sarah sat down and began to work as usual in quill-winding the silk, ready for her father to then weave.
Christ Church, Spitalfields 1811. YCBA.
Mitchell, who had been out, returned, and almost immediately took his razor from the mantle shelf and cut her throat with it, nearly severing her head from body. Sarah died almost immediately. Sarah’s lifeless body, fully cloathed, was discovered by her half-sister, Mary’s husband, William Godby. She was positioned between the spinning wheel, which was covered with blood, and the door, where she doubtless attempted to escape. No-one else was in the room at the time.
Later, that day Mitchell confessed to his old friend (and witness at his marriage), Edward Delaforce, that he had killed his daughter. Delaforce tried to persuade him to go to the authorities, but he clearly wasn’t ready, to hand himself in, instead paying a visit to the Cock and Magpye, in Worship Street to have a drink and smoke a pipe. He was later arrested his older daughter’s house, by Constable James Kennedy. Upon arrest he confessed his crime with little persuasion. He was committed to Newgate on 19 Dec 1804.
The Morning Post, 20 December 1804 reported:
Mitchell asked to sign his confession,
Yes, I will, with the same hand that did the b____y deed.
It is supposed he was seized with a sudden fit of insanity, as he was remarkably fond of the child.
On 22 December 1804, Sarah, aged 9, of Wheeler Street was buried at Christ Church, Spitalfields, following the inquest which had been held before G.W Unwin at the White Horse public house on Wheeler Street, Shoreditch.
Sarah’s burial 22 December 1804
At the trial at the Old Bailey, Mary Nicholls, who lodged in the same building corroborated the statements given by other witnesses. According to her:
Elizabeth was in the house and she saw young Sarah come in from school, then about 12.15, Elizabeth left and according to Nicholls she heard her footsteps which she believed was the return of Sarah’s father. She stated that she heard Sarah winding quills, but was ignorant of what followed, until she was informed by Mitchell’s son in law, William Godby, who was also a weaver.
On 9 January 1805, Mitchell was convicted of his daughter’s murder having pled guilty to his crimes, and under the terms of the Murder Act, was sentenced to be hanged at Newgate on Monday the 14 of January 1805.
Inside Newgate
On the Saturday morning, Mitchell asked if his wife would visit him in Newgate so they could make their peace. Elizabeth duly obliged, accompanied by two friends to support her. After her visit he asked Dr Ford if he would ensure that it be made known that he was of the faith of Church of England, as it had been wrongly assumed he was a Methodist.
Prior to his death Mitchell confirmed that he and Elizabeth had many disputes. He thought they would be happy together, but clearly they weren’t. He found Elizabeth’s temper incompatible with his happiness, and hers. He said that both her family and friends thought her marriage to him was degrading for her and that they caused many of the disputes that occurred between the couple.
According to Bell’s Weekly Messenger, 13 January 1805, Mitchell said the following:
I hope my unhappy fate will prove an awful example to those who form second marriages with children on both sides, and a warning to them against giving way to intemperate disputes, that may lead them, as they have done to me, to acts of desperation and vengeance beyond the control of reason or reflection. If my wife was present, she could vouch and prove, that it was impossible I could ever have deliberately executed such an act. She could vouch that my disposition is not cruel; and that my resolutions have always le me to the side of virtue; but unfortunately, under agitations of mind, or provocation of temper, I am not always the same man; and my weaknesses, under such circumstances, have very frequently led me into excesses of frenzy, which in cool moments have astonished me. Once, in particular, force by distress to apply for relief at my parish workhouse, I had come too late in the day: when wound up by disappointment to madness, I broke as many windows as cost the parish four pounds for the repair, and yet the parish officers, though they might punish me, did not, knowing that my act was a result of a mind deranged. I have no more to say, but I hope God in his infinite mercy will pardon my crime.
Execution by hanging. Outside Newgate. Early 1800s
Before being hanged Samuel Wild Mitchell prayed to heaven for his own soul; then invoked a blessing on his wife, his two daughters by a former marriage, his son and daughter-in-law. His last petition was to the Sheriffs, asking that his remains might be given to his daughter for burial, the request was approved by the Sheriffs.
On Christchurch Green, in Clifton, Bristol, very near to the church, are two unusual monuments. There is, more often than not, somebody taking a photograph of them or peering at the writing, trying to read the worn away English or to decipher the Latin prose. The monuments’ story is fascinating
Sir William Draper by Gainsborough 1768 Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco
William Draper (1721-1787) was born in Bristol, the son of a customs officer, and was educated initially at Bristol Cathedral School, later winning scholarships to Eton and King’s College, Cambridge. He was elected to a Fellowship at King’s, but chose a military rather than an academic career. Draper entered the army as an Ensign in a foot regiment and fought at Culloden and in Flanders. He was commissioned as a Lieutenant Colonel and raised his own 79th Regiment of Foot to serve in the army of the East India Company during the Seven Years’ War. He commanded the force in the capture of the Spanish Colony of Manila in the Philippine Islands in 1762, with comparatively small losses on either side.
On his return to England he built a small mansion, Manilla Hall (note the change in spelling), at Clifton in 1763, on land owned by the Society of Merchant Venturers. The house was built in neo-classical style with four massive columns supporting its portico.
In 1766 he erected two monuments in his garden. The cenotaph was located in front of his new home. These monuments were never intended for public viewing. They were appropriate in size only for the garden of the private house for which they were designed. In 1882 the hall was bought by a French Roman Catholic sisterhood, the Dames de la Mere de Dieu, to be a school.
The nuns, perhaps disliking the idea that the monuments in the garden of Manilla Hall had been placed there to commemorate events in which the French were clearly losers, ordered their removal the following year. The monuments would have been lost forever had it not been for the efforts of a local physician and antiquarian, Dr John Beddoe, of Mortimer House, Clifton. He found the monuments in a stonemason’s yard in Redland, Bristol. He organised a private subscription to save them and had them re-erected on Christchurch Green near their original site, where they remain to this day. The house was demolished early in the twentieth century, having been a school for many years. Now, Manilla Road on the site of the hall, is named after it.
Manilla Hall engraving after a drawing by Stephen Chaplin Jones c 1835 Bristol Museum & Art Gallery
The Portland Stone (limestone) cenotaph consists of a large stone urn, with a flame mounted on a sarcophagus supported by scrolled legs on each corner, resting on corners of a base plinth holding slate panels with dedications. It is a tribute to the fighting record of Draper’s Regiment, the 79th Foot, which had been disbanded at the end of the Seven Years’ War, like so many other regiments. It commemorates the thirty officers and the thousand men of the 79th who died under his command during the Seven Years’ War in the East Indies between 1758 and 1765. The roll of honour includes the major battles in India in which the regiment was involved, as it helped to break finally the threat of French military superiority: Madras, Conjeveram, Wandewash and Pondicherry, as well as the expedition to Manila. It is reputed to be the UK’s oldest public war memorial.
Sarcophagus & obelisk by Hugh O’Neill c 1823 Bristol Museum & Art Gallery
The 1766 limestone obelisk with purple slate panels honours William Pitt the elder, Earl of Chatham, who was Prime Minister at the time. It recognises Pitt as a great war leader and that he had chosen Draper for his first major command in India and thereafter assisted him in his ascent up the military ladder. Draper’s lifelong friend from Eton, the poet Christopher Anstey, drafted the Latin inscriptions for both the cenotaph and the obelisk. In 1766, the Merchant Venturers appointed Sir William to be the Conservator of Clifton Down. He may have been responsible for the older trees planted on this spot. As Conservator he supervised the lime burners, lead miners and quarrymen whose activities so annoyed the residents of Clifton, particularly because of the noxious smoke of the lime kilns.
In 2021 CHIS (Clifton and Hotwells Improvement Society) erected an information lectern near the monuments to explain their unusual background and historical significance. The lectern is in memory of Pat and Roger Feneley who lived locally and loved this part of the Downs.
References:
Bristol’s Forgotten Victor: Lieutenant General Sir William Draper KB (1721-1787), James Dreaper (1998) The Bristol Branch of the Historical Association Local History Pamphlets
A History of Clifton, Donald Jones (1992) Phillimore
The Victorian Doctors of Victoria Square, Dr Michael Whitfield (2011) Whitfield Publishing
This article is based upon a version that first appeared in the CHIS (Clifton and Hotwells Improvement Society) Newsletter, December 2021.
In early June 1809, the second battalion of the 8th regiment returned to Portsmouth with preparations being made for them to sail out towards the end of the month. Their baggage and ammunition were placed on Point Beach.
Broad Street Portsmouth – Google map. The Union pub name is just visible top left of image
About 11am on 24 June there was a dreadful explosion – it was nothing less than a barrel of gunpower. The Caledonian Mercury, 29 June 1809 the reporter stated that:
The effect was most dreadful. About 20 men, women and children were literally blown to atoms, and the remains of their bodies, limbs and heads were strewn in all directions. One poor fellow was blown over the whole of the buildings in Point Street; another against the wall of the Union Tavern, as high as the garret window; the thigh of a third was thrown as Broad Street Point. I have seen numbers of legs, arms etc taken from the top of houses and the whole presents a scene shocking beyond description. All the houses below Broad Street have had their sashes blown out, and the Star and Garter, and Union, together with every house from the beach upwards have had the whole of their windows completely demolished. The barrel of powder which exploded stood in a tier with sixteen others, which for several hours were every moment expected to explode as smoking fragments were literally strewed over them; but a company of the Worcester militia, with some resolute sailors at their head, ventured to clear the burning fragments from the remaining barrels.
Previous to this bold endeavour, which will doubtless be duly rewarded, almost all The families fled in confusion to Portsdown Hill, expecting the whole town to be destroyed by the next explosion, but they have since returned, imploring blessing upon the heads of the brave fellows who saved the town from general destruction. Lindergreen’s Store, the Star and Garter and Union, were on fire for some time, but not destroyed; many windows were broke at Gosport, and two ovens are blown down.
Portsmouth Point, an etching by Thomas Rowlandson. MetMuseum
The Hampshire Chronicle, 3 July 1809, carried a slightly more measured account, and identified the cause of the explosion. The Chronicle stated that whilst the total number of lives lost could not yet be ascertained, three soldiers of the 8th regiment, who were bystanders, were killed, four were badly injured and five suffered slight injuries and were taken to the military hospital at Portsea. Several of the soldiers’ wives and children were believed to have lost their lives. One man, belonging to Captain Patton’s boat, had his leg broken.
Point Street, Portsmouth, or, the Coxwain Carousal Isaac Robert Cruikshank
The cause of this ‘calamity’ as it was referred to as being, was attributed to the wife of one of the soldiers. It was stated that she was washing near where the baggage lay, on the beach, when another soldier’s wife, who was smoking, asked her if she would take a whiff – she did, but finding the tobacco would not burn, she struck the bowl of the pipe against the pebbles when a little of the tobacco fell out, and set fire to a few grains of powder that were scattered on the beach, this caught a cartridge, which flew into a crate of baggage, set some loose cartridges on fire, and that set fire to a barrel of powder, which blew up. She was bending down to pick up her child so they could escape, when she was beaten back by the flames. She was absolutely mortified that her actions had caused such devastation. The total number of sufferers, the newspaper recorded, being seventeen. The mayor of Portsmouth open the town hall to receive anyone who need assistance. General Whetham sent off an express to the War Office, of this unfortunate accident.
I am always delighted to welcome back to All Things Georgian, Jim Symington, and today he’s going to tell us more about one of my favourite artists, Thomas Lawrence. Like me, Jim has a keen interest not just in art, but in the back story behind the works themselves.
In 2030 there will be commemorations for the two hundredth anniversary of the passing of Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769 – 1830). He was one of our nation’s outstanding portrait painters. Lawrence was the President of the Royal Academy of Arts from 1820 until he died, unexpectedly, in his sixtieth year.
This article traces something of the contemporary, yet contrasting, life of the privileged young Eleanor Carne – one of Lawrence’s earliest sitters – at a time when the teenage artist was the breadwinner for his hard-pressed family.
Eleanor Carne (1770-1842) by Sir Thomas Lawrence
As a child, Lawrence was known as a prodigy for his engaging recitations of Milton and Shakespeare as much as for his artistic talents. The youngster impressed the leading actor of the day, David Garrick, who thought that he may, one day, become a “painter or a player” {2}. Young Thomas earned money by sketching portraits of guests as they passed through his father’s inns. Over time, word of the talented young actor/artist went around Georgian England’s fashionable circles. By the age of eleven years old he was reportedly described by Sir Joshua Reynolds as a “most promising genius” {3}.
One of Lawrence’s biographers described his family background as “unusual, uneasy, somewhat insecure but perfectly respectable”. It was financially and psychologically troubled. He was a survivor, as one of only five children grown to adulthood from a family of sixteen {4}.
His father, also named Thomas Lawrence (1725-1797), was an honest but poorly paid customs official who was fortunate to marry Miss Lucy Read, the younger daughter of a clergyman and niece of a judge. Thomas, senior, gave up excise work to go into business. He became the keeper of The White Lion Hotel in Bristol following the birth of his fourth son and namesake. While the future portraitist was a young child, this venture failed. In 1773 Thomas and Lucy moved the family to the Black Bear coaching inn at Devizes. This was strategically situated as an overnight stop for wealthy and chic visitors from London on their way to ‘taking the waters’ at Bath.
Young Thomas Lawrence’s talents became well known at the Black Bear. Fanny Burney, one of many celebrities to stay at the inn, described “the lovely boy…. not merely the wonder of the family but of the times for his astonishing skill in drawing” {5}.
By 1779 Thomas Lawrence senior’s business as an innkeeper failed again. He was bankrupt. He moved the family to Oxford, on to Weymouth and – eventually – to Bath in Somerset to be near the potentially lucrative Assemble Rooms.
This is where young Thomas’s career in pastille portrait drawing really took off.
Thomas Lawrence flourished as a portrait artist in Bath. He earned an increasingly decent living up to the immensely high sum of three guineas for a half-length portrait and became the main financial support to his family. He was sought after by fashionable Bath society. This included prominent artists such as William Hoare, a founder member of the Royal Academy, an eminent painter and pastellist who mentored the talented boy {6}. By 1782 Thomas Lawrence produced a self-portrait inscribed: “The portrait of Mr Lawrence at 12 years – by himself”, as part of the marketing promoted by his father.
The portrait of Mr Lawrence at 12 years – by himself 1782 {7}
Lawrence was acclaimed for his portraits such as that of the actress Sarah Siddons in her role as Zara, which his father had engraved, copied and published for sale. He also received prestigious private commissions from society figures such as Georgina, the Dutchess of Devonshire. By 1784 the Society of Artists awarded him a silver-gilt pallet and five guineas for his pastille copy of an old master painting by Raphael {8}.
Sarah Siddons as Zara by Thomas Lawrence at the age of fourteen {9}
In contrast, Eleanor Carne (1770 -1842) was a member of an old established, and landed, Welsh family living 70 miles away from Bath. She grew up, as a much loved only child, within a stable and secure household.
Eleanor was the daughter, and heiress, of the 13th generation to reside at Nash Manor, near Cowbridge in Glamorganshire. Her ancestors were first recorded in the fifteenth century; the coroner’s accounts for the Lordship of Glamorgan in 1425-26, record the Carnes at Nash, which Eleanor came to inherit in 1798. The family had been tenants of the manor in 1432. By 1521 they were the owners of the manor and estate lands {10}.
Nash Manor {11}
Eleanor’s immediate family were her father Reverand John Carne (1702 -1762), the Lord of the Manor, and his cousin and wife – her mother – also called Eleanor Carne (1737 – 1791). Eleanor’s parents married on 12 June 1763 at St Fagan Glamorgan {12}. Sadly, their first child, Eleanor Maria (1766-1767) died in her infancy from a cause which is not recorded.
Eleanor (senior) was portrayed at the age of 42 by an unknown artist in 1774:
E Carne (b.1732) at the Age of 42 Unknown artist {13}
The Rev John Carne was the son and heir of another John Carne. John senior was an Alderman, the bailiff of Cowbridge and Sherrif of Glamorgan in 1731.
At various times Rev John Carne was the Rector of Plumbtree, Nottinghamshire, later of Llysworney and Prebendary of Llandaff Cathedral. He was said to have cared well for his parishioners and to have taken an active interest in the management of his estate {14}.
Additionally, the Rev John Carne was an annual diarist between 1762 and 1798; he also held office as a Justice of the Peace. In January 1769 he recorded a lively tale:
“A ship laden with Spanish Brandy & wine was wrecked near St Donats & tho’ the Crew were savd & the Ship & Cargo were thrown up almost entire & but little damaged yet was shamefully plundered and destroyed by the Country People.”.
Unfortunately, perhaps with overtures of Gilbert and Sullivan, while the Justices met at Cowbridge to consider proceedings against the wreckers, the local Constable allowed all his prisoners to escape…!
In the following year Rev Carne reflected, with some compassion, whilst agreeing to send an offender on a one-way trip to the colonies – with no means to ever return – and noted:
“We ordered a Man to be transported for 7 years for stealing two Handkerchiefs & a bit of Ribband, A Severe Sentence!”
More happily, the diary entry for 13th November 1769 records Rev Carne’s joy at the birth of his daughter, Eleanor:
“My Daughter Eleanor born here, at five o’clock in the Morning. Whom GOD preserve! Amen”
On 13th May 1770, he entered, with affection:
“My daughter Eleanor put in short Petticoats, …. being this Day half a Year old”
Later, on 12th August, a celebratory entry:
“My Daughter Eleanor was Baptized. Mr. Kemeys, Edwd. Carne & his two sisters were Sponsors. We had a Turtle dressed for Dinner.”
He also kept his accounts meticulously; on the same date he recorded:
“Mrs. Thoms. For coming to dress Turtle – 9s., man bringin’ Cider 2s.” {15}
Worryingly, in 1773 Eleanor was inoculated against smallpox using small amounts of material from the sores of a sick person. This, then accepted, prophylactic treatment resulted in a milder illness but lower mortality than natural infection. Too little a dose would have been ineffective, while too strong a dose was dangerous for any infant patient {16}.
Rev Carne wrote:
“28 March 1773 – My Little Nellie was inoculated by Bigsby of Nottingham – GOD preserve her!
1 April 1773 – We went to Snenton near Nottingham on Account of my Child’s being inoculated in order to be near the Doctors & where we took lodgings at half a Guinea a Week.
10 May 1773 – We returned to Plumtree from Snenton, my Child being happily got well after Inoculation, having had the Small Pox in as fine& favourable Manner as we wish’d I thank God! & pray him to preserve her as well through all other evils.” {17}
It seems that Eleanor was both preserved and much loved throughout her childhood. ’Little Nellie’s’ indulgent father had a miniature watercolour portrait painted on ivory, in a similar style to the 1774 portrait of her mother when she became ten years old (possibly by the same unknown artist).
Eleanor Carne (1769-1842) at the Age of Ten, Unknown artist {18}
We do not know exactly how or when Eleanor Carne came to stay at Bath. The Carne family owned property in Stalle Street during the eighteenth century {19}. There is a record of at least one other Glamorganshire relative at Bath – Jane Carne who died 1808 {20}. A further connection is that Eleanor’s mother, Eleanor Carne senior, died at Bath in February 1791. She was buried at St James church in Stalle Street, which ran alongside the Grand Pump Room and colonnades, so much favoured by Lawrence’s patrons.
In any case, the loved and indulged Eleanor met the rising star Lawrence in the city to have her portrait made. The resulting oval pastille picture is half length, depicting the adolescent sitter facing towards the viewer with shoulder length dark brown hair, wearing a white dress and a fashionable hat with flowers in a studio setting. She could be aged somewhere about, or over, fourteen years old. Neither of these two young people could have known of the renown and prestige that would soon come to Lawrence and last throughout his distinguished lifetime.
Unlike the bachelor Lawrence, who in the years ahead had various difficulties in romantic entanglements and continual financial debts despite his professional success {21}, Eleanor was, it appears, happily married and financially secure. However, neither of the two left direct descendants.
In Eleanor’s adult life, shortly before her father’s death at the age of sixty-six in November 1798, she married Thomas Markham of Cheltenham on 29th August 1798. He was an attorney and became Sheriff of Glamorgan County in 1805 {22}.
The Markham family had originated from Cottam, Nottinghamshire, where the Carnes had friends and had kept up connections. This is the same family who have appeared previously in ’All Things Georgian’ {23}, when their historian, Reverand David Markham, married into the Milners. Two other relatives – Admiral Sir John Markham MP and Colonel David Markham – became eminent sitters for, by then, Sir Thomas Lawrence {24}.
Early in their lives together, Thomas Markham and his heiress wife Eleanor Carne became the Lord and Lady of the Manor of Lysworney. Eleanor inherited her father’s estate within a couple of months of their marriage.
The Carne Arms at Lysworney {25}
In 1798, this archaic status gave the couple rights, dating from 1653, to preside over a Manorial Court each year.
Records of the proceedings show that the Lord and Lady were able to summon villagers to appear in their Court. They had the power to levy fines, order bridges to be repaired and ditches to be cleared; they appointed a Bailiff and the Constable of the Manor for the following year as well as the turnkey for at the Cowbridge House of Correction; they marked any deaths of tenants and dealt with subsequent inheritances of animals, chattels or new rentals, for a fee.
Wax Seal with arms of the Carne family (a pelican pecking its breast to feed its young), as Lords of the Manor of Lisworney {26}
Eventually, after a long, and apparently happy life, though without children or heirs, Thomas Markham died at the age of 70. He was buried on 3rd December 1824 {27}, leaving Eleanor as a widow for the next eighteen years. Like her father, she kept personal account books from 1826 to 1842, carefully noting the prices of myriad essential household items ranging from handkerchiefs at 6/- each, black silk mittens at 2s 3d to 22lbs of bacon at 11s 0d or a barrel of porter at £39 1s 6d.
