Death and the Victorians ...

This week I've been researching a character that I'm trying to create. For now her name is Phillice Anne Swift, but she's known to all and sundry as Philly Swift. Her mother had hoped that folk would use her full name; she reckoned Phillice sounded like a right proper lady's name. However, as is so often the case in life, things didn't quite work out according to plan. By the common consensus of their neighbours, none of whom could be bothered to add that precious extra syllable, Phillice was forever destined to be plain Philly Swift.

Now the point in time at which I am making Philly's acquaintance is in the late summer of 1888. She's a girl of sixteen, living in Chiswick, a middling sized village to the west of London, where her father works as a grave digger in Saint Nicholas' Churchyard on the banks of the Thames.

Philly's given up on school and spends her days helping her mother, who takes in laundry and earns a crust laying out the dead for them that are too grand or too clueless to see to their own when they pass. From time to time they travel into the less salubrious parts of the metropolis to work as street hawkers, selling a foul-smelling unguent of Mrs Swift's own invention, which she swears will cure the clap.

Now all of this has set the scene for a look at how people treated death way back in 1888. For them it was very much a part of life, and was far from being the taboo subject that it is today. The average life expectancy of a city labourer was only 38, and that of a well-heeled member of the middle class in a more convivial, rural setting was still only a relatively youthful 52. Infant mortality in the first year of life ran at 153 deaths per thousand live births. So, whilst Philly has done well to have survived to the age of 16, her chances of living into her 40s are not that great.

Back in Philly's day  one of the many worries that haunted humble folk was the prospect that they might suffer the indignity of a pauper's funeral.

Rattle his bones over the stones;

He’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns

So burial clubs were set up to enable the poor to pay a few pennies each month to defray the cost of their funerals when they passed. Charles Booth, the famous philanthropist, recounted the story of a girl who was a member of one such burial club in east London:

Her friends in the club, who were told that there was no hope of her recovery, joined together before her death to buy a wreath for her coffin; they were exceedingly anxious that she should live long enough to see it ... and by permission of the doctor, they went with it in a body to her room. She was immensely pleased and touched.

Can you imagine turning up at the bedside of an ill friend with a funeral wreath today? My guess is that you'd come out wearing it if their nearest and dearest caught up with you.

Then they worried that the Resurrectionists might seize their remains and take them off for the doctors to practice dissection on. So elaborate precautions were taken to protect the graves of the dead from the body snatchers. Heavy slabs of marble were wedged into place. Railings with pointed ends, on which a grave robber might impale himself, were erected like the outer curtain walls around a medieval castle under siege. 

And, as with everything, there was endemic corruption with the grieving relatives falling prey to unscrupulous undertakers. Dickens in From the Raven in the Happy Family satirises the way in which the concern to keep up appearances led to bereaved families being duped into shelling out way more than they could afford. 

Hearse and four, Sir? says he. 

No, a pair will be sufficient.

I beg your pardon, Sir, but when we buried Mr Grundy at number twenty, there was four on 'em, Sir; I think it right to mention it.

Well, perhaps there had better be four.

Thank you, Sir. Two coaches and Four, Sir shall we say?

No, coaches and pair.

You'll excuse me mentioning it, Sir, but pairs to the coaches, and four to the hearse, would have a singular appearance to the neighbours ... 

The whole business grew so out of hand that sections on funerals and bereavement were added to household encyclopaedias, which were fast growing in popularity.  Cassell's Household Guide (published in 1869) had an extensive section offering advice on the going rate for plots in the new metropolitan cemeteries and for all the funeral accoutrements as well as guidance as to what would be appropriate for each level of person. 

You can access an on-line version of Cassell's work here Cassell's Household Guide. It provides a fascinating window into so many aspects of domestic life in the second half of the nineteenth century. It offers advice on everything from first aid to legal matters, from accepted practice on bereavement to dressmaking, and from child birth (or confinement as they liked to call it) to recipes for the kitchen. 

 Cassell goes into an impressively detailed account on the likely price of everything and the degree to which the various mourning customs ought properly to be observed. The curtains were to be drawn in the deceased's house and only raised again once the coffin had been taken out to the funeral. It was advisable for the remains to be carried out feet first in case the spirit of the deceased might attempt to reach back for consolation from the living. There was a general fear that, left to their own devices, the dead might linger on with a view to persuading the living to join them. The mirrors were to be turned to face the walls, and all the clocks in the house were to be stopped at the exact time of death.

It was all part of an elaborate social ritual in which many of the people involved seemed to have relished the pomp and spectacle of a good send off.  Maybe, at the moment of crisis, it was therapeutic to observe each small detail of established mourning practice, and in being encouraged to display grief publicly.

Whatever the way of it I'm finding Philly's world in 1888 both compelling and just a little bit overwhelming at times.

All the best,

Bonny x

St Paul's to Trafalgar Square: the best walk in London

How'd you like to go on the very best walk in London? Well here it is, the big daddy of all the London walks. This is the wander that I take all my overseas visitors on. For anyone who comes to stay with me this one is a must-do, obligatory excursion on which I come along and enthuse about the many and wonderful things that can be seen along the way. I will never be English, but you can safely bet your last dollar that I'll always be a Londoner.

This walk ticks a lot of the big-name boxes: St. Paul's Cathedral, the Millennium Bridge, the Globe Theatre, the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Downing Street, Whitehall, Horse-guards Parade, Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery. It's a kaleidoscope of the very best that London has to offer.

Here's a quick map of where we go:

Key: A- St. Paul's Cathedral, B- Millennium Bridge, C-Tate Modern Art Gallery, D- Globe Theatre, E- Oxo Tower, F- London Beach, G- Gabriel's Wharf, H-Hayward Gallery, I-London Eye, J-Aquarium, K-London Dungeon, L- Westminster Bridge, M- Big Ben, N- Houses of Parliament/ Palace of Westminster, O- Westminster Abbey, P-Supreme Court, Q- Downing Street, R- Horse Guards Parade, S- Banqueting House, T-Nelson's Column, U-National Gallery

And where better to start than St. Paul's Cathedral? We usually grab a fortifying cappuccino and linger for a moment or two in St. Paul's Churchyard. It's a busy thoroughfare these days, but then I guess it's always been a tad on the busy side in this neck of the woods.  In the old days the area was packed full of the coffee houses from which the whole banking sector of today has grown, and I imagine there was a lot of hustle and bustle in the alleyways and byways around the old cathedral.

Yes, I should mention that this is our new cathedral. The original one was burnt down in the Great Fire of London way back in 1666, and what we have today is the replacement built by Sir Christopher Wren. It  rose like a phoenix from the ashes to become a symbol of the city's hopes and aspirations for a better, fire-proof future. London must have been an amazing place in the decades following the fire as the people set about re-building their city. Just imagine the noise and activity as everything was re-constructed. There must have been forests of scaffolding with draught horses pulling loads of building materials this way and that, as an army of masons and builders grew rich on the profits.

These days, however, I think the area immediately around the cathedral is way too built up. In my view Wren's masterpiece deserves to be appreciated from a distance. What we need (and hang the expense) is a huge piazza where we can stand back and admire the line and symmetry of this gem. I remember how wonderful it looked when they were working on Paternoster Square and knocked down the (very ugly) buildings that crowded around the cathedral. For a brief period one summer we had the most sublime views of the uninterrupted line of St. Paul's and it looked amazing.

As it happens the one place where you get a really good view back to the Cathedral is from the Millennium Bridge. If you want to take some great photos that's a really good spot to go snapping. I remember going for a trot across the newly constructed bridge just after it had been built and gripping the handrail in horror as it started to sway in the breeze. They closed it after that and fixed it so that it wouldn't wobble and scare away all the lovely tourists, but for some of us it will always be the Wobbly Bridge.