Eleanor died at Nash Manor in 1842. The estate passed to Elizabeth Carne, a cousin.
In time Lawrence’s portrait of Eleanor Markham, nee Carne “at the age of 14 years”, passed to a relative, John Whitlock Nicholl Carne (1817 – 1887), who may be responsible for its inscription (verso):
“Eleanor Carne born 13th November 1769 only child of Rev John Carne by his wife, daught. of Richard Carne Esq. This picture was taken by Sir Thomas Lawrence, President of the Royal Society (at Bath), when he was then only 17 years old & Miss Carne was then 14 years – Miss Carne was married to Thomas Markham Esq., of Cheltenham, 29th Aug. 1790 – He died at Nash 19th Nov. 1824 aged 73. She died at Nash 10th Oct. 1842 aged 73”.
If this portrait was made when Eleanor Carne was 14 years old, as the family believed, it can be dated to 1783 when Lawrence was reaching the height of his fame in Bath. In fact, Eleanor and Lawrence were near contemporaries, having been born respectively in 1770 and 1769, with eight months between them. So, at least one of the ages in the unsigned wording verso is inaccurate. Clearly, the inscription was made a long time after the sitting in Bath as it recorded Eleanor’s death in 1842, but well before the family sold the picture in 1944 {28}.
By the time of Eleanor’s passing, Sir Thomas Lawrence had been dead for twelve years. In 1783 or thereabouts neither of them could have known that he would become celebrated in his adult life as the painter of choice for royalty, the aristocracy, the military and politicians. 893 of his oil paintings have been recorded {29}. 150 unfinished portraits from his studio were sold after his death {30}. The Dictionary of Pastellists records 328 pastille portraits, including that of Eleanor Carne, completed during his lifetime {31}.
We can only hope these two young people spent a pleasant day or so together and that Eleanor, the customer, was pleased with the result. As the portrait was looked after by Eleanor herself, then handed down with care to her family at Nash Manor for the following one hundred and fifty years, this seems likely.
Sources
Eleanor Carne (1770-1842) by Sir Thomas Lawrence PRA, Symington-Tinto Collection
Goldring D., Regency Portrait Painter, The life of Sir Thomas Lawrence PRA, Macdonald, London 1951 p.35)
Seely L.B. (Ed)., Fanny Burney and her Friends, Seely and Co. London, 1895; Chapter IV, P.113.
Garlick K., Sir Thomas Lawrence, A complete catalogue of the oil paintings, Phaidon, Oxford 1989; P11
Garlick K., Op. cit., P11
Wright A., Thomas Lawrence Coming of Age, Phillip Wilson, London 2020
Thomas Lawrence self-portrait, National Trust Collection, Vyne Estate, Hampshire NT 718709
England & Wales Hardwicke Marriages Index, Marriages 1754 -1837, St Fagans St Mary Register Reference 16
Amgueddfa Cymru – Museum Wales, E Carne (b.1732) at the Age of 42, Unknown artist, , Item Number NMW A 25966.
Glamorgan County Records Committee,” The Carne Family of Nash Manor”, Guide to Exhibition held at County Hall, Cardiff, Oct 8th – Nov. 29th, 1952, Glamorgan County Records Office, Cardiff 1952.
Much of this tale is very well known so I won’t go into too much detail about the case as it’s readily available online, but it does raise some curious questions for me, and of course, I do like to find answers if possible.
In 1807 Ann, who was living in the village of Tutbury with at least one of her children, Mary, gained fame by claiming she could survive without food or drink. Her last intake of food was in July 1807 when she ate some blackcurrants. Needless to say, with this lack of subsistence she rapidly began to lose weight and became confined to bed. This curious situation gained public interest in her condition, and of course close scrutiny.
To prove her claims, she was watched in 1808, during which time observers, including doctors monitored her continuously for 16 days. No food or fluids were seen consumed, and doctors reported her remarkable physical condition despite her supposed starvation. This led to medical support and increased public donations.
However, by 1813, sceptics pushed for an even more rigorous watch. This time, her environment was tightly controlled and monitored. Within days, her health rapidly declined—she lost weight, became weak and feverish, and was near death by day nine. The watch was stopped, and her daughter admitted to secretly giving her milk and sugar in a teapot.
Eventually, Ann confessed to the fraud, admitting she had taken sustenance occasionally over the past six years. Her deception ruined her reputation, and she was forced to leave Tutbury due to public outrage. According to some sources, Ann died shortly after this – untrue, as will be seen later.
Ann Moor – NB the spelling of her surname on this image matches with the entry in the marriage register. Wellcome Trust
Now, let’s return to the very beginning with Ann’s birth, she was believed to have been born on 31 October 1761 in a small village in Derbyshire, either named Ro(y)ston, according to The Cabinet of Curiosities or, Rosliston according to the ODNB.
Either way, to date I have found no confirmation of her birth in or around any of those villages, but of course, it’s perfectly feasible she wasn’t baptised.
It is also believed that she was the daughter of a labourer, who appears to have been either William, or Thomas Pegg, or Peg. Her mother being a part time midwife named Mary, according to the Chester Chronicle, 10 May 1816.
by Anthony Cardon, published by Moseley & Tunnicliffe, after Cornelius Linsell stipple engraving, published 1812. NPG D38949
If we assume that the image above is correct, it was clearly dated 1812 and Ann’s age given as 58, this would have meant she was born 1745, not 1761, surely, unless my calculations are wrong?
The ODNB confirmed that Ann married in 1788, her husband being James Moore which is incorrect. Ann married James Moor (1768-1848), not Moore, on 14 November 1787, not 1788, at St Peter’s church, Ellastone, Staffordshire, close to the village of Roston, could this have been where she was born, I wonder?
Staffordshire Marriages And Banns. D712/7
So that’s one issue corrected. According to Ann, they only remained together for about nine months, then went their separate ways, as it was suggested that Ann was pregnant but that James wasn’t the father. How much truth there was in that, who knows. I should just point out that according to Ann’s own statement in the Chester Chronicle, 10 May 1816, Ann confirmed that she was married to Thomas Moor and even managed to correctly name the minister who conducted the marriage ceremony:
I was married to Thos. Moore, at ______, in Derbyshire, by the Rev. Mr Mainwaring; he was a very old man, and is since dead, so also is the parish clerk. The certificate of my marriage may be had for asking for at the church.
It has been suggested that she had as many as 4 illegitimate children of whom 2 survived, a boy and a girl. If the boy was baptised who knows where, or by what name, as there are no obvious sightings of him.
Ann briefly used the surname, Lakin, when she presented her illegitimate daughter, Mary, for baptism on 18 June 1797 at Sudbury, Derbyshire, as we see here.
Derbyshire Church of England Parish Registers, Derbyshire Record Office, Matlock, Derbyshire
Quite where she got the surname Lakin from we may never know, given that Mary’s father was named as Edward Tunnicliffe, a farmer of Coton Wood Farm, who reputedly paid a weekly allowance for her support for nine years despite marrying someone else at the end of that same year (his marriage entry confirmed his occupation).
Mary lived with her mother until she was thirteen (about 1810) when she was apprenticed to Mrs Pratt, a dressmaker. She lived with her for three years, and then went to work with a Miss Frith, at Ashbourne, Derbyshire, as a lace embroiderer.
The Chester Chronicle, 24 February 1815, reported that:
Mrs Ann Moore, of fasting celebrity, has taken up her residence at Macclesfield. Some other pretenders of that kind, have lately settled in the same town; so that certain people have lately called it Miracclesfield.
In 1816 Ann sent for her daughter in the hope of having a better life together, but this didn’t go well and the pair fled to Stockport. They had been in Stockport for just one day when they were arrested for larceny (charged with robbing the house in which they were lodging) and were taken to Chester Castle Gaol. They were released without charge as no evidence was provided, but not before Ann being asked numerous questions about her fasting.
England & Wales, Criminal Registers, 1791-1892. Class: HO 27; Piece: 12; Page: 78
The Chester Courant, 23 April 1816 noted that:
On leaving the Castle, they took coach as far as the Windmill at Tabley, near Knutsford, and from thence proceeded on their way to Stockport.
ODNB states:
Nothing is known of her subsequent career beyond the fact that she was in Macclesfield and Knutsford gaols for robbing her lodgings.
It is now possible to provide an ending to Ann’s life. She died early October 1825 and was buried on 3 October 1825 at Christ Church, Macclesfield and as can be seen in the image it was definitely her from the annotation in the margin, ‘ The Fasting Woman’.
Her demise was also noted in various newspapers. It’s interesting that her age was given – 76, therefore born 1749, so as we began, much about Mary’s life still doesn’t quite add up, does it?
Limbird, J. The Cabinet of Curiosities: Or, Wonders of the World Displayed, Forming a Repository of Whatever is Remarkable in the Regions of Nature and Art, Extraordinary Events, and Eccentric Biography
I have, in the past, looked at a wide variety of colours worn during the Georgian era, and this article is about the colour purple, which was very fashionable throughout the period.
Purple has been, almost everywhere, a mark of distinction attached to high birth and dignities. It was an ornament of the first office of Rome; but luxury, which was carried to great excess in that capital of the world, rendered the use of it common among the opulent, till the emperors reserved to themselves the right of wearing it; soon afterwards, it became the symbol of their inauguration.
Barbara Johnson (1738-1825) collected English textiles and produced an album of fabric offcuts which are now safely housed at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Here we can see some examples of purple fabrics. The collection is available online and well worth exploring further.
According to the Bath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette, 4 April 1799 the fashions for April consisted of :
Morning dress – Gown pink muslin, plain sleeves, roses on the shoulder, a single plait round the neck, coming to a point in front; full muslin braces on the breast fastened with a rosette, and girdle of the same round the waist. White beaver hat turned up in front, with purple cord and gold buckle, purple feathers and shoes.
Half gown of lilac muslin, with broad white chenille trimming; lilac bonnet of muslin, with a puffing and bow of white crepe in front, tied under the chin with the same. Lilac shoes and purple velvet cloak.
Dahl I, Michael; Elizabeth Buxton; Norfolk Museums Service
Possible recipes for dying fabric to turn it to purple or lavender were suggested in ‘The whole art of dying’ by William Pearson, in 1705.
To dye purple
First the Ware must be blewed in the suds, which hath been worked till it turn to a sort of half green, then boiled three quarters of an hour, with twelve ounces of Aquafortis, half a pound of Sal-armoniack, two pound of white wine tartar, two pound of Roach Allom, and then rinsed out.
To finish it
For twenty six pound of Ware (to which proportion the suds above are adjusted) take one pound and a quarter of Cochineal, and if it be feared that will make it too red, it may be corrected with two ounces of pot ashes, and three ounces of Lacke. If the Aquafortis be tempered, or the work performed in a tin kettle, or less Sal-armoniack used, the colour inclines the more to the Blew.
Courtesy of V & A
Lavender Crimson
The ware must first be dyed, of a tawny faint blew, then rinced clean, and the suds throw into the purple suds, after they have been used in dying. These suds being of very little value, and otherwise useless, produce a good lavender dye at a cheap rate.
Lavender grey, or Lavender colour
Heat a proper quantity of clean rain water in the copper, and for every pound of Ware take an ounce of blue lack beaten small, of beaten galls, and vitriol half an ounce of each, boil them together and put in your ware, let it boil half an hour. This is proper for slight ware, as stockens and coarse stuff, but not for the better sort.
Self portrait Vigee Lebrun. National Gallery
To dye a beautiful violet
Heat clear rain water, and Allom your Ware with half a pound of Allom, two ounces of Tartar, and a handful of Madder, for every four pound weight of Ware. Sir these ingredients well together, and when they are dissolved and begin to boil, put in what you intend to dye, boil it half an hour, take it out cool and rince it. Put fresh water to your liquor, and add a quarter of a pound of brown woo in a clean bag, boil it an hour and half, then put in your Ware again and boil it an hour and half, take it out, then put into the hot suds one quarter of a pound of Verdigrese, it being first dissolved in warm water, stir it well about, then put in your Ware again, stirring it about for a quarter of an hour, till it begins to boil, then take it out, cool and rice it, and you will find it of as beautiful violet colour as ever dyed.
Coatdress c1828-1830 V & A
To create your own purple colour that has been commercially produced rather than concocting it yourself, then the easy solution would have been to buy a product advertised in the Kentish Weekly Post or Canterbury Journal, 4 March 1783:
Liquid True Blue
This preparation will give to silk, if white, a most beautiful and unfading blue; if yellow, a fine green; if red or pink, a rich and agreeable purple; a method so perfectly easy, as to render it useful to all families. In bottles at 6 pence, 1s and 2s each. The last size sufficient for a complete gown.
In an early advert in Kentish Gazette, 16 November 1768 by the same company provided a little more information:
Liquid True Blue
This preparation will give to silk, if white, a most beautiful and unfading blue; if yellow, a fine green; if red or pink, a rich and agreeable purple by a method extremely easy; only pouring some of the liquid into a quantity of water, no matter how large, either hot or cold, and the silk will immediately drain the dye from the water and become the colours mentioned. A phial is enough for a gown or the like quantity, but as other small thing it will last many times. Price 2s. only.
It is always a pleasure to welcome back to All Things Georgian my next guest, Dr Judith Pearson, who has written several guest pieces on here which you can read using the highlighed link above.
Readers of All Things Georgian probably know that George Washington (1732 – 1799) was Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army during the American War for Independence and the first president of the United States from 1789 – 1797. He lived and died on his plantation, Mount Vernon, Virginia, which is now a northern Virginia landmark and popular historic tourist attraction.
The West Front of the Mansion at Mount Vernon, Virginia
You also possibly know that Vice Admiral Sir Edward Vernon (1684 – 1757) had a distinguished career as a Royal Navy officer and Member of Parliament.
You might not know that Mount Vernon is named after Admiral Vernon. Yes, the history of Mount Vernon has a nautical connection! Here’s how that happened:
George Washington was born into a wealthy Virginia planter family. His colonial forebears made their fortunes through land speculation, owning slaves, and selling tobacco. Washington’s great grandfather, John Washington, came to Virginia in 1656 from Sulgrave, Northamptonshire, England. He accumulated 5000 acres, based on a land grant, south of today’s Washington, DC along the south bank of the Potomac River. This stretch of land was called Little Hunting Creek.
George Washington was born in 1732, the oldest of six children born to Augustine and Mary Ball Washington at the family home in Westmoreland, Virginia on the banks of the Potomac River. Augustine Washington, a justice of the peace, had four additional children from his first wife, Jane Butler. The family built a home on Little Hunting Creek in 1735. In 1738 Augustine purchased additional property at Ferry Farm, on the Rappahannock River, across from Fredericksburg, Virginia and moved his family there. George Washington grew up at Ferry Farm.
Augustine Washington left Little Hunting Creek in the care of George’s older half-brother, Lawrence Washington (1718 – 1752). Lawrence was also born in Westmoreland County. He completed his grammar school education in Cumbria, England. He returned to Virginia in 1738 to oversee the management of his father’s 2000-plus acre plantation on the Potomac at Little Hunting Creek. When he reached the age of 21 in 1739, he purchased additional land along the Potomac River, expanding his holdings north, to the border of what would eventually become Alexandria, Virginia, now a thriving metropolitan city.
Portrait of Lawrence Washington, circa 1738. It is possible this portrait was painted by Gustavus Hesselius, an itinerant painter working in Annapolis, Maryland. This portrait’s location is George Washington’s Study in the Washington Mansion at Mount Vernon, Virginia.
In late 1739 the British Parliament decided to raise a Regiment of Foot in the American colonies to fight against Spain in the West Indies, in the War of Jenkins’ Ear. The war was fought over access to trade in Spanish America and Spanish concerns about England’s colonial expansion in North America. In July 1740, Virginia’s Governor, Sir William Gooch, awarded a captain’s commission to Lawrence Washington in Gooch’s American Regiment. Four Virginia companies mustered at Williamsburg, Virginia in August 1740 and sailed to Jamaica in October, arriving in January 1741. The Conjunct Expedition under the dual command of Vice Admiral Edward Vernon and Brigadier General Thomas Wentworth departed England in late January, sailing across the Atlantic to assist the war effort in the West Indies.
Vice Admiral Sir Edward Vernon. A Print from a painting, c 1790, by Henry Singleton (1766 – 1839), (US Naval History and Heritage Command, NH695).
Lawrence was appointed ‘Captain of the Soldiers acting as Marines’ [Gooch’s Marines] onboard Vernon’s flagship, the second-rate HMS Princess Caroline (80 guns) in 1741. Lawrence participated in the assault on the Spanish fortress at Cartagena and in expeditions against New Granada, Cuba and Panama. These assaults were failures. Moreover, the British and the colonials took many thousands of casualties, mostly from disease, chiefly yellow fever. Lawrence survived.
‘A new and correct map of the trading part of the West Indies’. London: Printed for and sold by Henry Overton at the White Horse without Newgate, 1741. ‘Dedicated to the Honble Edward Vernon, Vice Admiral of the Blue and Commander in chief of all his Majs ships in the West Indies, by H.O.’ Wikimedia, public domain.
Lawrence returned to Virginia at the end of 1742, taking the post of adjutant militia commander, with the rank of major, appointed by Governor Gooch in the Spring of 1743. He married Anne Fairfax in that same year and began rebuilding a house on Little Hunting Creek. He named the property Mount Vernon in honour of his wartime commander. When Augustine Washington died in 1743, Lawrence inherited Little Hunting Creek and George inherited Ferry Farm.
Lawrence was elected to the House of Burgesses in 1744, representing Fairfax County. With his father-in-law, Colonel William Fairfax, and other prominent landowners, he created the Ohio Company of Virginia, mainly for trading tobacco in the American interior. In 1748 Lawrence introduced a petition to the House of Burgesses to establish the town of Alexandria, a busy trading port with tobacco warehouses on the banks of the Potomac. Governor Gooch signed the act into law in 1749. Captain Philip Alexander owned 500 acres on the Potomac, bounded by Hunting Creek, lots of which were put up for auction.
Lawrence was not present for the auction. He had contracted tuberculosis and was in England to consult with English physicians. His younger half-brother, George, now an aspiring land surveyor, copied a map of the town and monitored the auction in Lawrence’s absence.
Lawrence’s illness continued. In 1751 he and George took a ship to Barbados hoping that the change of climate would improve his health. This was the only time George Washington left American soil. In Barbados, George contracted small pox, but recovered, although he was left with scarring to his face.
Lawrence Washington died of tuberculosis at home in Mount Vernon in July 1752. His widow Anne remarried shortly thereafter. At age 21, in 1754, George Washington leased Mount Vernon from Anne and managed the property. Upon Anne’s death in 1761, he inherited the estate and it became his home for the remainder of his life, as he went on to establish his place in history.
The desk in George Washington’s study at Mount Vernon (author’s photo).
Mount Vernon remained in Washington family hands until 1858 when the private, non-profit Mount Vernon Ladies Association purchased the property to preserve it as a national treasure.
Author’s Note: This article originally appeared in the Autumn 2024 issue of the Kedge Anchor, the magazine of The 1805 Club.
Sources
Wikipedia: George Washington, Lawrence Washington, Alexandria Virginia, War of Jenkins’ Ear.
Mount Vernon: A Handbook (Mount Vernon Ladies Association, 1985).
I have been taking a look at hair removal for women in the 18th and early 19th centuries and it seems highly likely that the only part of their body that they remove hair from was on their face. It’s not clear whether hair removal related just to eyebrows or all facial hair, no matter how fine.
According to the newspapers of the day there were actually only a few companies who retailed such products aimed specifically for women. As to what these products contained it’s possibly better not to dwell on it, certainly nothing that would be acceptable today.
One of the earliest adverts, although it doesn’t specifically reference women in its advert, appeared in the Leeds Intelligencer, 8 February 1774 for ‘Giraldina’s Royal India Composition’.
It was said to be a product for
clearing entirely all superfluous hairs growing on the forehead, temples, about the mouth, or any part of the face, never more to grow again, without the least prejudice to the most delicate complexion. Is sold by appointment at S. Gifford’s, milliner, No 3, Serle Street, Lincoln’s Inn fields, and no other place in England. Price – One Guinea an ounce with printed directions for using it. Not less than a quarter of an ounce will be sold.
The product was said to have only been sold by S Gifford’s, milliner, it’s highly likely that S Gifford was the wife of a William Gifford.
From The town before you, or, Welch wigs, or, Whimsicallities, by Cruikshank. Walpole Library
Some ten years later on 4 March 1785, the Morning Post carried an advertisement for Hudson’s Compound, ‘for eradicating superfluous hair from the face, without the least pain’. Hudson sold his product both wholesale and retail from No. 10 Mount Street, Lambeth Turnpike at the price of One Shilling.
How to remove superfluous hair according to The Golden Cabinet, published 1790:
This is often advertised in the newspapers, and is sold at so high a price, that a person has acquired a fortune by the sale of it; the preparation is both easy and cheap, being only quick-lime and Orpiment made into a paste with common river water; but those who use this composition, ought to be cautious how they put it on te part, and not suffer it to remain above a minute or two.
It wasn’t until 4 December 1790, that I came across an advert specifically aimed at women. In The World, a Mrs Moore posted an advert for her
new-invented compound (infinitely superior to any similar production in Europe) for removing superfluous hair from the face. It arches the eyebrow eradicated hair from between the eyes and round the mouth and leave skins perfectly clear and soft. It is equally innocent as efficacious, and the mode of application upon such an improve plan, that any lay may do it herself without the least inconvenience. The compound with its appertaining appendages, sealed up in a small six shilling box, at Mrs Moore, No. 24 Bennett Street, Blackfriars Bridge foot, Surrey Side.