To get to the Millennium Bridge, just follow the signs down the wonderfully named Sermon Lane and cross two busy main roads (Victoria Street and Upper Thames Street) at the traffic lights. On your right as you cross Victoria Street, you'll see the College of Arms, where the really posh people go to register their coats of arms.

Be sure and pause once you get onto the Millennium Bridge to cast a glance back at St. Paul's.

Push on a bit further and cast a glance to your left, and you will have a first class view of Tower Bridge, a bridge or two over, in the distance. The very tall pyramid-like structure on the right is the Shard, our tallest building and the strange squashed Tetra Pac building is another office building under construction, which is affectionately known to city workers as the Walkie Talkie, and just behind it (out of frame) is the Cheese Grater. It's nice to see that the spirit of Shakespeare lives on in the creative names that they come up with in these parts!

Trot on a bit further and cast another glance to your left and you will see the reconstructed Globe Theatre. It's not the original joint in which ole Bill Shakespeare actually staged his plays. That bit the dust a very long time ago. No, this is a faithful reconstruction that was built more or less on the site of the original in the 1990s. Never mind the authenticity, it's a really cool building.

And if you want to go to listen to the works of the Bard you can pop in there for rather less than a king's ransom. They advertise 700 seats every performance for the princely sum of £5 each, which can't be bad to watch professional actors perform in the Great Man's home theatre. Just wrap up against the elements and bring a cushion.

As you reach the south bank of the Thames you will see the hulking grandeur of the Tate Modern in front of you. Once upon a time this was the Bankside Power Station, but these days it's one of my favourite museums in London. I love how huge, accessible and unpretentious it is. I also enjoy how it covers pretty much the entire canon of modern art. Anyone who's drawn, squiggled, splodged or splashed anything significant will have a canvas hanging in there. It's an education to spend a day strolling slowly around learning about their work. I have a feeling that the collection comprises the B-list paintings of the A-list artists. Maybe I'm wrong, but it doesn't really matter to me as I'm there to enjoy the breadth of what's on display. They've also got a great restaurant up on top with superb roof-top views across the city.

Now shall I show you a map of the terrain we've covered to date?  I'm a little bit in love with the newfangled wizardry of Scribble Maps at the moment. It's taken me a day or two (and many muttered expletives) to get my head round how it all hangs together, but I think I'm well on my way. Ok, here it is, my map of how to get across the river:

Key: A- St. Paul's Cathedral, B- College of Arms, C- Globe Theatre, D- Tate Modern

If you can resist the allure of the Tate Modern, swing a right and head on down the pedestrian pathway that hugs the river bank.

The Thames is a pretty busy thoroughfare. I'm always amazed by how many craft of all shapes and sizes are bobbing along on the waves.

The next stop on my itinerary is the Oxo Tower. There's a fabulous fancy restaurant at the top with fantastic views across the river and wonderful food. The Oxo Tower Wharf is a great mixture of interesting little shops, cafés and galleries.

London Beach is next, just beyond the two wooden jetties that jut out into the water. This may or not be a big splash depending on the time of the year you stroll by. Obviously in the summertime the weather is a bit more favourable for all things beach-related, and they have amazing sandcastle competitions and beach parties down there. The other day we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

Climb back up to the pathway and carry on. Next you'll come to Gabriel's Wharf, which is a good lunch stop. There are loads of little restaurants and bars huddled around the old wharf.

 Carry on a bit further and you will reach the National Theatre with the cloaked statue of Sir Laurence Olivier outside strutting the boards as Hamlet.

Now you've reached the South Bank Centre, which is one of my favourite bits of London. I'm not a huge fan of the sterile brutalist architecture, but I love, love, love how it's been colonised by the locals who have added colour and given it a flavour very much removed from the austere vision of the original architects. It's also a great space for the arts with the National Theatre and the Hayward Gallery. There are usually a number of free foyer exhibitions, and the whole thing has a brilliant creative vibe, which always energises me.