By 1793 a new product seems to have appeared on the market aimed at women, but also for use by men – Sano Oils. This product had the most confusing advert for it. Not only did it inhibit the growth of superfluous hair, but it was also suitable for curing chilblains, scalds, cleanses the skin from all impurities and renders it delicately soft and elastic.
From The town before you, or, Welch wigs, or, Whimsicallities, by Cruikshank. Walpole Library
As we head into the early 1800’s the main advert was for Bagazet’s Oriental Depilatory for removing superfluous hairs for 3 shilling and 6 pence, but in competition to this product was Trent’s incomparable depilatory for removing superfluous hairs, specifically aimed at women, but again suitable for men.
Trent’s claimed to
remove hairs in a few minutes without any pain or unpleasant sensation and would leave the skin perfectly smooth, soft and fair. Ladies were able to see it used and thus have ocular demonstration of its efficacy and innocence, by calling Mrs Turtle, No 127, Strand, by whom it is sold wholesale and retail. It is also sold retail by all the principal perfumers in London and county. Price 5 shillings.
Bagazet’s Oriental was said to have first been bought into England by Lady Mary Wortley Montague – true or not, I have no idea as yet, but it does seem feasible, but it’s strange that no mention of it appeared until the early 1800’s some 40 years after her death.
It is a pleasure to welcome a new guest to All Things Georgian and today it’s my pleasure to welcome Nick Bromley, so let’s begin with a very brief glimpse into Nick’s background, then he will tell you more about Cakes and Ale.
Nick Bromley’s theatre career began in 1964, and he is, to his own amazement, still working. Starting in stage management he has been a Company Manager since 1971 on many plays including the original productions of Butley, Absurd Person Singular, The Old Country, King Charles III and Mr Foote’s Other Leg . He has managed several West End musicals such as Starlight Express, Crazy for You, Grease, SaturdayNight Fever, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, The Woman in White and Love Never Dies. His most recent London show being The Mongol Khan at the Coliseum. Nick has written and published three theatre books, Theatre LoreStage Ghosts andHaunted Theatres and now, Cakes and Ale: Mr Robert Baddeley and His Twelfth Night Cakes. Recently he has directed four plays for Take Note Theatre, The Last Laugh and The Business of Murder by Richard Harris, Delinquent Dad by Simon Thompson and On Demand by Duncan Campbell. His new novel, Cry Havoc!, the first episode of a series of adventures set in the 1920’s and 30’s will be published next year.
Robert Baddeley (1733-1794), as ‘Moses’ in ‘The School for Scandal’; Johann Zoffany; Lady Lever Art Gallery
Theatrical traditions are worldwide, but two nations in particular, have historic theatrical celebrations that honour two very contrasting members of their profession: one, a world- famous playwright, the other, a talented though now obscure actor.
On January 15th each year in Paris, the company of the Comédie Française perform their ‘Homage à Molière’, a tradition which, albeit with variations and changes over the centuries, started in 1680. But British Theatre has a singular event to rival this and although our ceremony is younger by over a hundred years, it has the added advantage of an edible and quaffable element.
Ever since 1795, whenever a production has been in situ at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, the resident company meet after the show on January 6th to enjoy a Twelfth Night cake baked especially for the occasion and themed to represent their show. 2026 will mark the 218th celebration and the first slice of cake will be ceremoniously cut by the leading players of the cast of Hercules. Once the antique silver cake knife has been withdrawn, but before the gâteau is devoured, glasses of punch will be raised and a formal toast made to ‘Robert Baddeley’s skull’ for it was this 18th century actor whose benevolence created this unique tradition.
Famous actors seldom stand alone though some would seem to be. The star system has always played a dominating part in the history of British theatre ever since its start in the Elizabethan Age and the advent of Edward Alleyn, Richard Burbage and Will Kemp. Our stars may be surrounded by other players but they monopolise the headlines, dominate their productions and of course, these days, are sometimes better lit. It was the fate of Robert Baddeley to be, like many others, but one of David Garrick’s company, but his loyalty and devotion to the great man, his robust acting ability, his participation as a founding member of the Drury Lane Theatrical Fund and a charming bequest has assured his place in theatrical history.
Cockney born in 1733, Robert’s first recorded employment was in the kitchens of Lord North, the Prime Minister who lost us America and who may have been the illegitimate son of George III’s father, Frederick, Prince of Wales. Baddeley next moved to the household of the actor Samuel Foote where, between basting and baking, he was introduced to a friskier world.
Foote was a flamboyant actor and a better comedian. His wit was equally admired and feared by London’s Bon Ton for he was a fearless satirist and impersonator and had no compunction in deflating high prized reputations and pretensions. Denied the chance of joining his acting company, Baddeley left to become valet to a gentleman who was embarking on the Grand Tour and during his two years abroad closely observed continental mannerisms and speech patterns. Foote agreed on his return to try him out as an actor and allowed him to make his debut in 1759 in the sensational The Minor. Foote had penned this satire and played both the bawd Mrs Cole, based on the notorious Jenny Douglas, and Dr Squintum, whom all recognised as the cross eyed Methodist minister George Whitfield. Baddeley took naturally to the boards and his Sir William Wealthy donned the disguise of a Bavarian Baron with an impressive accent.
Foote was delighted with his pupil. ‘Ah Baddeley’ he was quoted as saying, ‘I am heartily glad to see you in the way of complete transmigration. You have turned your spit into a sword already.’
Baddeley’s success led to a string of other parts and during the following year, a summer’s booking at Drury Lane brought him to the attention of George Colman the Elder who signed him up to join Garrick’s company for the 1763 -64 season. It turned out to be a very long engagement for, outlasting Garrick’s management, he remained a member of Sheridan’s company up until his death in 1794.
Portraits and engravings of Baddeley in his early years at Drury Lane depict him as a virile, well set fellow. He had a natural flair for comedy as well as accents and excelled as Bottom, Trinculo and Petulant while often giving his second Witch in Macbeth. He had a reputation as a dandy who liked the ladies and was one who ‘loved as a great variety in his amours as in his clothes’. However, in 1764 at the age of thirty- one, he made the mistake of marrying the nineteen year- old Sophia Snow, the daughter of the King George II’s Royal Sergeant trumpeter. Sophia was both a splendid singer and competent actress but hardly as pure as the driven and their union was very soon in trouble.
Sophia Baddeley, Robert Baddeley and Thomas King, as they appeared in ‘A Clandestine Marriage’ by Johann Zoffany.
Starting with the actors John Edwin and Charles Holland, Sophia found time between performances to mount the social ladder with the likes of Viscount Melbourne, the Duke of York and the Marquess of Cholmondeley and become the courtesan of her age. She and Baddeley separated in 1770 shortly after his bloodless duel with George Garrick, caused by the latter’s admiration for Sophia and Baddeley’s retention of her salary. Thereafter the couple would scrupulously ignore each other ‘except when the utterance was dramatic.’ Sadly, Sophie’s career and social status declined with her looks by the end of that decade. She became addicted to laudanum, ‘fell into consumption’ and died in Edinburgh in 1786. It is not recorded whether Baddeley felt any remorse for he had been living with Katherine Sherry another actress from the Drury Lane company until her death in 1782 and now was with a Mrs Catherine Strickland.
Baddeley’s forte for playing all sorts of foreigners meant that he would be chosen for parts in the original productions of two plays that are not only famous but still produced to this day. The first was as Canton in The Clandestine Marriage and the second as Moses in The School for Scandal. Sheridan’s masterpiece was so successful that Baddeley would play this role over two hundred times. He gave his very last performance on November 12th, 1794, before being ‘seized with a fit’ on November 19th ‘in his dressing room at the Theatre as he was dressing for the character of Moses . . . and was taken home and expired between twelve and one o’clock in the morning.’
Actors’ reputations wither with death and the memory of most expire with the passing of their audiences, but, by his bequest, Baddeley would achieve a modicum of lasting fame so often denied his fellow players. For in his will, besides making provision for his country cottage in West Moulsey to become an Asylum for decayed actors, he stipulated that one hundred pounds be invested to enable ‘the purchase of a twelfth cake or Cakes and Wine or Punch or both of them . . ’ so that his fellow actors at Drury Lane ‘will do me the favour to accept on twelfth night on every year in the Green Room . . .’
Actors seldom pass on food or drink. The first cake was swiftly cut on January 6th, 1795, and devoured by a company that included Mrs Siddons and John Philip Kemble. The ceremony reached its apogee when organized by Sir Augustus Harris who in the 1880s would invite up to two thousand guests to nibble, drink and dance the night away. It has been only cancelled on thirteen occasions; because of a sugar shortage in 1918, during the Second World War when ENSA took over Drury Lane, on those twelfth Nights when the theatre has been ‘dark’ through no show or Covid, and in 1849 when a French Cirque was deemed really not worthy, despite Marie Antionette’s decree.
As Master of the Drury Lane Fund, I thought it high time this year to explore and celebrate the life and times of one of our founding members together with a full history of the Cakes themselves which have come in all manner of style. The proof as they say is in the pudding and the result is a full and richly illustrated work which, I am told, is quite a tasty read!
Cakes and Ale: Mr Robert Baddeley and His Twelfth Night Cakes by Nick Bromley is available from:
www.lnpBooks.co.uk at the special price of £9.99 for readers of All Things Georgian
It is also available at Waterstones, Daunts and Amazon etc.
I was recently directed to Marianne Baillie by a reader of All Things Georgian, Monica Putzu, Teacher of English Language and Literature at Liceo Classico Alessandro Manzoni in Lecco, Italy, so I obviously wanted to know more about her.
Monica has been researching her life having been invited to deliver a lesson, in English, about Marianne Baillie’s travel book “First impressions on a tour upon the continent” at Università Bicocca in Milan by her colleague, Professor Diana Perego and this year Monica has been to England to research further. Over the summer months, we have exchanged many emails trying to piece together more about Marianne’s life. Today I can share with you some of the findings about her.
To begin at the beginning, Marianne was oldest of 4 children and was born on 13 July 1788, in the parish of St Catherine, Jamaica, to parents Captain George Wathen who later became an actor, and his wife, Marianne.
The couple returned to England by March 1790, at which time, Marianne was baptised again on 11 March, at St James, Bury St Edmunds.
Suffolk parish registers; Reference: FL541/4/5
Little seems to be known about Marianne’s early life, but at the age of 27, on 9 September 1815, at St Luke, Chelsea, with her father as one of the witnesses, she married a merchant, Alexander Baillie, (the illegitimate son of Alexander Baillie of Dochfour, a Scottish owner of plantations in the Caribbean and his partner, Janet Chisholm). Alexander the younger, was later claiming compension for his own plantation, the Philadelphia estate in British Guiana.
Their first child was Emilia born on 4 February 1817, according to the Morning Post, 5 Feb 1817, but her life was extremely short lived. It is highly likely that she was named in honour of Alexander’s sister, who had died 22 June 1816, and whose name appeared in the form of an epitaph, in Marianne’s 1817 book, Guy of Warwick.
The burial register for St George Hanover Square, confirming that their daughter, Emilia was just 15 days old.
You can read all about their travels in the highlighted link above. It was an important work as it was one of the earliest books written from a woman’s perspective about the Grand Tour.
An example of her notes from the bok
Throughout, Marianne makes comparison to various parts of England whilst travelling, showing that she was very familiar with several English counties, e.g Wiltshire and Sussex and posily that home was not far away from her thoughts.
She provided details of places they stayed, the food they ate, clothing worn in certain regions and people they see whilst travelling and making comparisons with life in England.
Upon their return in early October 1818, it appears that money was in short supply and they briefly stayed with Lady Howe at her home, Sion cottage in Twickenham, although Alexander’s name also appeared in the Land Tax records of 1818 for Green Street, St George Hanover Square.
4 March 1819, Alexander’s name would appear in the London Gazette with a bankruptcy notice against him and his two business partners, Duncan Campbell and Benjamin Harper which may well explain the reason money was in short supply.
It would be in May 1819 that the Literary Gazette and Journal of Belle Lettres first carried an advert for her book:
3 March 1819, saw the birth of their first son, Alexander Wathen Baillie, but his baptism for some reason didn’t take place until 3 June 1821, at Holy Rood, Southampton.
The most likely explanation for this being that they wanted him baptised before leaving England, as on 30 May 1821 Alexander senior had been appointed, as an Agent for His Majety’s Packet boats, or possibly it was due to a visit to his sister, Janet/Jennet (Scottish variation of her name), who lived in Southampton.
With that, the family packed their bags and set off for Lisbon where they would remain for the next 3 years, which again gave Marianne the opportunity to continue with her writing despite having a toddler in tow.
This time her writing was in the form of letters from Lisbon, written 1821, 1822 and 1823 (the highlighted link takes you directly to them). It was during their time in Lisbon that acording to the Morning Post, 21 October 1822, their daughter, Marianne Harriet Maria Joanna was born. I did wonder whether there was any familial connection between Alexander Baille and the poet and dramatist, Joanna Baille (1762-1851) given the shared surname and the use of the name Joanna in their daughter’s baptism, but I didn’t manage to establish one.
By October 1823 the family had returned to London where they took up residence at Clarges Street, Mayfair. Little is known of their life over the next few years until Marianne gave birth on Christmas Eve 1827 to her final child, another daughter, Augusta Dorothea Hacket, who was baptised at St George Hanover Square on 8 February 1828. Augusta’s middle names were in honour of a very close family friend, Dorothy nee Hackett, who they initially met in Southampton, a friendship that would remain throughout their lives.
Shortly after her confinement, Marianne received a letter from Anne Seymour Damer, together with a gift, a copy of her newly republished novel, Belmour.
Reynolds, Joshua; Anne Seymour Damer; Yale Center for British Art
It would be almost exactly 3 years later that Marianne died on 2 February 1831, at the age of just 46. She was buried at St George’s Hanover Square the following week. She left 3 children, Alexander aged 12, Marianne, aged 9 and Augusta was only 4.
At the age of 16, having attended a commercial academy, their son, Alexander applied for a cadetship in the East India Company, 70th Bengal Infantry.
British India Office Births & Baptisms. L-MIL-9-184
His application was successful and he went to Bengal where he remained until his death. He was buried on 6 December 1842 at Berhampore, Bengal, India.
Naval & Military Gazette and Weekly Chronicle of the United Service 11 Feb 1843
14 December 1838, Alexander, senior, died following a short illness, in Demerara, according to the Oxford Journal, 26 January 1839. His home being at 54, Green Street, Grosvenor Square, an address which was also confirmed when his daughter, Marianne had married in 1846.
His will made reference to his 2 daughters, but no mention of their son, Alexander who had outlived his father by some eight years, this appears rather strange unless his father assumed he was doing well enough in India and the girls needed the money more. He also named his married sister, Janet Lindsey (c1783-7 October 1848) the wife of Major General John Lindsey (c1763-1820).
To conclude, whilst this provides a little insight into her family, I would highly recommend reading both highlighted books by Marianne as they make really interesting reading.
After a rather lengthy break, I am now back, and delighted to welcome a frequent guest to All Things Georgian, Lynda O’Keeffe. Lynda has written several guest articles about the blind playright, John O’Keeffe and his daughter, Adelaide. Today she is going to take a look at their poetry. With that I’ll hand over to Lynda.
John O’Keeffe was always a great writer; he wrote numerous articles and poetry for publications and periodicals from the age of twelve, whilst his first play was staged at Smock Alley Theatre, Dublin when he was twenty years old. However, when John’s sight began to fail in his twenty seventh year, he resorted to employing an amanuensis; a role that would later become his daughter’s.
Lawranson, Thomas|Lawranson, William; John O’Keeffe; National Portrait Gallery, London
O’Keeffe’s plays are well known especially, Wild Oats, which has been successfully revived by leading theatres worldwide. However, it is little known, that John was the first to dramatise the story of Aladdin for stage. Even less known is the poetry he wrote, and it is here that I have chosen two of my favourites pieces that display his playful nature.
The poem is from a batch of six entitled My Delightful Stories, published in 1834 in a book entitled:
O’Keeffe’s Legacy to his Daughter
being the
Poetical Works of the late John O’Keeffe
The Dramatic Author.
Adelaide wrote this brief introduction:
…He called these the best of the batch, being short and rapid, whilst others he laid aside for future revision. Though, throughout these poems, a lord is made a fool, and a fool a wise man, the satire is not strong enough to give offence, whilst the characters are highly wrought, and the measure cheerful and pleasing.
My Lord and His Portrait
Now proud as priest in sleeves of lawn,
My Lord would have his picture drawn,
And for an able artist sends,
But first the peer consults his friends:
For he would never do things rashly;
The painter’s name was Mr Ashley,
Who now before his Lordship stands,
To take his sapient commands.
“You must, good sire, my picture draw,
But sir, I would not give a straw
For any portrait, if not like;
Sir, at a glance the face must strike.”
“My lord, I can your likeness hit,
Say, when will you be pleased to sit?”
“Sit!” cries my Lord, “what means the man?
That sitting is a tedious plan.
No, no, go home, and paint it there;
But of the likeness pray take care
And when ‘tis finished might nice,
Then bring it, sir, and name your price.”
The painter stared, then smiled and bowed,
And said, “Your Lordship makes me proud,
To put my skill to such a test;
However, I will do my best.
But, yet, my Lord, pray tell me now,
Or sitting, riding, tell me how
You would be drawn-what attitude,
And do not think my question rude.”
“Hey! Riding! Sitting! On my oath,
Good sir, I will be painted both:
It is my custom on my steed
Beneath a tree to sit and read:
Some peers keep books to show their breeding,
But I am monstrous fond of reading!
And in the shade, behind yon tree,
Are often found my nag and me:
Upon his back I take my rounds,
And saunter through my pleasure grounds.
I read, he stops to munch the grass,
This favourite pony is….an Ass!
But then so docile in his duty,
And quite a zebra, sir, for beauty:
Look yon’s the tree, observe and mind it,
And paint me sitting there behind it.
The artist hastened to the spot,
And sketched each object to a dot:
Then home he goes, and paints the view,
With care the ample tree he drew.
And just two feet above its base
He draws the beauteous donkey’s face;
A bridle from his nose you see,
And here a hand, and there a knee:
And then a little higher look,
You see two inches of a book,
All so correct in every part,
The painter shows his utmost art.
Then to my Lord the picture brought,
Who very fine the picture thought;
Though in it he saw nought amiss,
He cried, “Good sir, pray what is this?”
“Your portrait, there,” the painter said,
“Your Lordship’s orders I’ve obeyed.”
“My portrait! By the gods on high!
‘Tis monstrous like! – but where am I?”
“My Lord, we can’t your figure see;
You’re reading there, behind the tree.”
The price is paid – my Lord delighted,
The painter very soon was knighted;
The picture in the parlour hung,
Its praise the theme of every tongue;
“Come, ladies, come, my portrait see,
I’m reading there behind that tree.”
Photo credit: L.A.O’Keeffe
Below is a song still popular today, the lyrics by John O’Keeffe and the music by William Shield.
I am the Friar of Orders Gray
I am the Friar of Orders Gray,
And down in the valley I take my way,
I pull not blackberry, haw, nor hip,
God store of venison does fill my scrip;
My long bead roll I merrily chant,
Where-ever I walk no money I want.
And why I’m so plump, the reason I’ll tell:
Who leads a good life is sure to live well.
What Baron, or Squire, or Knight of the Shire,
Lives half so well as a holy Friar.
After supper, of heav’n I dream,
But that is fat pullets and clouted cream;
Myself by denial I mortify,
With a dainty bit of warden pye;
I’m cloth’d in sackcloth for my sin,
With old sackwine I’m lined within.
A chirping cup is my matin song,
And the Wesper bell is bowl, ding, dong.
What Baron, or Squire, or Knight of the Shire,
Lives half so well as a holy Friar.
Adelaide O’Keeffe
Adelaide was born in Dublin and educated in France until the outbreak of the French Revolution when she returned at the age of twelve to her father and became his amanuensis.
The work that Adelaide embarked on with her father was unrelenting as he was a prolific writer, and being blind, always needed someone to be ‘at my elbow with a pen’.
With the skills she obtained from the many years of working with her eminent father, Adelaide was the first writer to turn schoolroom text into dramatic dialogues, using stage-writing techniques to convey information via dialogue and not exposition. In these dramatic dialogues, she required the children not just to memorise the texts, but also to perform them, which required physical action and further compounded the learning. As an aside, recent research has identified the linking of movement to learning.
Below are two poems by Adelaide:
The Child’s Monitor
THE wind blows down the largest tree,
And yet the wind I cannot see!
Playmates far off, who have been kind,
My thought can bring before my mind;
The past by it is present brought,
And yet I cannot see my thought;
The charming rose scents all the air,
Yet I can see no perfume there.
Blithe Robin’s notes how sweet, how clear!
From his small bill they reach my ear,
And whilst upon the air they float,
I hear, yet cannot see a note.
When I would do what is forbid,
By something in my heart I’m chid;
When good, I think, then quick and pat,
That something says, “My child, do that:”
When I too near the stream would go,
So pleased to see the waters flow,
That something says, without a sound,
“Take care, dear child, you may be drown’d: “
And for the poor whene’er I grieve,
That something says, “A penny give.”
Thus something very near must be,
Although invisible to me;
Whate’er I do, it sees me still:
O then, good Spirit, guide my will.
The Butterfly
THE Butterfly, an idle thing,
Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing,
As do the bee and bird;
Nor does it, like the prudent ant,
Lay up the grain for times of want,
A wise and cautious hoard.
My youth is but a summer’s day:
Then like the bee and ant I’ll lay
A store of learning by;
And though from flower to flower I rove,
My stock of wisdom I’ll improve
Nor be a butterfly.
As a footnote, John O’Keeffe wrote 79 pieces for the stage, innumerable poems and articles.
Photo credit: L.A.O’Keeffe
Adelaide O’Keeffe in her own right, was a noted author of several novels, two biblical books, and countless poems in various volumes – including her major contribution to:
The Original Poems and Others
by Ann & Jane Taylor,
and Adelaide O’Keeffe.
You can join Lynda on her Instagram page and find out more about her ancestors there: the_blind_playwright
I have long admired this portrait, one of Gainsborough’s masterpieces, but until now, haven’t explored her the sitter’s life in any detail, so today this is being rectified.
Gainsborough, Thomas; The Honourable Mrs Graham (1757-1792); National Galleries of Scotland
There were three siblings of similar age, they being Jane (1754-1790, Mary (1757-1792) and the youngest of these three, Louisa (1758-1843), the daughters of Charles, 9th Lord Cathcart and his wife, Jane, plus three sons – William, Charles and Archibald.
It was not long after the birth of their final, Catherine Charlotte who was born in 1770, that Lady Cathcart succumbed to consumption and died in the November of 1771, leaving Lord Cathcart with seven surviving children, to raise alone, but with the hope that their three elder daughters would care for Catherine and it was Mary who undertook this duty.
On 12 November 1771, about 4pm, Jane breathed her last and was buried in Grosvenor Chapel, Mayfair.
On 26 December 1774, at the fashionable church, St George, Hanover Square, Westminster, Jane and Mary’s names appeared in the marriage register, although the ceremony actually took place at their father’s London home in Grosvenor Place, London, by Special Licence.
Jane was married to John Murray, 4th Duke of Atholl and her younger sister, Mary was married to Thomas Graham, 1st Baron Lyndoch.
It wouldn’t be until 5 May 1776, and with some tears and misgivings, according to her letters, that Louisa married Viscount Stormont following his negotiations with her father and with Louisa simply being informed of the date of the marriage. Stormont was over 30 years her senior, which one can only imagine must have a daunting proposition for such a young girl, but she needn’t have worried as becomes clear when reading her letters.
Given that Louisa was under age, their marriage was conducted at her father’s home, Grosvenor Place, with her father’s consent and Lord Mansfield standing as witness.
His distinguished career and prospects, with the fact that he was heir of his uncle, the great Lord Mansfield, weighed no doubt with Lord Cathcart. But Louisa, her little head full of natural frivolities, was not interested in his attainments in scholarship or diplomacy. She evidently made the best of it to the Duchess and reserved her doubts and qualms for the sympathetic ear of Mary.
Louisa described in a letter of early January 1776, written to her sister, about her first encouter at Kenwood House when she met Lord and Lady Mansfield, Stormont’s unmarried siblings, plus her future step daughter, Lady Elizabeth Mary Murray, but no mention of Dido Belle, as was the case in most correspondence.
So, with that, it saw the highly successful marriages of Cathcart’s eldest three daughters, which must have been a relief to him.
Thomas Graham, Baron Lynedoch. David Allan (1744–1796) (attributed to) Yale Center for British Art
Returning to Mary, the couple began married life in London, and it was during 1775 that Mary initially sat for her famous portrait and yet by June of that year.
Gainsborough has not advanced your picture a single stroke, and saies he has no thoughts of finishing it within the twelve month, if he did not add that it shall be the compleatest of pictures, I should cry at the delay.
Ultimately, Mary was painted four times by Gainsborough:
Possibly the Kitcat size of portrait, considered by many the most beautiful was begun then, as a trial sketch for the superb full-length exhibited in London in the Royal Academy in 1777 and bequeathed by Robert Graham to the National Gallery in Edinburgh. The third picture is also full length and is of a later date. He then sketched, in sepia, a full length portrait of Mary, not as a housemaid, but as a dairymaid, surrounded by all the implements of a Scottish dairy. He proved the truth of his assertion, for her grace and distinction in the simple dress fully equals that of the more elaborate pictures. The Grahams never had possession of this portrait. It remained in the artist’s studio. till his death, and was sold at Christie’s, in Mrs. Gainsborough’s sale in 1797, for four and a half guineas. The purchaser then was Mr. Bryan, but afterwards it was for many years in Lord Carlisle’s collection at Castle Howard and was bequeathed by the late Lady Carlisle to the National Gallery in London.
A fourth sketch of Mary Graham by Gainsborough in oils, oval in shape, 10 by 8 inches in size, was in the possession of the Earl of Arran, of Hyde Hall, Essex, and is another study for a finished portrait. This picture was sold at Christie’s in in 1917, when it brought £682, 10s.
It is certain that some picture or miniature of Mary was done by Cosway after her death. The Gainsborough Kitcat portrait was sent to his studio as a guide. Cosway’s work was pronounced a good likeness by her sisters, Louisa and Charlotte, who made frequent visits to the studio to note his progress. This painting appears to have been sent with other pictures to Lord Stormont’s house in London about 1792.
Whilst Mary and her husband had no children of their own, when her mother died she asked that one of the girls provide care and guidance for her youngest daughter, Charlotte who was only a year old. This role was fulfilled by Mary and her husband, Charlotte being just 3 at the time of her elder sister’s marriage.
Gainsborough, Thomas; The Honourable Mary Cathcart, The Honourable Mrs Thomas Graham; National Trust, Hill Top and the Beatrix Potter Gallery
The letters provide a glimpse into Mary and Thomas’s lives and shows their dedication to each other; theirs does appear to have been a marriage very much based on love rather than an arranged marriage, for example this snippet:
Tradition has kept alive a few stories of the old days at Balgowan, and these are chiefly concerned with feats of horsemanship. Husband and wife once rode from Balgowan to Edinburgh to a ball. On reaching Edinburgh, Mary found that her jewel case had been left behind. Without a moment’s delay, Thomas set off back to Balgowan, a distance of forty five miles, including a ferry. He got relays of horses on the way. Having secured the jewel box, he rode back to Edinburgh in time for the ball.
Much of Mary’s early married life was spent at their home Balgowan, Scotland where they lived a relatively quiet country life, spending much of their time with their horses, both being keen equestrians, riding together about the fields and woods and taking a keen interest in every detail of farm life.
In terms of friendships, apart from her sisters whom she was very close to, the other two names which appear are Henrietta Frances, Lady Duncannon, afterwards Lady Bessborough, sister of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, both of whom remained close friends of Mary until her death.
Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, to Mary Graham. ALTHORPE, 1777
Readings with Mama are at an end, and as that was the time I took to draw, I have had scarce any opportunity lately, and besides I have been very busy in writing the verses to my Father on his birthday and with the picture (as soon as I have time to write them out I will send them to you), and then I have been working very hard for Mama, to compose her some reflections to read to the servants on their taking the Sacrament.
Would you have thought I could have done so serious a work ? but my dear friend, in spite of my folly, I know how to think sometimes. You would not think from my appearance that I am capable of strong friendship, but in spite of that you know with what tenderness I love you. And the same with other things, I have a great deal of folly but I also sometimes have a little sense. I perceive that I am eulogising myself, but that is the character of a bad heart, and I have often told you that mine is bad. When I see Lady D. I will try to make her do a drawing for you. I am sleepy and must leave you now, but first I must tell you that I love you, my dear friend, and must embrace you tenderly.
Mary’s health was never good, so the couple spent the warmer months in Scotland, but travelled to warmer climes in the winter months, for example in 1780 they sailed to Lisbon to over winter, taking her young sister, Charlotte with them.
Her cousin, Sophia Finch, daughter of Lord Winchilsea, and wife of Captain Charles Fielding became a good friend to Mary whilst in Lisbon, and her journal has survived in which she described their travels together. From Lisbon they travelled on to Toulouse and Montpelier which was used as a shopping trip, where Mary and Charlotte purchased –
Gowns and caps, ribbands, a chip hat, a bandbox, gauze handkerchiefs, a fan for four francs, and silk stockings.
On another occasion she bought –
a little cushion, a muff, two pairs of satin shoes embroidered with gold foils and two pairs embroidered in silks, and a great deal of gauze.
She later purchased –
a beaver hat, white silk for a cloak, a hoop, a netting box, an ivory egg, and one pair of Carmelite shoes, quite plain, for five francs. She paid four livres for a bunch of roses.
Then whilst in Paris she purchased –
A pair of little cuffs for nine francs, a colinette for sixteen francs, three hats, a green garland, one pair of Nirza earrings, and a plant of jasmine.
On returning from the continent, Thomas returned to Scotland to sort things on their estate, but Mary remained in London as it was warmer and a chance to catch up with family and friends and followed him to their home later. Mary’s health over the subsequent years remained full of family related activities, but she remained rather frail.
In 1786, a chance of acquiring the small and romantically situated estate of Lynedoch which had once been Graham property, only seven miles distant from Balgowan, Thomas and Mary did not hesitate in buying it, to create their own idyllic home rather than remaining at the family home at Balgowan. The partial rebuilding and improvement of the house was an absorbing interest, with every detail curated by them. Despite all the work that went into creating this perfect home in the end they never actually lived there.
1788 witnessed the death of Mary’s younger brother, Charles who was the special envoy to China, but he died enroute, having continued to suffer from a cough for a considerable period of time. It would appear, that like his parents, he too suffered from lung problems, both dying from consumption.
Jane, the Duchess of Atholl, who was always considered the strongest of the four sisters, was taken ill in 1790 and it would appear likely that she too succumbed to consumption.
Given so many family losses, Mary’s health too began to decline, and her doting husband suggested that given the Scottish climate, that they should, at the doctor’s instigation, visit Hot Wells, Clifton where Mary showed some signs of improving health, but by late autumn of 1791 it was agreed that Mary could not pass the winter in England and the couple, along with young Charlotte and their servants set off, a journey which would be difficult due to the situation in France. In November 1791, when they reached Paris, Charlotte was suffering from a cold but made a swift recovery.
23 Dec 1791 Thomas wrote from Nice, France that:
Mrs. Graham’s cough was more troublesome and she was much fatigued.
By the spring of 1792, Mary’s health appeared to have improved and she spent time with friends such as Lady Spencer, her daughter the Duchess of Devonshire and Mrs. Damer among others. By May 1792, plans were put in place for Mary to return to England, her cough was getting worse day by day and by this time, Mary was convinced of her imminent demise and wrote the following letter to Thomas, dated 10 June 1792:
I cannot help writing you a few words, My Dearest Husband, which may be a comfort to you if, in spite of all our endeavours, I should continue to grow weaker. I was so hurt at the impression that what escaped me yesterday made on you, that I determined if possible never to let you see my fears. I was very low at that moment. I am not so now, tho’ I assure you I see my situation with the same eyes I have long seen it.
I thank God, as far as I know myself, I am resigned to his will, I am fully persuaded that he adapts our thoughts to our situation and detaches us gently from this world when we are to leave it. I prayed from the first for resignation to his will and I trust he will inspire it. I look up to him constantly for assistance and try to think of him continually as my refuge against all fears.
I have no horrors because I trust in his mercy and forgiveness and believe that if I am resigned he will smooth my passage to another world and forgive my sins. I wish to think of him and of our Saviour habitually and to fill my mind with such thoughts. I avoid dwelling upon the pangs of leaving my friends.
There I trust he will support my sinking heart. But if I should not survive, it is better to be at this distance than to expose them to such a cruel scene which some of them might never recover. Poor Lady Stormont, it would kill her, and I have seen what my Brother and Lady Cathcart feel. It is too much. Charlotte is the subject of great anxiety. As for you, what shall I say? Let your comfort be that I could never have lived without you and am happy to go first.
My health is so very precarious that if I was to recover, it might only be for a short time, and to die in a less comfortable manner. Dr. Webster’s being a Clergyman is a great comfort. In short this is all I can say to reconcile you to the worst. If God should restore my health I would accept it joyfully, and thankfully, and dedicate it to his service. If he sees it best for me, he will do so, if not, let me submit to his will and follow my Dear Brother and Sister. Think of this My Dear Husband and join with me in resignation to God Almighty who I trust will join us all in Heaven.
Thomas Graham to Lord Cathcart.
HYERES, June 27, 1792.
My DEAREST BROTHER,— I have time only to tell you our dearest Mary is no more. She expired without a groan last night at eight o’clock in this Roadstead.
We luckily got in, in the morning after a stormy night, during which she did not suffer at all. I had begged Lady Stormont to write to you, doubting whether it would be in my power.
She will give you some details. God bless you, my dearest Cathcart. Charlotte is very well and supports herself and behaves like the sister of the angel that is gone. Ever yours, T.G
Thomas wrote a journal documenting Mary’s final days and the horror of having her coffin returned to England.
Now, there have been rumours about the portraits of Mary after her death, so I will cite directly from the book itself which clarifies the facts:
Legends have arisen from the uncertainty of what became of the Gainsborough portraits of Mary after her death, when her husband decided he could not bear the pain of living within sight of them. It has even been believed that he had these treasures “ bricked up” in one of his houses, and that they never saw the light till after his death fifty years later. The following undated letter, however, proves that the pictures were lent to Lord Stormont and Louisa. They inherited the Mansfield titles in March 1793 and the letter was probably written very soon after that date, Mary’s death being so recent that he could not trust himself to speak of it.
Letter from Lord Mansfield to Col. Graham at Nerot’s Hotel, London.
Dear Mr. Graham,
I am much obliged to you for the message you sent me by Lady Cathcart, and for wishing to have that picture which I perfectly remembered you had only lent.
I know where it is, I believe and could if I was to search, find it, but I trust you will excuse it for the present as I wish to delay everything of that sort till my nerves are stronger and my spirits less agitated. I must trouble you with a word upon the subject of the two pictures by Gainsborough which are here.
I recollect at the time that I framed and put up the whole length, you said you would not give it but had no room of your own which it was not too big for.
I have never been able to look at it since [Mary’s death] and it has been veiled with muslin, but I am now going to new fit up my bed chamber and to move my bed upstairs, and till I know your intentions I am at a loss what to do with the picture.
If it was my property I should either leave it in its present place, or put it in a room at Kenwood House, which is to contain all the family pictures we have.
There is likewise here the picture you brought from Balgowan which I own I like the best of the two— but I imagine you are of the same opinion. Some time or other I must with your leave have a good and exact copy of it.
For the present it is quite safe in my press where it was put as soon as it came from Cosways, and I keep the key in my desk.
Pray write a line in answer, as it is much easier to write than to talk upon these cruel subjects.
Ever dear Mr. Graham, Affectly. yours M.”’
What is known however, is that Thomas reclaimed his late wife’s portraits and stored them away, until the box containing them was opened over 40 years later by one the family descendants who gifted them to the people of Scotland, with the proviso that it should never leave the country.
Much of this information has come via what appears to be a very under read book about Mrs Graham and her siblings – The Beautiful Mrs Graham and the Cathcart Circle. The book contains many gossipy letters shared between the three siblings, updating each other on family matters, fashions of the day and their travels in England, Scotland and abroad.
If you haven’t read it, I would highly recommend it. It provides fascinating insights into the lives of women of their social status and for those interested in the aristocracy there are plenty of well-known names who warranted a name check, including Marie Antionette whom Louisa met on several occasions and Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire who was a close friend to Mary. The book was published in 1928, by E. Maxtone Graham, a descendant of Mary’s husband.
If you do read it, from the end of page 307 of the book there is a mildly amusing, if very costly story which I’ll leave for you to read for yourselves and I look forward to returning in September with more stories from the Georgian period.
Today, I welcome a name familiar to many regular readers of All Things Georgian, R.M Healey who has recently been researching a late Georgian doctor from Pembroke and is going to share some findings with you.
Ryce Jones was not a prominent figure in medicine. Not for him the glamour of an operating theatre in a London hospital or the well paid post of a private physician to some member of the aristocracy. Jones was a humble country doctor with a practice in Pembroke.
However, it would be wrong to see Jones as a trained GP as we define the term nowadays. The majority of those attending to the needs of patients, especially in rural areas, were not skilled surgeons, but ‘surgeon apothecaries’.
Most earned a fraction of the fee that their city colleagues, many of whom were equally unskilled, could command and many were obliged to look for patients well away from their home in order to make a living.
Apothecaries, in the words of one authority on the incomes of medical practitioners in this period, were allowed, following the famous Rose case of 1704, ‘to practise medicine rather than merely dispense it’ (1).
These surgeon-apothecaries had no clinic as such, but often operated from their home and in isolated rural districts were as likely to mount a horse to bring their nostrums to patients as to wait for them to visit their premises. Luckily, we now know something regarding the fees charged by Jones for the medicines he dispensed and the visits he made, thanks to some surviving records, including a diary, of one of his patients, Matthew Campbell, which were discovered by a solicitor names Richard Rose on the Portobello Road in the late 1970s, (2) and which were sold by auction in July 2021. From the same source some bills drawn up by Jones and sent to Campbell were purchased recently by the author, also on the Portobello Road.
John Campbell, the First Earl of Cawdor (1753 – 1821
But before we look at Ryce Jones we need to examine the rather complicated life of Matthew Campbell (1763 – 1823). He was a kinsman of John Campbell, the First Earl of Cawdor (1753 – 1821), who was a military officer and local MP, had a seat at Stackpole Court, three miles south of Pembroke, and thanks to lucrative estates in Wales and Scotland, was able to cultivate the life of a connoisseur and collector (3). From 1780 he was a governor of Milford Haven and his general influence in south Pembrokeshire may have got Matthew Campbell the post of Collector of Customs at Pembroke. Here his work included collecting duties on wine, spirits and luxury items, patrolling coastal areas in the search for smugglers and keeping detailed records of goods, taxes collected, and any incidents of smuggling or confiscation, all of which are recorded in the diary alluded to.
Pembroke Dock area
Campbell’s post as a customs officer carried a decent salary, which possibly supplemented by kickbacks from smugglers, enabled him to pursue a bachelor lifestyle for many years.
We know that he was an educated man, since some of the passages in his diary were in Greek. He had a sister named Harriett, who may have lived with him at Treowen, in what is now known as Pembroke Dock (there is a Treowen road here leading southward to East Pennar).
Campbell had no legitimate children, but after marrying Anne Thomas (nee Adams) in 1805, he fathered at least three illegitimate offspring by three different women—Mary Patterson, Sarah Hill and Elizabeth Roch(e). George, one of these children, was born in 1812 and in 1818 his mother Mary married William Hazelwood, a shipwright at Pembroke Dockyard. George lived in the Hazelwood household at least until 1823, when Hazelwood abandoned his family and was said to have emigrated to America, possibly leaving Campbell for a short while to look after his eleven year-old son until his own death in the same year, when George was presumably cared for by Anne Matthews or Mary Hazelwood.(4)
Unfortunately, we have only the barest details of Jones’ life, but we do know that he was born around 1766, married Mary in the parish of St Mary’s , and by her had Henry Prout in 1812 and Ryce Wellington in 1814. (5) Jones and Matthews were evidently on friendly terms, for in the diary entries for the 10 and 11 of February 1819 Jones and his wife were mentioned, Mrs Jones taking tea with Matthews on the 10th. Doubtless Jones continued to practice medicine successfully in his home town.
In a census at the age of 70 he was listed as a ‘surgeon‘, (6) but in his obituary in the North Devon Journal of 18 May 1848, following his death in Pembroke, he was described as having practised for ‘ upwards of fifty years ‘ in the town as ‘an eminent medical practitioner’, which would suggest that he was still dispensing medication in his seventies. (7)
According to the bill drawn up by Ryce Jones and found among Campbell’s papers, in August 1820, Mary Hazlewood (as Jones spelt her name) was a patient. From 22 August until 31st, Jones issued almost daily prescriptions to her, including a fever julep, ‘diaphoretic’ powders that promoted perspiration, and an astringent mixture, all charged at 1/6d.
Wellcome Collection
For the rest of the year the prescriptions were less frequent. In choosing the appropriate medication for her symptoms Jones may have taken advice from some sort of pocket-sized medical guide, such as Dr Robert Hooper’s best-selling Physician’s Vade Mecum, which had first appeared in 1809 and was reprinted in 1823. No visits were recorded throughout this period, which suggests that Mrs Hazlewood’s health was reasonably stable, at least compared with that of Campbell’s own son George , who in 1822 (as we shall see ) was visited almost every day by Jones.
Mrs Hazlewood had at least four children by her husband William— Matilda, born in 1818, Thomas, born in 1820, Amelia, born in 1821 and Mary Anne, who was born in 1825 (8). All three of the children alive then were patients of Jones and on January 26 1821 one of them was prescribed ‘six febrifuge powders’ for three days. On 26 February and 2 March the ‘eldest’ son ( presumably George) was given an ‘antiscorbutant ointment’ to counteract the effects of scurvy, whose symptoms included skin lesions, and ( in the words of Dr Hooper) ‘wandering pains in different parts of the body, gums that swell, become spongy and bleed upon the slightest touch’, ulcers and either constipation or diarrhoea. (9)
The boy must have had the former, as Jones prescribed a sweet-tasting purgative known as an electuary. Doubtless, Jones would have been familiar with the root cause of scurvy, which is a lack of vitamin C, and although vitamins weren’t formally identified until the early twentieth century, it had been known since the late eighteenth that a diet in which citrus fruit featured prominently had a miraculous effect on a patient’s health. If the actual fruits weren’t available, due to seasonable shortages, a solution of citric acid crystals could be substituted. Dried tamarinds and sodium and magnesium sulphate (a laxative), were also recommended by Hooper. The various medications seem to have worked, but in July the ‘youngest child’ was prescribed six ‘alterative powders‘ from the 13th to the 16th of the month.