There are great places to eat if you fancy an impromptu snack and don't have a reservation.

And there's a ship load of street art to admire, especially around the skateboarders' park.

Most weekends this place is full of young men showing off their skills on skateboards and bikes. I don't know what they do for their day jobs, but they always amaze me with the stunts they can perform on two or four wheels. Emi, my eight year-old, would happily hang out down there all day pretending that he was one of the cool kids.

And round about now the London Eye should start to loom large on your near horizon.

And, as you keep going, you should also be treated to some great views of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament on the other side of the river.

On the way past you'll see the Aquarium and the London Dungeon.

The Aquarium is a great place to while away a wet afternoon. Inside they have an amazing collection of sea creatures, and I'm always blown away by how they've managed to house them in the old County Hall Building. It feels like a purpose-built-aquarium building when you're inside. Now, having said all that, if you've only got a limited amount of time this aquarium isn't radically different from the dozens of other aquariums you'll find in other places so I wouldn't put in on the list of quintessentially London experiences.

And as for the London Dungeon, well ...  I've never been brave enough to go inside ... .

Now the next thing we need to do is shuffle on over Westminster Bridge. And on the way across don't forget to look back and admire the London Eye and the old County Hall Building.

As you come across the bridge, however, it's easy to forget everything else when you come face to face with Big Ben. He's a very splendid old clock, and when he sounds the hour it's just magical.

As you come off the bridge don't forget to nod to Boudica in her chariot. As the Romans found out to their cost, she's not a woman to mess with.

Now we're ready for a jog around Parliament Square. You can stop for a closer look at the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the Supreme Court (the highest appellate court in the land) and the statues of the great statesmen to be found dotted around the square.

Starting top left hand corner and proceeding clockwise: Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, St. Margaret's Church with Westminster Abbey on its right and (bottom left) the Supreme Court

Amongst others you should watch out for Winston Churchill, David Lloyd George, Abraham Lincoln and Nelson Mandela. They all hang out and shoot the breeze on Parliament Green these days.

Now, I can feel another map coming on. This one shows how you navigate your way around Parliament Square and up Whitehall to Trafalgar Square, where the walk finishes.

Key: A- Westminster Bridge, B-Houses of Parliament, C- St. Margaret's Church, D- Westminster Abbey, E, Supreme Court, F-Banqueting House

Carry on up Whitehall and the second road on your left is Downing Street, the official London residence of the British Prime Minister and the British Chancellor of the Exchequer. There's a big road-block at the start of Downing Street so you can't get enter it unless you've got an official appointment with the PM or the Chancellor. The best you can hope for is to squint through the bars and get a look at the place from a distance.

If you walk on down Whitehall you'll come next to Horse Guards Parade, also on the left. This is usually a more picturesque stop than Downing Street. The horses and the guards dressed up in in their ceremonial outfits look really impressive, although there are usually so many tourists around that it's hard to move. Maxi, my dog, gets a real bee in his bonnet around horses, so we normally have to shuffle on before he causes some sort of military skirmish.

When you've finished with the Horse Guards carry on over to the opposite side of the road where you'll see the Banqueting House. When we were passing it was covered in scaffolding, but it's normally an impressive venue. Way back in 1649 they built a scaffolding outside on which they executed King Charles I. They wanted as many people as possible to see the king's demise so that they would lose heart in the royalist cause. Immediately inside from the site of execution is a truly splendid room with an amazing ceiling that was painted by Rubens. At least the poor man had something sublime to gaze upon in the last minutes of his life.

Now keep on going to Trafalgar Square, where you'll see Admiral Lord Nelson keeping look-out on top of his column.

On the other side of Trafalgar Square you'll find the National Gallery with the National Portrait Gallery off to the right hand side. So if you've got any energy left you can finish off the outing with a turn around the pictures.