According to Hooper, alterative powders were used to ‘re-establish health by gradually altering the actions of the system, without producing any sensible evacuation’, which doesn’t get us very far. (10)
Mrs Hazlewood was given some ‘Tonic alt. pills‘, which at 2/6 a pop were a shilling more than the usual medications, possibly because they contained expensive ingredients, such as Peruvian bark. The ‘alterative powders’, designed to be dissolved in water, were more expensive still, at 3/- .
By mid August a quart of ‘lotion‘ priced at 2/- began to appear on the bill. Lotions were, and still are, applied to the skin to relieve itching and soreness, but unlike ointments were applied gently, rather than rubbed in. Perhaps the ulcers characteristic of scurvy hadn’t healed sufficiently.
Throughout the autumn of 1820, Jones continued to prescribe alterative powders regularly to Mrs Hazlewood, with an aperient ( a laxative) to her son. In January, February and early March 1821 fever powders and laxatives were prescribed to her other children. No further medication was dispensed until July, when the youngest child was given more alterative powders, and lotions were also prescribed throughout the rest of the summer.
It is significant that despite these frequent calls for medication, no visits to the Hazlewood family appear in the accounts. This would suggest that the illnesses weren’t considered serious enough by either Mr Campbell, or Ryce Jones, or that Mrs Hazlewood or Campbell himself fetched them from Ryce Jones’ home. We don’t know how many pills or what weight of powder at 2/6d each item were prescribed by Jones. In August 1820 alone medications were dispensed on ten separate occasions.
The proof that Jones was a cut above being a mere apothecary came on 10 November 1821 when Amelia Hazlewood was born. The entry reads: ‘Attending and delivering Mrs H. £1. 1 shilling’. Presumably, Jones acted as a midwife and in doing so was possibly responding to the mother’s request. Apparently, many pregnant women preferred male accoucheurs to traditional midwives on the grounds that female practitioners lacked the general medical knowledge and experience deemed essential in case a medical emergency occurred during childbirth. (11)
A surgeon-apothecary shouts back from an open window at a request for a night-visit to a patient, sending pot plants and a cat flying. Coloured aquatint by H. Pyall after M Egerton (Ego), 1827. Wellcome Collection
For the following three week after birth Mrs Hazlewood was regularly plied with medication—from diaphoretic to alterative powders.
In April the following year, the ten year-old George Campbell, was the main focus of attention. During a visit on 9 April the boy was prescribed six doses of astringent powder at 1s 6d. and an ‘antimonial julep’ at 2 shillings. Astringent powders were prescribed for either diarrhoea or constipation but potions containing antimony, which was used as a purgative and an emetic, could be highly poisonous if given in excessive doses .There are some famous cases in Victorian times where heavy metal poisons, such as antimony and arsenic, were used to kill, but as both are not easily expelled from the body, the suspects were often caught.
Evidently, the medications prescribed by Jones failed to do the trick, because another visit was made the following day. This time the prescription was repeated, possibly in a larger dose. Jones visited the family again the following day with a further draught of julep and powder; a further visit was made next day, but his time the boy was given a ‘ fever mixture and ‘six diaphoretic powders’ to increase sweating, it being believed that sweating and blood letting both benefited the patient.
The entry for 13 April doesn’t include the price for a visit, but merely records that the same medication as before was consumed. Two days later, however, Jones paid another visit. What we do know is that the surgeon apothecary, probably at a loss to suggest an alternative cure, prescribed the same potions as before.
Again, a further call by Jones the following day ended up with the dose being increased to six ‘fever pills’‘. By now the boy had been ill for at least nine days and Campbell must have been very concerned for his health. Another visit on 19 April saw Jones attempt desperately to bring down the fever with an all out attack of both fever pills and a fever mixture, both of which were also prescribed the next day and on the 22nd.
A farmer duping a doctor. Coloured etching by C Williams, 1823 Wellcome Collection
Up to this time Jones hadn’t asked for any money owed to him by Campbell, but evidently by the 20 April he felt that enough was enough. On this date the sum of 10. 6d for powder was handed over. Another sum of just 2 shillings was advanced during a visit on 22nd. As Jones lived in Pembroke, a visit to see a patient could be profitable, although presumably Matthews was sufficiently concerned about his son’s health to feel that all those expensive visits at 2/6d a time ( remember that the average weekly wage of a Welsh farm labourer in 1823 was about 12 shillings ) were entirely necessary.
Matthew Campbell’s bill was settled on 20 January 1823. In the following Summer he died at the age of sixty. His doctor (and possible friend) lived for another twenty five years.
Notes.
1) Anne Digby, Making a medical living: doctors and patients in the English market for medicine, 1720 – 1911 ( Cambridge University Press, 2002 ), see especially pages 107 – 117.
2) The Pembroke and Pembroke Dock Observer, 9 March 2017.
3) John E. Davies, The Changing Fortunes of a British Aristocratic Family: the Campbells of Cawdor and their Welsh Estates, 1689 – 1976. (Boydell Press).
4) abergynolwyn on online site, Rootschat on 3/11/09
5) Baptism Records
6 ) Census Records
7) North Devon Journal, 18 May 1848.
8) Baptism Records
9) Hooper ( 1823 ed), p 317.
10) ibid. p 327
11) Digby, pp 259 – 65.
Further reading.
Ryce Jones, Matthew Campbell, and many of the other individuals mentioned in this article feature in Richard Rose’s monumental survey, Pembroke People ( Otterquill Books,1999).
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Wilson, Richard; Pembroke Castle and Landscape; Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The National Library of Wales;
I am delighted to welcome Dr Graham Cope to tell us more about The Grand Old Duke of York and the Mary Clarke affair, but we will begin with a little background information about Graham. While working as a medical research scientist at Birmingham University he invented and patented a simple 5-minute medical test. After clinical trials he established a start-up company to exploit the invention. After achieving worldwide sales, the company no longer needed his scientific input, so he took a step back and concentrated on medical writing, producing a textbook and numerous scientific articles. Turning then to his childhood interest in Georgian history, he was introduced to the life and times of Frederick, Duke of York. Planning a long overdue biography, the project stalled, and his attention turned to medical and surgical matters of the same period. Again, after much research he amalgamated the two subjects and wrote his first novel, The Bone Cutter, which was published in April 2024.
He is also a public speaker on Georgian history and medical matters, so with no further ado, I will hand over to Graham:
Frederick, Duke of York (1763-1827) Signed and dated 1826. William Essex. Courtesy of RCT
Frederick, Duke of York, second son of George III, was a hardworking and respected member of Georgian Society, largely due to his status as Commander-in-Chief of the British Army. While happily married to his wife Frederica, who resided at Oatlands Palace in Weybridge Surrey, during the week he resided in London to undertake his military and charitable duties. While there, he, like many members of the gentry, had a number of extra-marital affairs.
In 1803 while actively involved in the defence of the Realm against the threatened invasion by Napoleon he was distracted by one Mary Anne Clarke.
Mary Anne Clarke by Adam Buck, 1803. Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery.
Mary Anne was born Thompson in April 1776 to a working-class printer who was fond of the drink. Mary as a teenager helped her father at work and learned about the social media of the day – pamphlets, and how they could spread news – real and fake. This knowledge inspired her to improve her status in life.
Her first step was to get married, eloping on her sixteenth birthday with the lodger, Joseph Clarke, a stonemason. He had promised her wealth and advancement, instead he was a wastrel and a drunk. Money was short as she had children to support, consequently they moved accommodation several times. They rented from a family called Taylor who had an uncle called Thomas. He was a thriving boot and shoemaker with a shop on Bond Street London, serving the rich and famous. However, this was not his only enterprise. In rooms above the shop he ran a bordello, for the entertainment of his rich clients.
Thomas, knowing Mary Anne’s desire for money enticed her into this enterprise. Not surprisingly, she willingly engaged. Her first significant introduction was to a man called Bill Dowler, a relatively wealthy stockbroker. They struck up a strong lasting relationship (He remained a lifelong friend), but after a while she longed for more. Now mixing as she did in elevated society, she garnered a reputation for a woman who could attract the rich and influential, and she lived the life of a fashionable and wealthy courtesan. But soon the predators started to circle.
At this time the British Army had a system of promotion, whereby officers could purchase commissions. Those men who could afford it bought promotions for themselves, while many wealthy individuals obtained commissions for their sons, some of whom were in their middle teens. The process of purchase was usually through army agents, individuals who acted as a conduit between interested parties and Army Headquarters at Horse Guards.
One such agent was William Ogilvie and he was quick to identify an opportunity. He planned to engineer that an influential person, Mary Anne Clarke, should liaise with the most important person in the army, the Commander-in-Chief, Frederick, Duke of York.
The Duke of York and Mrs. Clarke in bed. British Museum
He contrived a meeting between the two at the most fashionable assemblage for the rich and famous, Brighton Pavilion, where Frederick was a frequent visitor. There he hoped there would be mutual attraction, and he was right. The two started a deep and mutually heart felt relationship. Frederick bought her expensive gifts and a property very close to his own in London. He would spend most evenings with her and her children, just like a normal family, then in the morning go back to his own dwelling and prepare for work.
Ogilvie now made his next move, to try out his system he asked Mary Anne if she knew anyone who would like to become an officer in the army. She replied that her younger brother, Charlie who was acting as her footman in her new property, fancied himself as an officer. Ogilvie suggested she put his name forward to the Duke, and sure enough, he was made a captain, even though he had no military experience. The die was set. Ogilvie began to promote the fact that his associate Mary Anne Clarke was a sure source of promotion, but it would be at a cost, some going to him and some going to Mary Anne. She would contrive to pin the names of her applicants to the headboard of the conjugal bed for the Duke to take with him to work the next day.
This affair continued for many months until the duke began to tire of the relationship. But the crunch came when Joseph Clarke, Mary’s estranged husband wrote to the Prince accusing him of adultery. This came as a complete surprise to Frederick as he was under the impression that her husband was dead. He resolved to break off the relationship immediately, with the promise of a significant pension as long as she did not disclose any incriminating information.
Colonel Gwyllym Lloyd Wardle, 1761 / 1762 – 1833. Parliamentarian. National Galleries of Scotland
Her reputation and the public knowledge of the breakup was an opportunity for those wishing ill will against the duke. One such individual was a newly elected MP, Colonel Gwyllym Lloyd Wardle, member of the opposition for Oakhampton. Eager to make a name for himself he colluded with others to gather evidence, including encouraging Mary Anne to divulge information. Ultimately, he accused the Duke of York of taking money as part of the promotional scheme for his own benefit. The Government, sure of the Duke’s innocence established a Parliamentary enquiry into this accusation, with a strong defence lead by the Attorney General, Vicary Gibb and the Leader of the House of Commons, Spencer Percival.
The trial lasted three weeks, during which Mary Anne attended every day in her silks and furs and gave lurid evidence about their affair and divulged details of other members of the Royal Family. The proceedings were widely reported in the many newspapers, pamphlets and cartoons and the affair became a national scandal.
The closing verdict after three weeks of deliberation was that the Duke was innocent of taking money but probably was aware that Mrs Clarke was involved in nefarious activity regarding the selling of commissions. Although found not guilty he felt his only course of action was to resign his role as Commander-in-Chief, offering his resignation to the king and retiring to his marital home at Oatlands.
Afterwards Wardle became a celebrity, receiving expensive gifts and becoming a Freeman of the City of London. Mary Anne eager to promote her notoriety published her memoirs, which were full of more embarrassing details. Quickly, the Government intervened and purchased every copy of the book for the princely sum of £4000 and burned every copy, bar one, which was retained in the Bank of England. But not to be denied her windfall she published another book entitled The Rival Princes – which she claimed was a faithful narrative of facts about her involvement with Wardle and others.
However, in 1811 with the succession of George to Prince Regent, one of the first roles he performed was to reinstate his brother as Commander-in-Chief.
As time passed her financial situation worsened due to heavy debts, so to raise money in 1813 she published a book about the Right Honourable William Vesey Fitzgerald, a politician and Chancellor of the Irish Exchequer, accusing him of dishonesty when giving evidence to the trial. He was outraged, and using his knowledge of the law, sued Mary Anne for libel, took her to court, winning the case. As a result, she was imprisoned for three months and so became a classic case of someone rising from the gutter to the pinnacle of society and then falling back down again.
In 1814 Mary Anne realising her reputation was in tatters, fled to Europe, first to Belgium and then to Boulogne, where she lived and received friends and supporters, dying at the age of seventy-six. Wardle incurred massive debts during and after his campaign and was sent to a debtor’s prison, moving on his release to Florence where he died aged seventy-two a broken man.
The Duke of York continued to work at Horse Guards until his dying day, improving the army with regard training and education, establishing Sandhurst and the Duke of York School. He enhanced the welfare of widows, orphans and the injured, and improved the medical services for the army. After his death in 1827 there was a public lying in state followed by a ceremonial funeral. Afterwards a statue purchased by public subscription was erected on what is now known as The Duke of York Steps just off The Mall, and he was affectionately known as ‘The Soldier’s friend’.
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A hand-coloured print of the Duke of York lying on the floor at the feet of Mary Anne Clarke. he appears to be dozing as Clarke holds-up a pigtail and shows it to two men who stand on the right. The man wearing military uniform may be Colonel Wardle who, puts a knowing finger to his nose. The other figure is possibly Folkestone, another lover of the Duchess. On the floor are scattered papers with proclamations of love on them written to Mrs Clarke by the Duke. Inscribed in the plate: Pubd March 19 1809 Courtesy of Royal Collection Trust
In the late 18th century there were many perfume outlets, probably the most famous reputedly being that of James Atkinson, which was believe to have opened its doors in 1799 on Gerrard Street, London.
Following several conversations with Etienne Daly, who has been researching Dido Elizabeth Belle for over 10 years, he felt sure that Dido would have been aware of Atkinsons and that she more than likely used their products and asked if I could do some further digging to find out more about the history of Atkinsons.
With that suggestion, I disappeared down the proverbial rabbit hole, looking specifically at around 1799, when Atkinson reputedly opened his first store, feeling sure that based upon this that Atkinson would at least have advertised his new store, and that this would be really straightforward search. However, I found absolutely no sign of the store whatsoever in 1799, or the year after, or even the year after that.
Drakard’s Stamford News 29 February 1828
Even today, Atkinson’s state that their business was established in 1799. Armed with the information from their website, which was already raising questions for me, I began to look more closely at James Atkinson’s origins, as the story, according to the Atkinson’s website tells us that:
Once upon a time an intrepid young British gentleman and a bear (yes, a real live growly bear) left the wild, rugged climes of Northern England in search of fame, fortune and fabulousness among the glittering cosmopolitan streets of London.
Whilst starting his business in 1799 was not impossible, it was beginning to seem highly unlikely. James was the oldest of 10 known children, born to John and Isobel Atkinson and was baptised 20 January 1782 at Hayton, a small village in Cumbria, a year which James would confirm throughout his life.
This meant that James would have been a mere 17 years old, therefore legally, still very much a child, when he reputedly set up his business on one the most famous streets in London – 44 Gerrard Street, serving the nobility and royalty. How could he possibly have been able to afford to do this, I wonder? Where did he learn how to make a bestselling perfume and other beauty products at such a young age?
I checked every online source, as suggested by Atkinson’s themselves, as they were unable to provide me with any information to support 1799. Like me, the general consensus of opinion appears to be, that despite Atkinson’s own website saying that their business was established in 1799, there is, so far, no publicly available supporting evidence to support the theory.
Portrait of the Artist by Rolinda Sharples, 1814. (c) Bristol Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Eventually, I came across what appears to be the first reference to Atkinson, but this was not until 23 August 1811, in the Morning Post (7 years after the death of Dido Belle).
In the advertisement below we can that Atkinson was selling curling fluid, a product which would ensure that curls remained in place. His ‘Original Curling Fluid’ was something which would have very important product for ladies in the Regency period to ensure those curls stayed in place in all weathers and situations, as we can see in this portrait above, by Rolinda Sharples.
23 August 1811 the Morning Post
The above advert also stated that James was selling his perfume from premises at No. 9, High Street, Bloomsbury, rather than 44 Gerrard Street, where it was suggested, he began his business. Looking at the rates returns for that period there is no mention of James at the address on High Street, so it isn’t clear whose premises he was using when he first began trading.
The first sign of him having moved to 43 Gerrard Street was when it was noted in Drakard’s Stamford News, 23 July 1813, and the rates return for Gerrard Street also place him there. By this time, his fame as spreading due to the efficacy of his curling product and according to this advert, his product was receiving patronage of the royal family and most of the nobility. It was later that he took over 44 Gerrard Street, possibly he expanded as his business grew.
Drakard’s Stamford News. 30 July 1813
Not only was Atkinson selling curling fluid and perfume but had also ventured into vegetable dyes for changing hair colours red and grey into auburn or black, in addition to his perfume.
Between 1814 and 1820 Atkinson complained about copycats and published regular notices around the country offering a reward of £50, and on occasion as much as £100 for information about the counterfeiter.
12 June 1819 Bristol Mirror
It was about 1818 that Atkinson set up shop on Old Bond Street.
Courtesy of The Perfume Society.
It wasn’t until 1823 that Atkinson appears to have started selling his famous Bear’s Grease. Around 1831 with business booming, his brother Edward (1802-1858) joined his James and the pair ran the business until James’s death in 1853, at the age of 71. During his lifetime he found time to marry Elizabeth Blacklock and the couple had 3 children, Clara, Emma Jemima and James.
The 1841 and 1851 census returns also support James being born in 1782 in the village of Hayton, Cumbria. By this time, he and his family were living in Ealing. The 1851 census confirms James as being a perfumer employing 12 men. His business continues today, but as far as I can establish it did not begin in 1799, despite the publicity stating otherwise.
London Church of England Parish Registers; Reference Number: Dro/037/A/01/034
Whilst I think it’s a brilliant story, but I do suspect that the truth was that there was some first rate marketing going on by the company, back in its early years. The earliest sighting of the business having been established in 1799 didn’t actually appear in the press until the 1870’s and thus the story was born and has rarely been challenged since then.
200 years ago, fashions were very different from today, so we’re going to a look at what fashionable conscious women were wearing, with as usual, much of the information coming to us courtesy of Ackermann’s Repository.
London Fashions
Coral coloured gros de Naples high dress: the corsage made to the shape in front, with a little fulness at the bottom of the waist behind: the sleeve en gigot, that is, very large at the top, and confined towards the wrist with five corded bands, each about half an inch in breadth; as the sleeves finish at the wrist, cuffs are requisite, which are usually of embroidered French cambric, of the same pattern as the collarette.
The front of the corsage has a fancy bow in the centre, and three more are placed at equal distance down the front of the skirt: on each side are two bias tucks of the same material as the dress, edged on one side with a narrow satin cord; they approximate at the waist, extend to the shoulder and towards the feet, where they turn off circularly to trim the bottom of the dress; waded hem beneath. Hat of coral gros de Naples; brim broad and circular in front, but much shallower behind; the crown large and projecting forward, composed of six divisions the points meeting in the centre at the top. A bouquet of fancy flowers on the right side: strings inside the brim. Hyacinthe or deep blue silk mantle, lined with ermine, and trimmed round the bottom with a deep border of the same. Shoes of blue Morocco. Light yellow kid gloves.
Ball Dresses
Dress of pale pink gauze, or crèpe lisse, over a white satin slip: the corsage à la soubrette, being made to the shape, and lace with pink cord both in the front and back, with an angular drapery edge with white satin; the points brought to the centre, and extending half way down the corsage, which is straight across the bust, and very low on the shoulders: the waist is finished with straps, that in the centre being the widest and bound with pink satin. The sleeve is extremely short and full an supported with six shaded pink satin rouleau’s, formed into a hoop and ring, the latter half concealed in the bouillonné of the sleeve.
Dinner Dress. MetMuseum
The bottom of the dress is trimmed to correspond, having a very full and deep bouillonné, surmounted by full-blown pale China roses united by green leaves; from each rose a shaded pink satin rouleau extends over the bouillonné, and is fastened through the rings, which are arranged at regular distances and the rest on the wadded hem beneath.
The hair is parted on the forehead, and in large curls, intermixed with bows or nœuds of pink and hair-colour crèpe lisse, with primroses and poppy anemones. A very elegant necklace of emeralds, with a brilliant star, or croix de St. Louis, in front; earrings and bracelets to correspond. Long white kid gloves; white satin shoes; circular fan.
Continuing with the final part of the dress code for March 1825, I came across this article in the North Devon Journal 18 March 1825, which gives you an idea of how, very understandably, important hair was to the women of 1825 in Devon.
Union Hall – The Ladies Deprived of their Curls
On Saturday evening, several decent looking women attended before the magistrate for the purpose of making the following complaint, an obtaining redress: After a good deal of whispering among them, one of the women, who was impelled forward by her companions towards the magistrates’ table, dropped a low curtsey, requesting, on behalf of herself and fellow sufferers, to state a shameful imposition which had been practise upon them all by a barber, named Thomas Rushton. This person called at her house a few days ago, and having requested an interview, which he said was a serious moment, was shewn into the parlour. He commenced by entreating her pardon for the liberty he was about to take in asking her to pull off her cap. She did as he wished, and having a good head of hair, he praised its beautiful colour and softness, adding, that if he could prevail upon her kindness to permit him to cut it off, she should have a guinea And two false fronts to conceal that which she would lose in case she accepted of the bargain. Being in want of money at the time the woman consented, and he immediately drew forth from his pocket a pair of scissors and cut all her hair off close round.
“See your worship” she said, “see what he has done” and taking her bonnet and cap off, exhibited her bare head with little hair left upon it by the barber, sticking up like pig’s bristles. There was a general roar of laughter in the office, as the lady turned round to enable the magistrate to see the manner I which the fellow had cropped her. She continued – “As soon as the barber had clipped her so closely as not even to leave as much over her temples as would bear a curl paper, he thrust the whole of her hair into the crown of his hat and ran out of the house, without giving her a half penny for that of which he had deprived her. She had not seen him since until that morning when she was informed he had served many other females in the same manner.”
Several of her fellow sufferers here stood forward and displayed their heads, shorn of hair, to the magistrate, all of whom were docked as closely of their hair as the former lady. They all declared that since their husbands had found out the scandalous way they had been tricked out of their locks, they had been quite miserable. Pople, the officer, said that within the last few days many complaints had been made to him by respectable females who had their hair cut short off by a fellow answering the description of the one alluded to by the present complainants.
If the magistrate approved of it he (the officer) would apprehend the man, and he would also being forward a score of women beside those present, to prefer charges against him. The magistrate expressed his surprise how women of the least particle of common understanding could allow their hair to be cut off under such circumstances. It was, he observed description of offence that had never been brought under his notice; however, as the ladies had been so cruelly treated as to be deprived of so great an ornament, he ( the magistrate) would in the event of the offender being taken into custody, punish him in such a manner a would effectually check such practice. The women then retired, thanking the magistrate for his condescension in listening to their complaints.
On Tuesday 7 April 2020, the Royal Mail issued ten new first class postage stamps to mark the 250th anniversary, to the very day, of the birth of William Wordsworth. The stamps, in fact, commemorate the Romantic Poets as a group, and include from the first generation of Romantic poets (1798) Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Blake, Mary Robinson and William Wordsworth. And from the second generation (1820) Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron and John Keats are recognised. Bristol was central to the Romantic Movement, as we will see later.
Romanticism is the term that historians have given to a movement of cultural change that swept across Europe in the late C18th and early C19th. This coincided with developments like the French Revolution and, in Britain, the Industrial Revolution and the birth of mass urbanisation. The movement showed an interest in things Gothic, in Medieval art, and in nature. It was a movement in which poetry played a major role in changing people’s attitudes towards the natural world, childhood and the very idea of self-expression.
Coleridge’s Frost at Midnight (1798) touches on the theme of nature and the countryside, as the poet reflects on his own childhood and the hope that his own son will be brought up in the country.
The frost performs its secret ministry
Unhelped by any wind
Frost at Midnight
Coleridge 1795
Wordsworth’s The Rainbow (1802) is a short ode to the natural phenomenon, which sees Wordsworth marvel at the striking colours in the sky.
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky’
The Rainbow
William Wordsworth, who became Poet Laureate in 1843, was regarded as the greatest poet of his age. Born at Cockermouth in the Lake District, his childhood memories, the people, the communities and the landscapes of his home territory were the central subjects of his poetry. After his parents died, he was sent to the Grammar School in the village of Hawkshead, where his love of the hills and lakes was born. Romanticism was above all, for him, a return to nature.
One of the German Romantics wrote of a ‘declaration of the rights of human feeling’, implying a revolution of the emotions to match the rights of man proclaimed by the American and French Revolutions. This was also the era when the British slave trade was abolished and the rights of women were voiced by Mary Wollstonecraft, the mother of Mary Shelley who wrote Frankenstein, the great Romantic Gothic novel, and the mother-in-law of the Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Mary Robinson by Gainsborough. Wallace Collection
Bristol-born Mary Robinson’s Ode to the Snowdrop (1806) is similar in sentiment to Wordsworth’s The Rainbow, this time paying homage to the beauty and vulnerability of the winter flower. A celebrity of her day, Robinson was an actress, poet, dramatist and novelist, and wrote a number of feminist essays in her later years. During her lifetime she was known as ‘the English Sappho’ and ‘Perdita‘. She was the first public mistress of King George IV, while he was still Prince of Wales.
The Snowdrop,
Winter’s timid child,
Awakes to life,
bedew’d with tears
Ode to the Snowdrop by Mary Robinson
Whenever we gain refreshment from a walk in the country, or take joy in the sight of a beautiful view or the sound of birdsong, we are in debt to the Romantics. In the time of the Coronavirus lockdown, many folk found solace, peace and strength in poetry and in the wonders and beauty of the natural world.
During the Romantic period (1780-1830) Bristol was, as the second city in England after London, an exciting place, the city having a vigorous cultural and intellectual life. There was a strong tradition of political and religious dissent, with twenty percent of the population being nonconformist.
There was always a ready audience for unconventional ideas. Bristol had newspapers, publishing houses, coffee houses, meeting rooms, theatres, lending libraries and a Philosophical and Literary Society, all providing fertile ground for debate. It was fortunate in producing, or attracting, a series of talented writers and thinkers.
Sadly, the selection of poets recognised by the Royal Mail neglects to mention the Bristol born poets Thomas Chatterton and Robert Southey.
Unknown boy – engraved as Thomas Chatterton. NPG
Of all English poets, Thomas Chatterton seemed, to his great Romantic successors, most to typify a commitment to the life of the imagination. His poverty and untimely death represented the martyrdom of the poet by the materialistic society of his time. This year is also the 250th anniversary of the death of Chatterton in a London garret, aged just seventeen.
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
By our own spirits are we deified:
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
Resolution and Independence (1802) by William Wordsworth
Thomas Chatterton (1752 – 1770) was born at the schoolmaster’s house on Pile Street, now Redcliffe Way, opposite St Mary Redcliffe church. His father, who died three months before his birth, was Master of Pile Street School. There is a plaque on the house to commemorate the ‘boy poet’. Chatterton’s writing was inspired by the Gothic beauty of St Mary Redcliffe. Chatterton, whose forged medieval poems intrigued and scandalised the literary world, became an icon of neglected genius.
O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive!
Sure thou would’st spread the canvas to the gale,
Monody On The Death Of Chatterton (1790) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!
Dear child of sorrow — son of misery!
Sonnet to Chatterton (1815) by John Keats
Robert Southey. NPG
Robert Southey was born in 1774 at 9 Wine Street, above his linen draper father’s shop. The building was destroyed in the WW2 Blitz; again a plaque commemorates the site. Southey published poems and plays reflecting his radical political views and support for the French Revolution. He was a prolific letter writer, literary scholar, essay writer, historian and biographer. The 1918 film Nelson was based on Southey’s very popular biography of Horatio Nelson. Southey became a pillar of the establishment, being Poet Laureate for thirty years (1813-1843). He was also an author of children’s stories including The Three Bears.
When Samuel Taylor Coleridge was a Cambridge undergraduate he met Southey, another budding poet in Oxford, and later he moved to Bristol and shared lodgings with him at 25 College Street. They shared similar political and philosophical views and had plans, with other friends, to emigrate to America and form a utopian commune-like society called Pantisocracy, in the wilderness of Pennsylvania. In 1795, to raise money for this project, Coleridge gave a series of three public lectures at the Corn Market (no longer there) in Wine Street. As a supporter of the French Revolution, these lectures attacked Pitt’s government and condemned the war against France. Southey later joined Coleridge to deliver more lectures condemning the slave trade and comparing the English Civil War with the French Revolution.
Another Bristol born poet, Robert Lovell, was also involved with the Pantisocracy project. His wealthy Quaker family had disowned him for marrying, in 1794, Mary Fricker, a girl of much beauty and some talent, who had gone on the stage. Southey became engaged to another Fricker sister, Edith. When Coleridge first arrived in Bristol, he joined Lovell, Southey, and three of the Fricker sisters at a lively family party at Lovell’s house on College Green. Another sister, Sarah Fricker was also present and soon Coleridge was engaged to her. Within a few weeks of each other, Coleridge married Sarah and then Southey married Edith at St Mary Redcliffe.
Lovell introduced Southey and Coleridge to their patron Joseph Cottle, who was a publisher, bookseller and poet. His shop stood at the corner of Corn Street and High Street. There is a red plaque high up on the current building. He published Poems on Various Subjects, Coleridge’s first major collection, which includes four sonnets by Charles Lamb. Cottle next undertook the financing and publication of Coleridge’s short-lived periodical, ‘The Watchman’ (1796), which contained explicitly political material, such as attacks on the slave trade and criticism of the alliance of church and state power. Cottle also commissioned and printed Lyrical Ballads, a collection of poems by Coleridge and Wordsworth, which includes one of Coleridge’s most famous works, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798).
In 1798, William Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy visited Bristol to see Lyrical Ballads come to press. They stayed with the publisher Joseph Cottle in Wine Street. During that stay, they visited Tintern and as they later walked down Bristol’s Park Street, returning to Cottle’s house, Wordsworth composed the last passage of Lines written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a tour July 13, 1798, a poem which encapsulates his philosophy of nature.
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake.
This poem was probably completed at Cottle’s home and it was the last one in Lyrical Ballads.
Thomas Beddoes, a physician, and Professor of Chemistry at Oxford, was keen to find a cure for tuberculosis (TB). His open adherence to radical politics made life difficult for him at the university. Charles Darwin’s grandfather Erasmus Darwin, a physician and poet, advised Beddoes to go the Hotwell near Bristol, where there were many TB patients. From 1793 he started a clinic, in Hope Square, Hotwells, where he worked on finding a cure for TB. In 1798 he set up the Bristol Pneumatic Medical Institution, in Dowry Square, as a centre for free public medicine and research into diets, drugs and to test various gases for the treatment of TB.
That same year, a nineteen year old Cornishman, Humphry Davy, was appointed as the superintendent of the Institution. James Watt, known for his steam engine, built a portable gas chamber to facilitate Davy’s experiments with the inhalation of nitrous oxide. Davy experimented with nitrous oxide (laughing gas) on both himself and friends and acquaintances. One was Southey, who wrote to his brother,
O, Tom! Such a gas Davy has discovered the gaseous oxide. I have had some; it made me laugh and tingle in every toe and finger-tip. Davy has actually invented a new pleasure, for which language has no name. I am going for more this evening! It makes one strong and happy! So gloriously happy!
Coleridge was one of those friends and was fascinated by the phenomenon and its psychosomatic (a term he coined) implications. He had in fact resorted to laudanum (tincture of opium) since his teenage years, whenever he felt ill or anxious. Coleridge and Davy corresponded extensively, sharing their ideas about poetry and science. Davy was also a poet, writing over 160 poems, which are found in his personal notebooks. Eight of his known poems were published. His poems reflected on his career and his perception of certain aspects of human life. He wrote on human endeavours and aspects of life like death, metaphysics, geology, natural theology and chemistry.
The Pneumatic Institution was converted into a normal hospital when typhus broke out in Bristol in 1800. Davy left in 1801 to join Sir Joseph Banks at the Royal Institution in London. The Bristol Pneumatic Institution closed down in 1802. Many of the techniques and tools developed by Watt for the Pneumatic Institution are still used in modern medicine.
Later in life, Wordsworth, Coleridge and Southey all moved to the Lake District, which was where Wordsworth hailed from, and became known as the Lake Poets. On Southey’s death in 1843, Wordsworth became Poet Laureate. They were associated with several other poets and writers, including Dorothy Wordsworth, Charles Lamb, Mary Lamb and Thomas De Quincey.
The large city of Bristol, where there was a vigorous cultural and intellectual life, with a strong tradition of political and religious dissent, was thus a suitable environment for these young radical poets, Southey, Coleridge and Wordsworth. They spent a significant and important period of their creative life in this thriving second city of England, during what have been described as unruly times.
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Rowbotham, Thomas Leeson, 1782-1853; View of the Avon and Hotwells Showing the Foundations for Windsor Terrace
This article first appeared in the CHIS (Clifton and Hotwells Improvement Society) Newsletter, September 2020.
18th century fine dining at its very best – a turtle feast! The concept is certainly not something most of us would be happy to partake in today, here in Britain. However, amongst the British elite of the 18th and early 19th century it was very much the thing to do as a demonstration of wealth. I first came across this in connection with who else but the future George IV, well known for his love of food.
I came across a letter in the Royal Collection Trust, written to the Prince of Wales by his brother, William, Duke of Clarence on 16 July 1794, trying to persuade the Prince of Wales to attend a dinner hosted by the Surrey bowmen, as by this time the Prince of Wales was the patron of the Kentish Society. Payback for Prinny appears to have been a feast, which would be served in tents and would include venison and turtle.
John Russell signed and dated 1791 The Prince of Wales was interested in his self-image. This flattering, athletic portrait was commissioned by him as a prize for a meeting of the Royal Kentish Bowmen. As president of the society, he is dressed in their green uniform. He leans on the pedestal of a statue of Diana, the classical goddess of hunting and chastity. He is not yet overly fat, yet something of his epicurean character is suggested by his pose, hair and expression. His brother once tried to lure him to a Kentish Bowmen dinner by promising him turtle and venison, served in tents in rural Surrey. This painting was commissioned by the Prince of Wales as a prize for a meeting of the Bowmen in the 1790s. Royal Collection Trust
If you look very closely on the left you can just make out the Kentish Bowmen in the painting
The London Chronicle, 10 July 1792, reported:
The Royal Kentish Bowmen
On Monday the Royal Kentish Bowmen shot for their annual prize – a silver bugle horn, given by his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, which, after a severe content of three hours, was won by the Rev. Mr Dodd, Chaplain to the Society, and son to the comedian of that name. The sport took place at the Bowmen’s Lodge on Dartford Heath, in the presence of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and a great number of persons of distinction of both sexes, among who was Mrs Fitzherbert. The Prince arrived at three o’clock, and was received by the Bowmen, who were dressed in their uniforms, and drawn up under their colours, the band from the Artillery corps playing, an a Royal salute being fired from seven small pieces of artillery.
When the prize was adjudged to Mr Dodd, the whole Society, with their colours and music, paraded round the ground, and Mr Dodd kneeling, was invested with the Horn by the Prince. At half after six o’clock the Prince, and about 160 Gentlemen of the society, sat down to a very sumptuous dinner provided for them at the Lodge, and did not break up until one o’clock yesterday morning. After dinner, the King, the Queen, the Prince of Wales, the Dukes of York and Clarence and the rest of the royal family, were drank, under a discharge of the artillery.
Many excellent songs, catches and glees etc were sung by Messrs Knevitt and Sale. The Hon. Mr Fitzroy, Mr Maddocks, Messrs. Dodd, senior and junior, also exerted their vocal powers, to a to the general mirth and pleasure of the evening. On the ground, refreshments of all sorts were prepared for the company in an elegant marquee.
The Prince, who honoured the Society with his presence for the first time, appeared in the uniform worn by the Bowmen.
The day was unfavourable, which was a considerable drawback from the spectacle.
Many members of the nobility who wished to demonstrate their wealth gave an annual turtle feast and we find notices in the press of the day informing people of such occasions.
Powell, John; William Henry Cavendish-Bentinck (1738-1809), 3rd Duke of Portland; National Trust, Dunham Massey
2 Aug 1783, Public Advertiser
Yesterday the Duke of Portland gave a very grand Turtle Feast of divers of the nobility at his house in Downing Street.
The Duke of Portland had become Prime Minister just a few months prior to this, so perhaps it was a celebration of his appointment. Sadly, these feasts don’t provide further details of what else was included in the feast, but it appears to have been a feast that usually took place during the summer months.
Shepherd, Thomas Hosmer; A View of the Old Bank of England, London, c.1800; Bank of England
28 July 1794, Morning Post
The Directors of the Bank of England have a Turtle Feast this week, to celebrate the centenary of the bank, which takes place in the course of a few days.
Jane, Duchess of Gordon, née Maxwell, standing three-quarter-length, portrayed in a green riding habit, wearing only one glove on her right hand. By Daniel Gardner c.1775.
15 Aug 1789, The Morning Star
The Duchess of Gordon still remains in town. On Thursday she gave a Turtle Feast to Mr Pitt.
And finally, we have the beauty, Mary Graham writing to her husband Thomas Graham on 12 or 13 August 1782
On Sunday I was at a Turtle Feast at Kenwood, where you would have made a better figure than I did.
Gainsborough, Thomas; The Honourable Mary Cathcart, The Honourable Mrs Thomas Graham; National Trust, Hill Top and the Beatrix Potter Gallery
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Comforts of Bath Gouty Gourmands at Dinner, 1798 Thomas Rowlandson YCBA
I’m delighted to welcome author, Rosalind Freeborn to All Things Georgian to tell you more about her new book, which is fascinating and beautifully told.
Did you know that King George III had a secret, firstborn son? No, very little is known about him but, in my book, Prince George & Master Frederick, published by Alliance Publishing Press on 30 January 2025, I’ve researched the true-life story of Master Frederick Blomberg and hope that you’ll agree that he was a royal friend and secret brother.
At nearly four years old, Frederick Blomberg was bundled into a carriage and taken from his rural home to live with King George III, Queen Charlotte and the Royal Family at Richmond Palace. His role was to be a playmate to the then three-year-old Prince George, future regent and King George IV but just what was this child’s secret connection to the king?
Historians and royal biographers hardly ever mention Frederick yet, if you start looking for him in archives, newspapers and magazines of the day you will find him there, listed as a guest at children’s parties, playing a duet with the Prince of Wales, and later, attending dinners and soirees at royal residences; he was often listed as a guest at the huge, set-piece events like weddings, funerals and coronations.
He was so often ‘in the room where it happened’ that, after poring over all this evidence I collected, I realised he was, actually an important and influential character in Georgian royal history who’s been ignored for years. Many commentators of the day expressed their surprise at the likeness between the King, Prince George and Master Frederick and I’ve no doubt there would have been much speculation at the time about why the King and Queen decided to adopt a child from a seemingly humble background whom they’d never met before. Frederick’s origins were shrouded in mystery. But the story was, the King had been close friends with Major William Blomberg, an equerry, Frederick’s (name) father, and, on hearing of his friend’s death, decided to take on the orphan child. In my book, I reveal that there was much more to the story.
One of the elements which clinched my belief that Frederick was the firstborn (illegitimate) son of the King is that he was treated so well. And also, Queen Charlotte clearly loved him. It shows huge commitment and kindness on her part that she took in this child without any prior knowledge of him. And the way she and the king heard about little Frederick was curious and quite alarming. A sensational ghost story started circulating in around 1764. Major Blomberg, Frederick’s father, had been killed in action in the Caribbean. There are several versions of this story but, we learn, he appeared as an apparition to his commanding officers at the moment of his death exhorting them, on their return to England, to seek out the orphan son of his secret marriage and tell King George III when they have found him. This, the soldiers duly did, and Frederick was adopted.
It shows Queen Charlotte in a very generous light. Perhaps she had no choice but to absorb her husband’s ‘accidental son’ into her home but she clearly loved Frederick. In 1769 she commissioned portraits of all her sons from the court artist, Hugh Douglas Hamilton. He made sketches of Princes George, Frederick, William and Edward, the King and…. Master Frederick Blomberg. That little portrait was later given to Frederick Blomberg – I would imagine that the Prince Regent gifted it to him around 1810.
It was this little portrait which gave me the biggest clue to the importance of Frederick Blomberg. My interest in him dates back to a conversation I had with my grandmother, when I was about 22, and asked her about this preposterous-sounding claim of hers that the family had a connection with King George III. She had grown up in a grand house in Yorkshire, Kirby Misperton Hall, and, on the wall, was a picture of this boy her family asserted was the king’s child. She told me the story of King George travelling in the countryside, interested in agriculture and going to farms. At one farm he came upon a beautiful girl; there was a baby, and his best friend married the girl to get her out of trouble and save a scandal. (This affair would have taken place in 1761 before Prince George, future George III became king and before he married Charlotte). There is a strong link in this, Kirby Misperton Hall, and the estate, had been gifted to Frederick Blomberg by the Prince Regent in 1810 and the portrait stayed on the wall there, after his death in 1847. My grandmother lived in the house in the early 1900s.
So, when I discovered that this portrait of Frederick Blomberg had come up for auction recently and had been bought by King Charles III for the Royal Collection Trust, I realised that Frederick Blomberg was being acknowledged as a royal child. I was so delighted to visit the Print Room at Windsor Castle and see the portrait of Frederick lined up with the matching portraits of his royal siblings. There’s no doubt that they were all made at the same time, in June 1769 when Frederick was seven years old. I was so touched to see that Frederick’s portrait is now safely tucked up in a box with the royal portraits.
The other image of Frederick I sourced is a spectacular portrait painted by Richard Brompton. It’s a companion to portraits of Prince George and Prince Frederick as small children which currently hang in the 1844 Room at Buckingham Palace. I’m delighted that Brompton’s portraits of Prince George and Master Frederick adorn the cover of my book.
Portrait of Frederick William Blomberg (1761-1847), attributed to Richard Brompton (British, 1734-1783), full-length, in a silk suit with plumed hat, leaning on an architectural column with Latin inscription. Invaluable.com. Sold by Austin Auction Gallery
I’m not an academic or historian but I am a storyteller. My book is very much a work of historical fiction but it features real events and many real characters from the Georgian royal family. It took several years of research, plunging into Georgian history through books, biographies, research at the National Archives and royal residences. I loved poring over entries on the ancestry.com and newspapers.com websites. Because Frederick was so close to the Royal Family he is frequently listed in accounts of events.