Or if you're not up for any more art you can always chill out in Trafalgar Square with the pigeons and all the other people. It's usually heaving with folk. Watch out for the fourth plinth. They've been putting random works of art up there. When we stopped by they had a very handsome blue rooster strutting his stuff, and very fine he looked too in the lovely sunshine.

It's a terrific walk. If you keep going you should easily cover it in an hour and a half to two hours. However there are so many things to stop off and see that it would be better to stretch it out all day. Just wear comfortable shoes and have a ball!

All the best for now,

Bonny x

As shared  on the Alphabet Project, SYC Thursday and Monday Murals

Potpourri part 2 ...

I started making potpourri about a month ago, back in the heady days of May when my roses were just coming into bloom.You can find my potpourri recipe here: Recipe for Rose Potpourri.

This morning I had a look at my petals and flowers and came to the conclusion that they're sufficiently dry to move on to stage 2 of the process. Like to have a look at them? This is everything that I've dried spread out on the picnic table outside:

I'm pleased with how it's all turned out. I kept them in a cool, dark room in the basement, which was well ventilated. There's been no moulding and only minimum discolouration of the petals, which is brilliant.

The peonies, which were a bit of an experiment, have dried out beautifully. They're the smaller, thinner, darker petals. The bay leaves have curled up a bit, but have kept their wonderful dark green colour. The rosemary has also kept its colour well and the geraniums still look like ... well, geraniums, which is a good result.

After I'd done my little bit of admiring how nicely they'd all turned out I placed the dried flowers and leaves in a mixing bowl, added the cinnamon sticks, cardamon pods, coriander seeds, orris root powder and rose and geranium essential oils.

I gave it a very gentle shake around to make sure that the orris root powder, which is the fixative got everywhere.

 Now I've got a bit of a thing for old jam pots. I have a strange urge to hoard them and it's a real struggle form me to put them in the recycling bin. I've always got two or three boxes of them in the garden shed in all shapes and sizes. When I need a storage jar for something they're brilliant. As you can see from the photo above I've got an old mustard jar pressed into service so that I don't have to fiddle with the rather annoying plastic bag that my orris root powder was dispatched in.

When it'd all been given a gentle shake-around so that the orris root powder had coated everything in a powdery dust I decanted the mixture into an old sandwich box, placed the lid on and left it to mature on a dark shelf.

Every day or so, for the next week or two, I'll give the box a gentle shake around to make sure that the powder doesn't settle to the bottom. I'll have a sniff and maybe add extra spices or essential oil if I think the fragrance needs a bit of tinkering with. After that I'll just leave it for the scent to mature and strengthen until the autumn when it'll be ready to mix with the other things that I want to include.

I've got some fabulous dried lavender, which I'll mix in, and I've got some pretty little pine cones which will add texture. I found these on my travels and have them stored in another small jam pot (what else!) where they are also infusing with rose and geranium essential oil.

I haven't added the cones to the general mix of infusing petals because they would damage the flower heads and petals when I give the mixture a shake about every now and then.

So that's it. Everything is brewing nicely and should be ready for use in the autumn. If you'd like to make some for yourself, there's plenty of time and loads of roses still in bloom. As I've mentioned you can find the recipe and method in my earlier post: Recipe for Rose Potpourri.

All the best,

Bonny x
As shared on Creative Mondays

Did Jack the Ripper wash up on Chiswick Causeway?

I heard a story the other day that sent a shiver down my spine. 

You see it all kicked off a long time ago; way back in 1888 to be precise. 

The autumn of that year was particularly terrible for the poor women who lived in the impoverished district of Whitechapel in London's East End. There'd been a lot of immigration into the area from Ireland as people fled the famines, and from Russia as Jewish families fled the Tsar's pogroms. There was chronic over-crowding: lots of people crammed in together who came from different backgrounds and cultures and didn't understand one another. No one had any money. Crime was rife. Large numbers of women had been abandoned and fell into lives of vice. It wasn't a happy place. And then, when they were no doubt thinking that things couldn't get a whole lot worse, a mass murderer emerged from the shadows, a sadistic, evil individual who preyed on women who were out on their own. 

They nicknamed him Jack the Ripper. In a matter of weeks five women in succession were found with their throats slashed. Four of them had been horribly mutilated after death, and their injuries suggested that their assailant may have been familiar with the  study of human anatomy. 

The nightmare started on 31st August, 1888 with the death of Mary Ann Nichols, a 43 year-old mother of five, deserted by her husband and who, because of her alcoholism, hadn't been able to pay the fourpence necessary to bed down in her usual lodging house that night. The killing spree claimed three more victims before ending abruptly on 9th November with the murder of Mary Jane Kelly, a pretty, buxom girl of about 25 who may originally have been Irish and who was known to be fluent in Welsh. Poor Mary Jane's family were never traced, and were never to find out what had become of their lost daughter.

And then ... nothing.

No more murders took place to match the modus operandi of the five Whitechapel killings. No one was ever caught. London held its breath ... and wondered what had happened. Conspiracy theories abounded. Had it been the handiwork of Queen Victoria's grandson, the Duke of Clarence? Were the Freemasons to blame? What about Lewis Carroll, creator of Alice in Wonderland or Walter Sickert, the artist? No one was above suspicion.

The ensuing police investigation was extensive. The newspaper men watched closely and relayed every twist and turn to an enthralled public. Experts were called in from all corners, but Jack the Ripper was never apprehended.

One of the suspects was a barrister called Montague John Druitt, but the evidence linking him to the crime was circumstantial. On 30th December, 1888 his body was spotted floating, face down in the water off Chiswick Causeway. Henry Winslade, a waterman, pulled him out of the water, dragging the remains onto the causeway, which at that time was used by John Thorneycroft's torpedo boatyard to launch their boats. 

Chiswick Causeway

Druitt's pockets had been weighed down with stones, which had kept the body submerged in the Thames for about a month. They also contained a return train ticket to Hammersmith station dated 1st December, 1888, a handsome silver watch, a cheque for £50 and £16 in gold sovereigns. No one knew why he was carrying so many valuables with him at the time of his death, although there was speculation that he may have been paying off a blackmailer, which, in turn, made people wonder what dark secret he might have taken with him to his grave.

Whatever the way of it, the killings stopped, and rumours started to circulate about Jack the Ripper. They claimed that he had been the son of a surgeon, and that he had committed suicide. They said his body had been found in the Thames. The source of these rumours was never clear, but in a private memorandum written by Sir Melville MacNaughten, the Assistant Chief Constable, Druitt was named as a suspect. MacNaughten claimed to have unspecified private information that left little doubt Druitt's own family believed him to have been the murderer.

Much has since been made of the timing of Druitt's death so very shortly after the murders ended, and of the fact that Druitt's father was a surgeon from whom he may have learnt the rudiments of dissection and anatomy. His rooms in the Inner Temple were also reasonably close to Whitechapel. 

An inquest was held into Druitt's death, which established that there had been an extensive history of mental illness in his family and returned a verdict of suicide, committed whilst he was of unsound mind. This, in turn, was duly seized upon as further evidence that he was guilty: only a mad man could have killed and mutilated his victims in the way Jack the Ripper had done. 

Chiswick Causeway at low tide

It's amazing how this case has held the public's imagination down the ages. Every year someone comes up with a new theory about who Jack was. The forensic evidence has long since turned to dust along with his victims, but the experts now use new-fangled sciences such as criminal profiling to come up with a cast list of likely Rippers.

And, having said all that, I really can't go sounding too superior as though I'm somehow above all this whodunnit business. It's pretty obvious I've been sucked in too given how excited I was at the notion that Jack might have washed up on one of my favourite dog walks.

All the best,


Bonny x

As shared on Friday Finds