And, I believe I’ve uncovered the reason Frederick was brought up as a prince and remained so close to the royal family all his life. He became a great friend and confidante to his half-brother, Prince George. This friendship, forged in childhood, endured as the two boys grew up and followed very different paths. They must have been such different characters too. Prince George was a renowned spendthrift, womaniser and cared little for the responsibilities of royal duty; Master Frederick was a more serious, studious child, who, having been sent , by the King, to Cambridge University and later ordained, became a clergyman. The king granted him several very lucrative livings, so he had good homes, status and income. However, both Prince George and Master Frederick were bonded by a shared love of music – an enthusiasm which lasted all their lives. Frederick gained a reputation as an eccentric clergyman at his parishes in Somerset and could often be seen trotting around the neighbourhood in his carriage which he turned into a mobile music room.
In Prince George & Master Frederick I’ve brought to life the brotherly love these two men enjoyed. I’m sure there’s even more to be learned about Frederick Blomberg but, for the time being, in this book, I’ve done my best to shine a light on a mysterious member of the Georgian royal family who has been hiding in plain sight all these years. And I hope readers will share my enthusiasm for these royal friends and secret brothers.
As this year sees the 250th anniversary of the birth of Jane Austen and I have read so many times that Jane Austen must have known, or at least heard of Dido Elizabeth Belle (1761-1804) I thought it was worth exploring any possible connection between the two women. Sadly though, there is no tangible evidence that this was the case. Having said that though, Jane would have known of Lord Mansfield, given his position in English society and in whose home, Kenwood House, Dido was raised, but that alone doesn’t prove that the pair knew each other, but perhaps confirms that Jane may have been aware that Dido live there.
Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778. Scone Palace
What is undisputed though, is that Jane knew Dido’s second cousin, Lady Elizabeth Murray, who married George Finch Hatton, as the two women met occasionally, with Jane being rather less than complimentary about Lady Elizabeth, when she wrote on 24 August 1805:
Lady Elizabeth for a woman in her age and situation, has astonishingly little to say for herself.
It would seem unlikely that Dido’s name would have featured in their conversations though, given that their first recorded meeting wasn’t until a year after Dido’s death.
I wondered whether that was the only possible connection between Dido and Jane and regular readers will be aware that I have often tried to show that back in the 18th century as it was a much smaller world than today and with some research, I came across another potential connection.
The name Langlois was very familiar to, as being a name that I had come across several times in my research into the life of Dido, so we begin with a gentleman by the name of Benjamin Langlois (1727-1802).
Langlois and Viscount David Stormont (1727-1796) attended Christ Church College, Oxford University at the same time, and would remain firm friends throughout their lives. Langlois accompanied Stormont to Warsaw in June 1756, then in the early 1760’s he was Secretary of the embassy in Vienna, and in Stormont’s absence, was in charge. Langlois’s name appeared on numerous occasions throughout David, 2nd Lord Mansfield’s lengthy will, in terms of his land and wealth. He was also named as one of as Stormont’s executors, not to mention attending various social events hosted by Viscount Stormont.
Portrait of David Murray; 2nd Earl of Mansfield; three-quarter length, turned half-l, eyes to front, wearing the Thistle on his robes. British Museum
In addition to this, Langlois was not only a very close friend of 2nd Lord Mansfield, but also of his sisters, the Honourable Ladies Anne and Margery Murray, these were all Dido’s relatives, so it would seem plausible that Dido’s name would have been mentioned in conversation, at least.
In her will written in 1796, Lady Margery Murray, the niece of Lord Mansfield, she left:
an amber snuff box set in gold and given by me in my will to my dear brother now deceased I desire the favour of my old friend Benjamin Langlois Esqr to accept as a token of my regard and esteem
Another example showing the close connection between Langlois and Stormont’s family appeared in Mary Hamilton’s papers from 1784, just after the death of Lord Mansfield’s wife when she wrote:
Family dinner at Lord Stormont’s Portland Place townhouse, the deep mourning which the family were in for the late Lady Mansfield was thrown aside for today – every one look’d gay and Lord Stormont’s two Sisters – Miss Elizabeth Murray (his daughter), Lady Stormont’s Brother Colonel Cathcart, our Cousins, Mr. & Colonel. Greville, Mr. Benjamin Langlois – a friend of Lord Stormont – a very worthy man.
It has to be noted however, that Dido was absent from this gathering.
Mary Hamilton: Drawing by Miss Boyle from the book, Mary Hamilton, Afterwards Mrs. John Dickenson: At Court and at home by Elizabeth & Florence Anson (1925), London: John Murray
This close connection which Langlois had with all those living at Kenwood would seem to indicate that he must have known of Dido, but once again, there is no evidence of him visiting Kenwood whilst Dido lived there.
It is well known that Austen had a courtship with Thomas Langlois Lefroy upon whom it has been suggested that when she wrote Pride and Prejudice (published in 1813) that the character, Mr Darcy was based upon Lefroy.
Lincoln’s Inn Admission Register – VOL 1 1420-1799
Lefroy was the great nephew of Benjamin Langlois, who lived at the time (1795/6), on Edward’s Street, St Marylebone, when Lefroy stayed with him and financially supported him whilst at Lincoln’s Inn.
Horwood’s Map showing Edwards Street, St Marylebone
It begs the question as to whether they ever discussed Stormont, who had become the 2nd Lord Mansfield and perhaps in turn Dido was mentioned – very definitely pure speculation on my part, I’m sorry to say.
So, the question remains and may always do so, about any connection between Austen and Dido, but certainly they did have indirect connections.
Today, I welcome back R.M. Healey for the second part of the story about Leonard Phillips, which ultimately led to the former home of the famous socialite, Mrs Piozzi, Hester Thrale.
Hester Thrale. NPG
Leonard Phillipps junior also seems to have been an innovator in horticultural nomenclature. In his Catalogue of Fruit Trees for Sale (1814) he shows his disdain for the simple-minded rusticity of the common names given to fruit.
Instead, he announced that his new varieties were named after famous people (mainly dead) from around the world. Thus apples, pears, plums, cherries, gooseberries and redcurrants are assigned the names of artists, scientists, politicians, medical men, writers, explorers, musicians, theologians, topographers, poets, historians, naval heroes and even publishers.
The assigning of names seems to be purely arbitrary. For instance, there is no sense in which the apples named after the rival Tudor theologians Edmund Bonner and Thomas Cranmer are very different in character or flavour, or that ‘Lord Nelson’ has a particularly bold and adventurous flavour, or that the taste of ‘William Purcell’ was music to the taste buds. This nomenclature, for all its eccentricity, does however, suggest that Phillipps was his own man and a rather well educated one at that.
This catalogue is arranged in two parts—the first containing 1249 varieties, the second ending in variety number 1582. Many of those in the second part were raised by the celebrated botanist Thomas Andrew Knight FRS (1759 – 1838), President of the Horticultural Society of London from 1811 to his death.
Cole, Solomon; Thomas Andrew Knight (1758-1838), FRS, FLS, PRHS; Collection of the Herbarium, Library, Art & Archives, Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew
It is noticeable that these particular varieties lack the famous names bestowed by Phillips on his own fruit trees. Given that Knight was a specialist in the improvement of fruit tree culture, and indeed wrote two important books on the subject, it is possible that the older man was a mentor to the young Phillipps, although little if anything is known of their collaboration. What we certainly know is that Knight, who was based in his native Herefordshire, was interested in eliminating the pests prevalent among apple trees, which Phillipps, as a commercial grower, must have been concerned with himself. Whether the varieties at Vauxhall ‘raised’ by Knight were gifted to Phillipps, or whether Knight leased part of the ‘experimental grounds’ from Phillipps to raise his own varieties, is not known at present. Oddly, although Knight was regarded as one of the most respected horticulturists of his time and, as might be expected, is referred to frequently in Charles McIntosh’s The Orchard (1839), a highly sought after work today and arguably the most exhaustive treatise on fruit growing published in the nineteenth century, the experiments conducted by Phillipps at Vauxhall don’t merit a mention alongside the achievements of many contemporary horticulturists. For instance, his Cellini apple isn’t referred to at all, which is perplexing.
Towards the close of 1832 it seems that the seventy six year old Leonard Phillipps senior had neglected his business affairs, possibly due to illness, and that he had owed tithe money to the Reverend Herbert Hill, Rector of Streatham, for growing hot-house fruit on his property in the parish, and when the parson died his executors made a claim against him.
Where in Streatham Leonard senior actually raised his hot-house fruit is not known at present. Leonard’s property in Wandsworth Road, Vauxhall, does not lie in the parish of Streatham, but it is entirely possible that Phillipps owned or leased land and/or a house in the parish.
In any case, the result of this action for the recovery of tithes was that a sale of 50,000 fruit trees belonging to Leonard junior and growing on the Exhibition site, was instigated by an auctioneer appointed by the executors. Leonard junior, incensed by this flagrant violation of his property rights, went along to the sale, but his father seems to have stayed away, possibly due to a combination of poor health and embarrassment. On the appointed day a large crowd attended the event, which was reported in great detail in the Examiner, a radical newspaper with a hatred of the established church. The sale, it remarked, was :
the result of ( we believe) the first public sale of property seized for tithes, which has taken place in the neighbourhood of the metropolis 1)
Before bidding began Leonard junior asked the auctioneer whose warrant he had for selling the trees. On discovering that the warrant had been issued against his father, not him, there was applause from the crowd. Emboldened by this information, Leonard then warned potential bidders not to buy lots that had been illegally seized. This didn’t appear to deter the auctioneer, who declared that ‘we will risk it’.
And so the sale went ahead. Bidders , sensing that bargains were to be had, successfully obtained the opening lots for extremely low bids, such as one shilling for trees estimated at four guineas, whereupon the auctioneer , suspecting that a ‘ring’ was in operation, terminated the sale after only a few lots has been sold. He and the sheriff of Surrey then left the site in a carriage bound for London to seek further advice. Bidders waited patiently for nearly two hours for them to return and when they didn’t appear the deputy auctioneer postponed the sale indefinitely. As far as we know the illegal sale of Philipps’s prized fruit trees didn’t recommence.
Robert Southey NPG
Incidentally, Herbert Hill, whose tithe money was the cause of the sale, was the husband of Catherine Bigg-Wither, a friend of Jane Austen, who made several visits to his rectory from 1810 to her death in 1817. Hill was also the maternal uncle of the Lake Poet (and later Poet Laureate) Robert Southey. The letters that passed between poet and clergymen lie outside the scope of this article, but the association is worth noting.
In 1833 Leonard senior died aged 76, leaving all his estate to his wife. When she died in 1836 she named only George and Elizabeth (Louise Ann had died in 1823) in her will, which meant that Leonard junior had been cut out of it, for some reason or other.
The later years of Leonard junior are shrouded in mystery. Following the death of his father we may assume that he continued to cultivate fruit trees and grow potatoes at Wandsworth Road, but if he had been estranged by his mother it is possible that he was forced to move elsewhere. This is pure speculation.
What we do know is that at his death in April 1859 the bachelor was living at Streatham Park with his younger brother George, who had owned the property since at least 1851.2) Nor had his experiments with fruit trees made him a wealthy man. A probate valuation of his effects show that they came to under £1,000.3)
It is not known how George made enough money to buy the palatial Streatham Park, but inheriting a large part of his mother’s estate must have helped. He died at the age of 77 in August 1865. Because he had no close kin there was a lengthy legal dispute as to who might inherit his huge estate, which came to around £250,000. The Daily News reporting on this case described Phillipps as:
A man of singular habits ( who) chose to live in a gardener’s cottage on the estate ( and who) possessed property principally in Streatham Park and South Lambeth…but he never had a banker’s account , and scarcely ever, if ever, wrote a letter. 4)
But hereby hangs another tale. George’s decision to demolish the Streatham Park house in 1863 saw the end of arguably the most celebrated cultural venue of the Georgian era.
The mansion had been built by Ralph Thrale in 1730 and was inherited by his son Henry, a wealthy brewer. In 1763 he married Hester a scion of the eminent Salusbury family from north Wales, who soon afterwards established her home as a meeting place for many of the most celebrated figures of the time. Samuel Johnson was such a frequent visitor that he was given his own quarters in the house and such was his growing fondness for Hester that on the death of her husband in 1781 it was expected that he might make her his wife. Instead she married an Italian musician, Gabriel Piozzi, and as Mrs Piozzi went on to publish a number of works, including memoirs of her friendship with Johnson.
Other visitors to Streatham Park included James Boswell, David Garrick, Frances Burney and her father, the musicologist Charles Burney. Following her marriage, Hester Piozzi left her home in the hands of agents and travelled extensively in Europe, finally ending up in Bristol, where she died in 1821.
It is not known when Philipps’s ‘Agricultural grounds ‘, including his Exhibition of Fruit Trees, permanently disappeared from Vauxhall. The trees may have been sold or moved elsewhere long before Leonard junior’s death in 1859. What is certain is that this part of Vauxhall was developed for housing in the mid Victorian period, though according to a map dated 1890, there doesn’t appear to be any new housing on the site of Philipps’s Exhibition.5)
Nor are there any street names that commemorate the horticulturalist, which is a great shame. Rather appropriately though, the site of today’s New Covent Garden at Nine Elms stands very close to where Phillipps did his pioneering work all those years before. There is a case for Leonard Phillipps to be remembered in some way on his home territory as an experimental horticulturalist and agronomist of some note, not least because of his delicious Cellini apple, which is still celebrated today.
Notes
Examiner, 18 November 1832.
Edward Churton, The Railway Book of England (1851), p.161.
See a letter of Administration dated 16th November 1859.
Today we have another guest post by R M Healey and this one come in two parts and has taken rather a lot of research for us both, to say the least.
In the May 11, 1818 issue of The Farmer’s Journal and Agricultural Advertizer appeared the following intriguing advertisement:
The exhibition at L. Phillipps jun.’s Establishment in the Portsmouth –road near Vauxhall, adjoining the Two-mile stone from Westminster-Bridge, is open to show the immense number and variety of Fruit Trees in bloom, which cover many acres. It is open each day from Six in the Morning till Dusk; and on Sundays, except during service time from eleven to one; admittance One Shilling. The Society of London for the Encourage of Arts & etc gave L. Phillipps jun. two Gold Medals for the merit he has shown at his Establishment .
Immediately below appeared the following:
MOST SUPERIOR POTATOE
This most valuable variety, grown by acres, has produced above thirty tons of Ware Potatoes per acre; it is the best flavoured and most mealy of any, consequently the best for the table, as well as cattle- feeding. Although it keeps the longest, it is mealy when quite young, therefore also the best early variety. Seed potatoes of this variety, for planting, to be had at L. Phillipps, jn.’s Experimental Agricultural Grounds, Portsmouth Road, near Vauxhall, at10s.per bushel.
In Bells Messenger Phillips went one further and announced that after raising many varieties of new potatoes over the years he had decided that with the so-called Phillipps potatoes, he was to experiment no longer. All the experts agreed with him that this particular variety could not be improved upon. It was:
the earliest…the most prolific (yielding twice the weight of other varieties in the same circumstances, soil and cultivation).
In fact, it had yielded forty tons per acre compared with his earlier varieties, and in addition was ‘the most mealy and approved for making bread’.
For this paragon of the vegetable kingdom Phillips had increased the price of seed potatoes to 12 shillings per bushel.
Phillipps doesn’t say whether these potatoes were grown on the same site as the fruit trees, which are marked on Lauries’s map of London and its Environs ( 1827 ) as ‘Exhibition of Fruit Trees’ (unlikely, as potatoes take up a lot of space ) or in the ‘Nursery Grounds’ shown on the same map but sited further south on the right side of the Wandsworth Road, but it is clear that Phillipps wasn’t only interested in propagating fruit trees. On the same page he advertised his ‘Mangel Wurzel Seed’ at 3s. 6p per lb. It was for Philipps’s ‘exertions in rapidly promoting the cultivation of this variety that the Royal Society of London awarded him one of the gold medals.
Courtesy of The Thomas Layton Trust & Layton’s Collection
Mangel Wurzel were fed to cattle, and still are, but it is surprising to read that potatoes were also advertised as food for cattle, presumably in raw form. Perhaps only those rejected for human consumption, due to bruising or sprouting, were used, but if sprouting examples were fed there is a good chance that the poisonous solanines present in varying quantities could have resulted in a number of animal fatalities. There are recent records, for instance, of pigs dying of solanine poisoning.
Still, the raising of ‘a most superior’ Ware potato (i.e. those grown for human consumption ) at a time of great hardship among working classes following the end of the war against Napoleon, made good sense to farmers, particularly as the price of grain for bread at this time was rising .
William Kitchener. Wellcome Trust
William Kitchiner—an experimental cook– if not an experimental horticulturalist -promoted the humble spud as a great food source in his Cook’s Oracle ( 1817):
The Vegetable Kingdom affords no Food more wholesome, more easily procured , easily prepared , or less expensive than the Potatoe… 1)
Incidentally, the entry on the potato in the Royal Horticultural Society’s Dictionaryof Gardening (1974 ) is wholly misleading regarding the popularity of the vegetable at the time of Kitchener. It claimed that it was only the 1845 potato famine in Ireland that alerted the general public to the enormous nutritional value of the tuber. 2). However, the reality is that many works on gardening in the Georgian period, notably Philip Miller’s Gardener’s Kalendar (1760) devote a large amount of space to the propagation of the potato, and although it is true that a popular cook book like Sarah Harrison’s Housekeeper’s Pocket Book ( 1755) omits to mention the vegetable, it features frequently in later cook books, such as John Farley’s London Art of Cookery (1811).
Indeed it is very likely that the ‘sixteen ways of dressing potatoes ‘, including roasting them, mashing them with onions and creating potato balls and potato ‘snow’, suggested by Kitchener in 1817, were partly derived from Farley’s recipes.
Little, if anything, is known of how Leonard Phillipps came to be a prize- winning horticulturalist, specialising in fruit trees, but he seems to have used property belonging to his father to try out his experiments.
Leonard Phillips junior was born sometime towards the close of eighteenth century, the eldest of four children of Leonard Phillips senior, a coal merchant of Wandsworth Road, Vauxhall, and Susannah Elizabeth Whildon. Leonard’s siblings were Elizabeth, George and Louisa Ann.
One source claims that the first trees grown at Vauxhall by Leonard junior were twenty years old in 1833, which suggests that they were planted in 1813. The following year he published a folio ‘catalogue of Fruit Trees for sale ‘ and in 1815 appeared Transactions of the Fruit-tree Nursery at Vauxhall ( 8vo.). In the 3rd November 1821 issue of the Morning Post newspaper Phillipps advertised that his ‘ Fruit Show was open for the sale of trees and fruit’ and that purchasers should ‘mark the trees with fruit on them , which are booked to them, and delivered at the proper season for removing them’.
Six years later, doubtless after years of experimenting with grafts, Phillips boasted in the Morning Post that his prized Cellini apple, which was a great bearer and a good-looking tree, had at last been perfected.
Morning Post 10 March 1827 – new apple Cellini
He also announced that a ‘seedling pear’ which he dubbed ‘Ingulphus’, a ‘delicious Autumn dessert fruit’ was available at one guinea each at the Exhibition grounds, where ‘drawings of both Apple and Pear by Mr Chas Jno. Robertson may be seen.’3) Robert Hogg in his pioneering treatise The Apple and its Varieties (1859 ) picked out the Cellini as a ‘culinary apple of the first quality‘ with its ‘white, tender, juicy, brisk and pleasantly flavoured’ flesh . Hogg surmised that it was probably raised from the Nonesuch, a popular old variety. 4) Both are still grown today.
In 1825 Loudon’s Encyclopaedia of Gardening Phillipps is described as an ‘extensive grower of hardy fruit-trees for sale at Lambeth.’ 5)
It is indicative of Philipps’s significance as a grower that no other ‘ exhibition of fruit trees’ or indeed ‘experimental agricultural grounds’ are marked on a map that is generally considered to be one of the most valuable sources of information on late Georgian London—particularly on such places as gas works, drying grounds, factories, and nurseries. It would appear that Leonard Phillips junior was seen as a man of mark in the horticultural world.
Join us next week for part 2.
Notes
William Kitchiner, The Cook’s Oracle ( fifth edition, 1823), p. 173
The Royal Horticultural Society, The Dictionary of Gardening (second edition, 1974), p.1649
Charles John Robertson (1798 – 1830) was an English botanical illustrator who lived at Worton House, Isleworth, and who produced illustrations for the Botanical Register and for Transactions of the Royal Horticultural Society of London. He was also a portraitist and miniaturist. See examples online.
Robert Hogg, The Apple and its Varieties (1859), p.54.
C. Loudon, An Encyclopaedia of Gardening (third edition, 1825), p.1066.
I am delighted to welcome back Dr Judith Pearson, a now regular guest to All Things Georgian having already written several pieces on here. Today she is going to share a fascinating naval story.
In 2008, archaeologists from the Bermuda National Trust, St George’s Archaeological Research Project, and Boston University spent six weeks excavating the foundations of the historic St Peter’s Church in the UNESCO World Heritage Site of St George’s parish, Bermuda. The church was commissioned in 1612 and most of the present structure dates to 1713. Since it was first constructed, the church has seen numerous expansions and renovations.
St Peter’s Church, in St George’s, Bermuda. (Author’s photo)
Reverend David Raths and his church council had invited the archaeological team, led by Dr. Brent Fortenberry, to explore the archaeological and architectural history of the church. The purpose was to gather information about the structure and architectural details of the original foundation and to document the memorials in the surrounding churchyard. Digging under the floorboards near the altar, the researchers were astonished to find human remains!
The researchers found the skeletal remains of two individuals, along with bits of wood and coffin nails, indicating that these two bodies had been encased in coffins that had long since deteriorated. No records of any interments under the floorboards existed. However, two metal coffin plates identified the remains.
One coffin plate identified Governor George James Bruere Sr, Bermuda’s longest serving governor, appointed by the Crown, who served from 1764 until his death from yellow fever in 1780. The coffin plate reads:
‘His Excellency, George James Bruere, Governor of Bermuda and Lieu Colonel in his Majesty’s Service OB The 10 Sept 1780, AE 59 Years’.
Bruere was a controversial figure in his day because his tenure took place during the American War of Independence, when political and economic tensions on the island ran high and Bermuda was caught up in the crossfire between two warring nations. Perhaps for this reason, Bruere’s body was interred in secret, under St Peter’s church. Perhaps the hiding place was temporary until his remains could be shipped back to England. Perhaps he had received a proper burial, and his coffin had been placed, temporarily – and forgotten, underneath the church floor when an extension was added to the church in 1815. Nevertheless, in June 2009, he received a proper burial in St Peter’s churchyard.
The other coffin plate identified Captain Sir Jacob Wheate, Royal Navy. He died in 1783 in St George’s of yellow fever. The coffin plate reads: Sir Jacob Wheate BART, Commander of his Majesty’s Ship Cerberus OBT The 12 February 1783’. These remains were ‘truncated by a 1950s retaining wall’. Nine days after Wheate’s death, Cerberus, the ship he commanded, sank off the coast of Bermuda.
Coffin Plate of Captain Sir Jacob Wheate. (Courtesy of Bermuda National Museum)
Jacob Wheate died at age 38. The full story of his naval service (what is known from available information), and the fate of his ship is not generally known to a wider audience beyond Bermuda. This article provides existing details about his life in the Royal Navy and the place of Cerberus in naval history.
Captain Sir Jacob Wheate, RN
Jacob Wheate was born on 20 September 1745, the second son of Sir George Wheate, Third Baronet of Glympton, Oxfordshire, and his wife Avice Acworth, the daughter of Sir Jacob Acworth, Surveyor of the Navy from 1715 to 1749. The family initially lived in Holborn, London and thereafter settled in Lechlade, Gloucestershire. On 26 January 1760 at age 14 or 15, Jacob Wheate inherited the family baronetcy upon the death of his older brother, George. Having earlier joined the Royal Navy, Jacob was commissioned as a lieutenant on 20 June 1765.
Wheate Family Blazon. (Wikipedia)
In August 1779 Wheate was a first lieutenant on HMS Marlborough, under the command of Captain Taylor Penny during a near-battle that became known as the Channel Fleet Retreat. In April of that year, France and Spain had formed an alliance to invade Britain and take her overseas colonies. The plan was to gain control of the English Channel to facilitate a crossing by a combined army of over 30,000 soldiers and some 400 transports. Britain was at a considerable disadvantage. Her at-home army was only 52,600 personnel, over half of whom were militia. With twenty ships of the line in the Leeward Islands, Britain had barely thirty ships of the line in home waters. Most of these ships were short-handed and poorly manned
The Admiralty recalled the 64-year-old Admiral Charles Hardy from the governorship of Greenwich Hospital to defend Britain’s shores. As Commander-in-Chief of the Channel Fleet, Hardy hoisted his flag aboard HMS Victory under Captain Henry Colins. Hardy’s initial instructions were to blockade Brest before the French fleet, led by Comte d Orvilliers, could put to sea. However, Hardy met with repeated delays, because he lacked crews to man his ships and due to poor weather conditions. He also had to dispatch several ships of the line, under the command of Vice Admiral Darby, to escort the North American-bound convoy beyond the southern coast of Ireland. By 10 June, when Darby returned, the French had been out of Brest for six days and were sailing toward Spain for a rendezvous with the Spanish.
On 16 June, Hardy sailed from Spithead with twenty-eight ships of the line and several frigates. On that same day, Spain formally declared war on Britain. Commanded by Don Luis de Cordova, the Spanish fleet soon sailed from Cadiz and joined the French on 2 July. Within a few days, Hardy received intelligence that the combined fleet had been seen off Cape Finisterre, Ushant, and Ferrol. The combined fleet planned to take control of the Channel and capture the Isle of Wight as a base from which to assault and destroy the principal British naval base at Portsmouth.
On 5 July, westerly winds forced Hardy’s fleet to seek refuge at Torbay. By 9 July, an invasion was eminent. Hardy again received orders to put to sea on 14 July. After battling contrary winds for eleven days, Hardy returned to Torbay to await additional orders. During the delay, he welcomed the arrival of convoys from the Leeward Islands and Jamaica, adding eight more ships to his force. Increasingly, however, his crews suffered from sickness and inadequate provisions.
By 12 August, the British fleet took a position off the Scilly Isles. By 14 August, the French and Spanish were closing in on Britain’s coast. On 15 August, HM Ships Marlborough, Ramillies, Isis, and the sloop Cormorant fell in with the combined fleet some forty miles southeast of the Scilly Isles. The British ships barely escaped. Sir Jacob Wheate was dispatched to Plymouth aboard Cormorant with news of the attack and the position of the combined fleet. Reaching port on 16 August he then travelled over land to inform the Admiralty.
As events progressed, the combined fleet appeared off Plymouth. Plymouth activated its militia, armed the dockyards, and ordered the garrison to action stations. The allies enjoyed their first success with the capture of HMS Ardent.
Positioned off Plymouth, d’Orvilliers received unexpected orders to land the army at Falmouth instead. He delayed action, questioning the order. While he waited for a reply, a gale blew his fleet out of the Channel and out to sea. The French commander, however, was determined to take the battle to the British. Receiving intelligence that the combined fleet was headed his way, Hardy decided to sail up the Channel, rather than meet the enemy head on. His strategy was to keep his force intact, avoid engagement, replenish his ships, and fight the enemy in home waters.
In the meantime, conflicts arose between the French and Spanish. With the prospect of the approaching autumn and its foul weather, sickness among the French seamen, and diminishing provisions, the allies withdrew on 3 September and headed for home. By 7 September, news of the retreat had reached the Admiralty.
On 15 November 1779, Wheate received promotion to commander and became commanding officer of HM Sloop Ostrich. He was employed in the Downs (Thames Estuary) prior to taking a convoy to New York in 1781 and returning home in May 1782. He was posted captain on 2 April 1782. He briefly took command of HMS Portland and was then transferred to the frigate HMS Cerberus. He joined Captain Samuel Reeve’s flying squadron of four sail of the line and three frigates in the Western Approaches and the Bay of Biscay. On 25 October 1782 he seized the Spanish privateer San Christobel, and by the end of the year was employed in North American waters, as the American War of Independence was grinding to a close.
In November 1782 the British and Americans signed preliminary articles of peace. In December 1782 Wheate married the American-born Maria Shaw in New York. She was regarded as a belle of New York, albeit she was not yet sixteen. Future US President John Quincy Adams spoke derisively about the marriage, due to the age difference between the newly-weds. The marriage became the subject of gossip, and someone composed a poem that criticised Shaw’s rush to marry a wealthy older man.
Lieutenant Commander H G Middleton, former Colonial Archivist for Bermuda, published an article in 1967 in the Bermuda Historical Quarterly on the loss of HMS Cerberus. Middleton cited the ‘Reverend Alexander Richardson’s private register of births, deaths, and marriages’ as the source of his information about Wheate. Middleton speculated that Wheate and his ship were almost certainly stationed out of New York in late 1782. In early 1783, on 21 January, while cruising off Bermuda, Cerberus captured the Flaam Amiericking of Ostend, then a part of Austria-Netherlands. The crew was, presumably, sailing in alliance with the French. A prize crew took the Flaam Amiericking to New York. It is likely that shortly afterward, Cerberus put into Bermuda for replenishment.
On 12 February 1783, Wheate died of yellow fever, in St George’s parish, where he was buried on 14 February 1783. In his will, Wheate gave his address as Lechlade, Gloucestershire. Upon his death, the family baronetcy passed to his younger brother, the Reverend Sir John Thomas Wheate.
Just nine days after Wheate’s death, his ship, Cerberus, was wrecked upon striking rocks while leaving Castle Harbour, the main entry to St George. More about Cerberus’s sinking below.
Wheate made his will prior to his marriage, so Maria was not named in his will. She petitioned for his assets, but whether she obtained them is not certain. On 26 April 1788 she married the future Admiral Hon. Sir Alexander Forrester Inglis Cochrane, by whom she had three sons and two daughters. Cochrane’s naval service carried him into the Napoleonic Wars and the War of 1812. He was knighted into the Order of the Bath in 1806. In 1814 he became vice admiral and Commander-in-Chief of the North American Station, led the naval forces during the attacks on Washington and New Orleans, was promoted to admiral in 1819 and became Commander-in-Chief of the Plymouth Naval Base.
HMS Cerberus
Cerberus is the Greek name of the three-headed, serpent-tailed dog that guards the gates of Hades. HMS Cerberus was an Active Class, fifth rate frigate built by Randall at Rotherhithe Thames shipyard and launched 15 July 1779. She was the second frigate to carry the name, after the first was destroyed at Newport, Rhode Island the previous year to prevent capture by the French who were supporting the Continentals in the American War of Independence.
Hull of an eighteenth century fifth rate frigate. Source: E.H.H. Archibald, The Wooden Fighting Ship in the Royal Navy (1968)
In 1781 under command of Captain Robert Man, while cruising off Finisterre, Cerberus captured the Spanish Sixth Rate frigate, Grana (30), which was purchased into the Royal Navy. Wheate succeeded Captain Man in 1782.
When Wheate died, command of Cerberus fell to Lieutenant Thomas Parkinson, who prepared the ship to leave Castle Harbour on 21 February, after four days of waiting for a favourable wind. At 9 am the pilot came on board and ordered the ship to be unmoored. At 10:30 the ship was underway. Sometime after 11 am the ship struck on the rocks in the narrow channel leading out of the harbour. Parkinson did everything he could to save the ship. His crew cut off the masts and jettisoned the cannons and carronades and wooden boxes of musket shot. When all hope was lost, Parkinson ordered the crew to abandon the ship as she filled with water. Troops on Castle Island saw the event and immediately dispatched small boats to rescue those in peril. Not a single man was lost.
The Bermudas of Sommer’s Islands by C. Lempriére, 1788, showing Castle Harbour on the eastern side of Bermuda, in the upper right of the chart. (Courtesy of Bermuda National Museum)
In the subsequent days, the crew returned to the sinking ship to salvage cannons, carronades, gun carriages and ‘sundry articles’. Much of this information was recorded in a court martial aboard HMS Dictator at the Nore on 18 October 1783 and based on testimony by the ship’s gunner, Hewman Shrewsbury. The court was unanimous in their opinion that the crew and the officers were not culpable for the loss of the ship and were to be acquitted. Sad to say, the officers of Cerberus weren’t present to hear the verdict.
After the sinking of Cerberus, the ship’s company returned to England aboard the frigates HMS Vestal and HMS Astrea. The officers were ordered back to New York aboard HM Sloop Mentor, formerly a Massachusetts privateer, Aurora, captured in 1781 by HMS Royal Oak. Mentor left Bermuda on 16 March. She never made it to New York. Mentor went down in a violent gale, with the loss of all aboard (over 300 men).
One of those lost aboard Mentor was Lieutenant Slack of the Royal Engineers, who was responsible for the Royal Defense Works of Bermuda. His successor, Lieutenant Andrew Durnford, headed an effort to recover the remaining artillery of Cerberus to add to defense works around Bermuda. The effort was part of his project to fortify the island, identify safe harbours and passages for large ships, and to establish locations for garrisons.
Close up of Lempiére’s Chart showing Castle Harbour. (Courtesy of Bermuda National Museum)
As a result of Cerberus’s loss, the Admiralty issued orders forbidding Royal Navy vessels from using Castle Harbour, despite its advantages as a well-sheltered, deepwater anchorage. This was a blow to the Royal Navy, because, with the Treaty of Paris, Britain lost all naval bases on the North American coast, except Halifax, Nova Scotia. In Bermuda, naval vessels shifted operations to Murray’s Anchorage west of St George’s Island. In 1788, Richard, later Viscount, Howe of the Admiralty ordered a survey to chart Bermuda’s reef system and locate safe anchorages. He chose Lieutenant Thomas Hurd for the enormous task.
Hydrographic Survey of the Bermuda Islands 1789 – 97, by Lieutenant Thomas Hurd, RN. The chart shows the dangerous reefs and shoals surrounding Bermuda. (Courtesy of Bermuda National Museum)
Hurd spent nine years (1789 – 1797) surveying Bermuda’s treacherous reefs. As a result, he located and charted a navigable channel, The Narrows, which allowed for passage from the east end of Bermuda to the west. Hurd rose to the rank of captain and became the second Hydrographer of the Royal Navy.
Aftermath
Bermuda has 230 square miles of offshore reefs, ten times the physical land area. To divers, Bermuda is the ‘Shipwreck Island’ of the Western Atlantic. More than 300 ships have wrecked and/or sank around the island since the sixteenth century, with thirteen official major shipwrecks since 1940 alone. Among them, Cerberus now lies in 30 feet of water off Castle Island. Divers have designated her as the ‘Musket Ball Wreck’ because of the lead musket shot scattered over the wreck site. Since the 1950s, divers have investigated and mapped the site, bringing up artefacts such as lead shot, cannon balls, and a pewter plate. They have identified cast iron ballast pigs and fragments of copper sheathing on the ocean floor.As for Captain Sir Jacob Wheate, his name might have been left in the dust of history, were it not for the discovery of his remains under the floorboards of St Peter’s Church in 2008. It was only due to a coffin plate that researchers could identify the remains. Why Wheate’s remains were placed under the church remains a mystery. Middleton wrote that existing records indicated that Wheate was buried in the Governor’s Garden at St. George’s ‘where a headstone once marked the spot’. Middleton added ‘no such memorial can be seen today [1967], and it would now be difficult, if not impossible, to determine the exact location of his interment.’
In 2008, after discovery, Wheate’s remains were replaced under the floorboards of St Peter’s. In 2011 the Bermuda National Trust in conjunction with St Peter’s Church and Dr Brent Fortenberry (the archaeologist who headed the 2008 excavation) accessed Wheate’s remains a second time. This time the archaeological team found additional, unidentified human remains. Dr Fortenberry arranged for bio-archaeologist, Ms Ellen Chapman, then a doctoral student from the College of William and Mary, to examine Wheate’s remains. She determined that Sir Jacob was around 5ft 3inches in height and had dental cavities and slight arthritis.
Following the examination, Wheate’s remains were again placed under St Peter’s Church in the hope that a proper churchyard burial would be arranged. In 2012, a local resident, retired Royal Navy Captain, Alan Brooks, inquired as to the status of the proposed burial. Referring to Wheate’s remains, Reverend David Raths replied via email:
Brent Fortenberry has sent a report…on the human remains recovered from under the floor of St Peter’s Church in the area under the coffin plate of Sir Jacob Wheate. Our expectation, that, as was the case with Governor Bruere, we would find at least a significant portion of Sir Jacob’s remains proved to be too optimistic. In fact, very little of what can possibly be his remains has been recovered. Brent’s suggestion is that we quietly return all these remains, now identified as belonging to three different individuals, to their final resting place under the floor. Until such time as more of Sir Jacob’s remains might be recovered, it would not be appropriate, or even truthful, to re-inter him and we will have to leave him, and the unknown others, where they were found.
Captain Sir Jacob Wheate’s coffin plate is now on display in a glass case in the rectory of St Peter’s Church, St George’s, Bermuda.
The author thanks Dr Deborah Atwood and Ms Chynna Trott, curators of the Bermuda National Museum for their assistance in gathering material for this article. Many thanks to Ms Gillain Outerbridge, Parish Administrator of St Peter’s Church for her assistance in finding Reverend Rath’s 2012 email. Many thanks to Reverend David Raths (Retired) for permission to cite this email, via email communication on 16 March 2023. A longer version of this article originally appeared in the 2023 New Series 8 edition of the Trafalgar Chronicle of The 1805 Club.
Sources
Amanda Dale, ‘Centuries-old Remains Found Beneath Church,’ The Royal Gazette, February 10, 2011.
Brent Fortenberry, ‘Recent Excavations at St Peter’s Church, St George’s Bermuda’, Journal of Church Archaeology, vol 12, 2008, pp67 – 72.
Michael Jarvis, In the Eye of All Trade: Bermuda, Bermudians and the Maritime World 1680 – 1783 (Chapel Hill, North Carolina: University of North Carolina, 2010).
St Peter’s Church records, courtesy Ms Gillian Outerbridge, Parish Administrator.
Gordon Payne Watts, Jr., Shipwrecked: Bermuda’s Maritime Heritage (The Old Royal Naval Dockyard, Bermuda: National Museum of Bermuda Press, 2014).
Adrian James Webb, Thomas Hurd, RN and His Hydrographic Survey of Bermuda (1789 – 97) (Royal Naval Dockyard, Bermuda: National Museum of Bermuda Press, 2016).
‘Expert Examines the 228-year-old remains of a ship’s captain’, The Royal Gazette, 2 December 2011.
I have been trying to find out the average wages of servants in the Georgian era, which has proved more difficult than anticipated. The newspapers of the day carried numerous adverts by employers for potential employees and vice versa. Employers were quite clear about the skill set needed, as were candidates advertising their services, but none stipulated the financial terms upon which they would be employed.
London Lives website provides some clues to the average wages received by employees, but sadly their role within a household rarely appeared, the majority were simply terms ‘servant’ as we can see with these –
In 1788 we have Ann Owens, aged about 27 years, who was a hired yearly servant with a Mrs. Lambert in Church Row Aldgate in the Parish of Saint Botolph Aldgate in the City of London for 2 years & upwards at the yearly wages of £6.
1790 – Charles Adney aged about 17, he lived as a hired yearly servant with Captain
Gregory of Fludyer at the yearly wages of thirteen guineas
1794 – Eleanor Skelton aged about 30 years that she was a yearly hired servant to Mrs Mary Loftus at No 7 Salisbury Street in the Parish of Saint Martin in the Fields for two years all under one hiring at the yearly wages of ten guineas diet & lodging.
1795 – Sarah Gallant , Singlewoman lived as a yearly servant with James Carter , who kept wine vaults in Queen Street in the parish of Saint Botolph Aldgate, as nurse to his children, at the yearly wages of ten pounds.
1797 – Henry Jones, a single man, aged 38 years. He lived as a hired yearly servant with John Butcher Esq. No 20 in Hart Street Bloomsbury for twelve months and about 3 or 4 days over at the yearly wages of £15.
I did however, come across this book, ‘Domestic duties or Instructions to young married ladies’, written by Mrs William Parkes (née Frances Byerley) which was published in 1825 and provides some clues as to the range of wages being paid at that time.
Here are some examples. Servants were paid one of two rates, a higher rate ‘without any allowance for tea and sugar’ or the lower rate by a few pounds per annum if these were included. The wages also suggested a bandwidth from highest to lowest.
In Samuel and Sarah Adams book, The Complete Servant, published about the same time as the above, provided the following table to give an idea as to how much a gentleman needed as income and the percentage that could reasonably be spent on employing servants, it seems to indicate that a quarter of their income could be spent on employing servants.
A Lady’s Maid Soaping Linen by Henry Robert Morland; Tate
The Adams’ book also provided guidance on salaries which differed considerably from those suggested by Mrs Parkes:
The salary of the housekeeper is from £25 to £50 guineas per annum depending on the extent of the family and the nature of the business she undertakes.
Coachman – The wage for the head or upper coachman, was between 25 and 36 guineas per annum, with generally two suits of livery, a box coat once in two or three years, two hats, and two pairs of boots; also one or two stable dresses, consisting of overall, jackets, waistcoats and underdress from coat.
Groom – salary £22-£25 plus two livery suits and two stable dresses a year.
Head Gardener – This role carried the highest salary – £50 to £100 per annum, usually a cottage, vegetables and fuel.
Man Cook – The man cook, now become a requisite member of the establishment of a man of fashion, is in all respects the same as that of a female cook. He was generally a foreigner, or if an Englishman, possesses a peculiar tact in manufacturing many fashionable foreign delicacies.
A footnote tells us that ‘It is understood that H.R.H the Duke of York pays Mons. Ude, his French cook, £500 per annum’.
Monsieur Ude
Lady’s Footman – The chief business of this servant was to wait on his lady only and carry out all her messages and cards of invitation. He prepared the breakfast and dinner. He must be ready to go out at any time of day as required. His salary would be between £18 and 25 guineas, plus two liveries and one working dress.
Under Butler was entirely under the control and direction of the butler. His wages were between 16 and 25 guineas per annum.
Under Footman – salary 16 to 20 guineas with liveries.
In some smaller households an employee is required to take on multiple roles i.e. the servant is hired in the capacities of either groom and valet, or groom and footman. The wage of such an employee living out of the house is about £50 per annum, with cast off clothes.
Valet – the duties of this servant were not so varied, nor as important as those of the footman and in smaller families the role would be undertaken as part of the role of the footman. The usual salary was from £30 to £60 per annum, plus his master’s cast-off clothes. The footman, however, received a lesser salary from 20 to 30 guineas per annum, with two suits of livery and two undress suits.
If a household required a governess when their salary was very much dependent upon their qualifications and of course, who the employer was. The higher social status of the employer, the higher their expectation of the qualifications of the employee and the salary for the governess reflected this, such as Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire who paid her governess, Selina £100 per annum.
Many servants remained with their employer for years and some for decades an as such were often left a legacy in their employers will, including on occasion their cast- off clothing.
UPDATE
Since publishing this article some lovely readers have very kindly provided some more fantastic resources:
