Fictional London E-Book

Stephen Halliday

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Seitenzahl: 208

Beschreibung

'By seeing London, I have seen as much of life as the world can show.' - Samuel Johnson From Chaucer's pilgrims meeting in a Southwark inn to the Hogwarts Express leaving from King's Cross, London has always been a popular place for writers to weave into their own work. With its bustling, multicultural population and unique localised weather, the city is almost a character in its own right. Fictional London explores the capital through the eyes of both the reader and the writer. Celebrated London historian Stephen Halliday traces the stories from one end of London to the other, digging into the history and character that has made it an unrivalled source of inspiration for authors and poets from the Middle Ages to the early 2000s and beyond.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

TITLE

INTRODUCTION

1. LONDON FOG

2. THE RIVER THAMES

3. THE CITY OF LONDON

4. THE INNS OF COURT

5. THE CITY OF WESTMINSTER

6. CAMDEN AND ISLINGTON

7. HYDE PARK AND KENSINGTON AND CHELSEA

8. THE EAST END

9. WHERE TAXIS DON’T GO: SOUTH OF THE RIVER

10. OUTER LONDON AND BEYOND

COPYRIGHT

INTRODUCTION

London’s place in literature is unrivalled. From Chaucer’s pilgrims gathering at the Tabard Inn, Southwark to the Hogwarts Express departing from platform 9¾ at King’s Cross, it has proved endlessly tempting to novelists, poets and others whose imaginations have woven the great city into their stories; its streets, parks, squares, buildings and, of course, its river have featured in more works than it is possible to mention. Even its weather has appeared in some works where London’s sinister ‘smog’ (dense fog impregnated with smoke) has appeared not just as an element of the tale, but almost as a character in its own right. It would be possible to devote a whole volume to London’s place in the books of a number of individual writers who have used London as a backdrop to many of their works. Charles Dickens and Arthur Conan Doyle come into this category and their characters are to be found in many different parts of London, not least because they often make quite long journeys; Sherlock Homes and Dr Watson travelling by carriage while Dickens’s characters are often obliged to make the journey on foot. According to his friend and first biographer, John Forster, Dickens loved walking around London and became a familiar figure to passers-by. In Forster’s words:

To be taken out for a walk in the real town, especially if it were anywhere about Covent Garden or the Strand, perfectly entranced him with pleasure. But most of all he had a profound attraction of repulsion to St Giles’s. If he could only induce whomsoever took him out to take him through Seven Dials he was supremely happy.

Seven Dials, the seven-way junction at the top of St Martin’s Lane, was once in the centre of London’s most infamous slum tenements. It can still be visited and is now in the heart of London’s entertainment district where visitors and theatregoers walk without anxiety, unaware of its fearful history.

Dickens walked almost every day, sometimes as much as twenty miles at a time. This habit, and his consequent familiarity with London’s streets, no doubt accounts for the detail with which Dickens describes the journeys of characters like Oliver, as he is led to Fagin by the Artful Dodger, and Bill Sikes as he flees to Hampstead after killing Nancy. Both of these episodes, from Oliver Twist, are described in the pages that follow.

George Augustus Sala, an occasional walking companion of Dickens, noted how widely he was known:

The omnibus conductors knew him, the street boys knew him … Elsewhere he would make his appearance in the oddest places and in the most inclement weather: in Ratcliff Highway, on Haverstock Hill, on Camberwell Green, in Gray’s Inn Road, in the Wandsworth Road, at Hammersmith Broadway, in Norton Folgate and at Kensal New Town.

Henry James, born an American whose literary style was very different from that of Dickens, saw the capital of his adopted nation in less sentimental, but perhaps more flattering, terms:

London is on the whole the most possible form of life. I take it as an artist and a bachelor; as one who has the passion of observation and whose business is the study of human life. It is the biggest aggregation of human life – the most complete compendium of the world.

Virginia Woolf, herself a resident of Bloomsbury, puts into words the pleasures of walking in London through her character Mrs Dalloway: ‘I love walking in London. Really it is better than walking in the country.’

Anthony Trollope also places many scenes in the capital, especially in the Palliser novels where much of the action occurs in Parliament or in the Inns of Court. One of his most chilling passages occurs in The Prime Minister, when the crooked financier Ferdinand Lopez makes his final, despairing walk. Lopez has failed in a series of dishonest deals and further failed to extract money from the family of his unfortunate wife whom he married contrary to the wishes of her parents:

[Lopez] went round by Trafalgar Square and along the Strand and up some dirty streets by the small theatres and so on to Holborn and by Bloomsbury Square up to Tottenham Court Road, then through some unused street into Portland Place, along the Marylebone Road and back to Manchester Square by Baker Street.

It is still possible to follow Lopez’s route, after which he buys the single ticket to ‘Tenways Junction’ and commits suicide by throwing himself in front of a train.

This book is arranged by districts based on London’s boroughs so that, for the most part, readers can follow their interests on foot. This works well in areas which are rich in literary associations such as Westminster, Mayfair, the City of London and Bloomsbury, but is more difficult in outlying areas like Blackheath and Highgate where a bicycle or public transport will be required for all but the most resolute pedestrians.

Some authors, such as Evelyn Waugh (1903–66) and P.G. Wodehouse (1881–1975), mostly confined their characters to a relatively small area and in such cases the main entry in the area concerned may include a few references to other areas which occasionally feature in the writer’s works. Other writers, like Dickens, crop up everywhere. Dickens and his family lived in innumerable addresses in London and he made use of many of them in his novels as homes, workplaces or points of departure for his characters, while some of his most memorable scenes were placed just beyond the capital. In one case the author has allowed himself some licence to stray over the border into Kent for a particularly striking episode from Dickens.

The Inns of Court (Lincoln’s Inn, Gray’s Inn and The Middle and Inner Temple) have been given their own separate entry because their long and rich history has endowed them with many literary associations. Although they are in two London Boroughs, Camden and the City, they are close enough to one another to be explored on foot with minimum use of public transport. There are also separate entries for the River Thames and London Fog, with which we will begin.

1

LONDON FOG

The author can remember a time in the 1960s when tins of ‘London Fog’ were on sale to tourists, though one assumes that if the tins were ever opened their contents would immediately have dispersed. In fact, the word ‘fog’ as found in the works of Dickens and Conan Doyle was a misnomer and should have been ‘smog’, a term common in the 1950s to describe the impenetrable and often fatal combination of fog and smoke which, in 1952 as ‘The Great Smog’, killed 12,000 people in London alone from bronchial disease. It prompted the Clean Air Act of 1956 which restricted the use of polluting fuels and banned black smoke.

Yet in 1802 Wordsworth, in his ode ‘Composed Upon Westminster Bridge’, could write:

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty.

This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky,

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour valley, rock or hill;

Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! The very houses seem asleep

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Wordsworth is thought of as a poet of the Lake District’s mountains and valleys, but was clearly moved by the city and its ‘smokeless air’. However, by 1819, just seventeen years after Wordsworth’s ode, his fellow poet Shelley was writing in the opening lines of his poem ‘Peter Bell the Third’ that:

Hell is a City much like London –

A Populous and Smoky City.

A third poet, Byron, wrote in ‘Don Juan’ (1823) that Juan, arriving in London, was struck by:

A mighty mass of brick and smoke and shipping,

Dirty and dusky but as wide as eye could reach.

Byron declares that the smoke is like a dunce’s cap:

A huge dun cupola, like a foolscap crown

On a fool’s head – and there is London town.

So what had happened to Wordsworth’s ‘smokeless air’?

In the decades after Wordsworth wrote his poem, London began the rapid expansion, in both population and industry, which turned it from a city of fewer than a million inhabitants to more than six million, making it by far the greatest metropolis the world had ever seen. Its naturally foggy winter climate, combined with the smoke of domestic coal fires, railways and factories, turned its winter atmosphere into a subject of wonder. The French writer Hippolyte Taine wrote in 1872: ‘no words can describe the fog in winter. There are days when, holding a man by the hand, one cannot see his face’ and he referred his readers to the works of the recently deceased Dickens to gain some insight into the nature of London’s atmosphere.

Dickens’s most enduring images of London smog occur in Bleak House, where the thickness of the ‘fog’ reflects the impenetrable obscurities of the case in chancery of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, whose endless legal wranglings eventually absorb the value of the entire estate which was the subject of the lawsuit. Based on a real case which dragged on for twenty years, the first page of the book sets the scene:

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green eyots and meadows; fog down the river where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great and dirty city … Fog on the Essex marshes, Fog on the Kentish heights.

The frequent use of the capital ‘F’ almost suggests that Dickens considers the fog to be a character in its own right. He carries the fog into the heart of Bleak House, with its legal delays and obscurities: ‘at the very heart of the fog sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.’

Of all his works Bleak House is the one in which Dickens most clearly shows his frustration with the English legal system, its waste and its delays. The central feature of the book is the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, which is concerned with the distribution of an estate through the court of Chancery. One of the intended beneficiaries, Ada, goes to live with her kind elderly relative John Jarndyce, accompanied by her friend Esther Summerson, supposedly an orphan. A separate but related plot concerns the marriage of Sir Leicester Dedlock and his beautiful wife Lady Dedlock who, unknown to Sir Leicester, had a daughter by her wastrel lover, Captain Hawdon, before she met Sir Leicester. She believes that both Hawdon and the daughter are dead, but they are in fact both alive, the daughter being Esther Summerson. The rascally lawyer, Tulkinghorn, learns Lady Dedlock’s secret and threatens to expose her, but is murdered by Lady Dedlock’s maid Hortense, though not before Sir Leicester has learned of his wife’s former affair. Lady Dedlock flees and perishes before her husband is able to tell her that he has forgiven her. The book is particularly rich in its cast of lesser characters, such as Mrs Jellyby whose chaotic philanthropy reduces her household to chaos.

Sherlock Holmes’ favourite restaurant, Simpson’s-in-the-Strand. (Ewan Munro)

Elsewhere in the book, Dickens has his character Mr Guppy explain to the innocent and angelic Esther Summerson (Dickens’s only female narrator) the additional phenomenon of London’s smoke. When she arrives in London, Esther comments: ‘We drove slowly through the dirtiest and darkest streets that ever were seen in the world, I thought, and in such a distracting state of confusion that I wondered how the people kept their senses.’ She asks Mr Guppy: ‘whether there was a great fire anywhere? For the streets were so full of dense brown smoke that scarcely anything was to be seen.’

‘Oh dear no miss,’ he said. ‘This is a London particular.’

The celebrated London restaurant Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, where Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson would dine, calls its thick pea soup ‘London Particular’ in tribute to Dickens’s coining of the term which has also found applications elsewhere in the names of societies and restaurants. Simpson’s, famous for its particularly English dishes, makes a brief appearance in E.M. Forster’s novel Howard’s End when Margaret Schlegel is taken there by Henry Wilcox, whom she will later marry:

‘What’ll you have?’

‘Fish pie’, said she, with a glance at the menu.

‘Fish pie! Fancy coming for fish pie to Simpson’s.

It’s not a bit the thing to go for here … Saddle of mutton and cider to drink. That’s the type of thing. I like this place for a joke, once in a way. It’s so thoroughly Old English.’

Other authors make use of London’s atmosphere in their stories. Robert Louis Stevenson’s Jekyll and Hyde conduct their business through ‘the swirling wreaths’ of London fog, while in The Sign of Four Dr Watson and Sherlock Holmes take a cab to Lambeth in dense fog, where Watson writes that: ‘[I] soon lost my bearings … Sherlock Holmes was never at fault however and he muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets.’

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in her poem ‘Aurora Leigh’, wrote of London’s fog wiping out London:

I saw

Fog only, the great tawny weltering fog,

Involve the passive city, strangle it

Alive, and draw it off into the void,

Spires, bridges, streets and squares, as if a sponge

Had wiped out London

Yet, not all references to London’s fogs are critical. In 1937, as London’s smogs approached their fatal peak, George Gershwin’s song ‘A Foggy Day in London Town’ ends on an optimistic note:

A foggy day in London Town

Had me low and had me down

I viewed the morning with alarm

The British Museum had lost its charm.

How long, I wondered, could this thing last?

But the age of miracles hadn’t passed,

For, suddenly, I saw you there

And through foggy London Town

The sun was shining everywhere.

London’s fogs are not what they were. Those of the twenty-first century are feeble imitations of the smoky atmosphere in which Sherlock Holmes and Bleak House’s blackmailing lawyer Tulkinghorn conducted their murky business but as long as the novels of Dickens and Conan Doyle are read the fogs will not be forgotten.

2

THE RIVER THAMES

In the middle of the nineteenth century, when London’s sewage flowed into the Thames, it was a major transmitter of waterborne diseases such as typhoid, which infected Queen Victoria as a young woman, probably killed her husband Albert, the Prince Consort (the cause is not certain), and came close to killing her heir, the future Edward VII. Four cholera epidemics between 1831 and 1866 killed almost 40,000 citizens in London alone. It was not always thus. The Elizabethan poet Edmund Spenser (c.1552–99), a contemporary of Shakespeare, wrote a poem to celebrate the marriages of Kathleen and Elizabeth Somerset, the daughters of the Earl of Worcester, one of his patrons. Like many poets of the time (and since) he was endlessly in search of wealthy patrons to support him and in the first verse of the poem he refers to his ‘long fruitlesse stay in Prince’s Court’ and of finding consolation in ‘Sweete Thames’.

Calm was the day, and through the trembling ayre

Sweete breathing Zephyrus did softly play

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay

Hot Titans beames, which then did glister fayre

When I (whom sullein care,

Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay

In Princes Court, and expectation vayne

Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,

Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne)

Walkt forth to ease my payne

Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes;

Whose rutty Bancke, the which his River hemmes,

Was paynted all with variable flowers,

And all the meads adornd with daintie gemmes

Fit to decke maydens bowres,

And crowne their Paramours

Against the Brydale day, which is not long:

Sweete themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

In the twentieth century, T.S. Eliot used Spenser’s closing line as an opening to a rather more jaded comment on the river:

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers;

Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends

Or other testimony of summer nights.

The drainage works of Sir Joseph Bazalgette (1819–91) helped cleanse the river of sewage, but did little to protect it from the detritus of twentieth-century consumer society with its need for packaging and cigarettes. Bazalgette’s drainage works themselves became the centrepiece of a novel published in 2005. The Great Stink by Clare Clark (not to be confused with a work which bears the same title, by the present author, and is an account of Bazalgette’s life and work) tells the story of William May, a soldier of the Crimean War, who returns, traumatised by his experiences in that terrible conflict, and works with Bazalgette on the drainage systems which were being constructed in the 1850s and 1860s. William becomes a suspect when the body of a murdered man is discovered in the sewers and in the story the author incorporates a number of people and activities which were indeed involved in Bazalgette’s great project. Joseph Bazalgette himself (not yet Sir Joseph, which came in 1875) is asked what makes a good engineer and replies: ‘a pragmatist made conservative by the conspicuous failures of structures and machines hastily contrived.’ William is eventually exonerated and the book concludes with the execution, at Newgate, of the real culprit.

A more tragic note was sounded by Andrew Motion, in his poem ‘Fresh Water’, written in memory of Ruth Haddon, a young woman who drowned with fifty others on 20 August 1989 following a collision near Cannon Street railway bridge between the dredger Bowbelle and the pleasure boat Marchioness, on which a party was being held:

Afterwards we lean on the railings outside a café. It’s autumn.

The water is speckled with leaves, and a complicated tangle of junk

Bumps against the Embankment wall: a hank of bright grass,

A rotten bulrush stem, a fragment of dark polished wood.

One of the children asks if people drown in the river, and I think

Of Ruth, who was on the Marchioness. After her death, I met

someone who had survived.

Finally, the contemporary poet Jeremy Hooker (born 1941) in ‘City Walking, 1’, visited St Mary’s Church, Battersea, where William Blake (1757–1827) was married and from which Turner had painted the river. He sees the river from which:

Turner

Sat to paint clouds

And sunsets over the water –

Where we can see tower blocks,

Luxury flats, a marina,

A power station,

That drives the Underground

The power station referred to was at Lots Road, Chelsea and was constructed from 1902–05, much to the indignation of the American-born artist James McNeil Whistler (1834–1903) who was offended by its monstrous size and would no doubt have been appalled to see his words applied to a Second World War poster entitled ‘The Proud City’. It depicted the distinctive outline of the power station against a background of searchlights and bore Whistler’s own words:

The poor buildings lose themselves in the dim sky and the tall chimneys become campanili and the warehouses are palaces in the night and the whole city hangs in the heavens.

Lots Road ceased to provide power for the Underground in 2002 and the site is at present being redeveloped into shops, offices and luxury flats.

3

THE CITYOF LONDON

Despite its role as a centre of commerce, the City of London has many literary associations, not least because it has been around for much longer than most of the rest of London. Indeed, some parts of it could accommodate a book of literary associations on their own. Given the number and variety of such connections, it is not easy to present them in a form which will suit all readers. Broadly, the chapter begins at the eastern end of the City and moves west towards Fleet Street, though with many diversions to accommodate the City’s rich history and to suit the whims of such personalities as Oliver Twist and Samuel Pickwick.

The ‘Square Mile’ of the City itself owes its identity to the Roman wall built to surround their settlement of ‘Londinium’. Portions of the wall may still be seen, notably those close to the Tower of London and a substantial section found in the Barbican, near the church of St Giles, Cripplegate, in Fore Street.

St Giles, Cripplegate is one of London’s most interesting churches, with strong literary connections. The poet John Milton is buried in this attractive little church, which was restored after being bombed during the Second World War. It also contains the tomb of John Foxe, author of Foxe’sBook or Martyrs, and it was the church where Oliver Cromwell was married and the children of Edmund Shakespeare were baptised. Edmund’s brother William is believed to have stood as their godfather, a tradition fortified by the discovery in 2007 that William was lodging nearby. The church also holds the tomb of Sir Thomas Lucy, lampooned in The Merry Wives of Windsor as Justice Shallow after the young William was involved in a poaching incident in Lucy’s deer park near Shakespeare’s Stratford home.

GRUB STREET

Running north from the Barbican towards Moorfields, in the vicinity of St Giles, is Milton Street, which until 1830 was called Grub Street, described by Samuel Johnson in his Dictionary as ‘much inhabited by writers of small histories, dictionaries and temporary poems, whence any mean production is called grubstreet.’ Johnson himself worked there for a while and from 1730 to 1737 the Grub Street Journal, a satirical magazine, took its name from the street and targeted members of the literary establishment. During the eighteenth century, Grub Street was the home of several journals which were regarded as scurrilous by the authorities. Many of the publishers were prosecuted, including the publisher of John Wilkes’s journal the North Briton.

John Wilkes (1725–97) was born in Clerkenwell, became MP for Aylesbury in 1757 and in 1762 launched a paper called the North Briton which attacked the government of George III, led by Lord Bute. Wilkes was prosecuted for seditious libel, but the charge was dismissed by the Lord Chief Justice on the grounds that Wilkes was an MP. When Parliament amended the relevant law, Wilkes fled to Paris and returned in 1768 to stand as MP for Middlesex. A farcical series of events led to Wilkes’s repeated election, expulsion from Parliament, arrest, imprisonment, fine and riots in Wilkes’s favour. He campaigned for freedom of the press, Parliamentary reform and supported the rebellious American colonies in their opposition to the government. In 1774 he became Lord Mayor of London. Informed by his former friend and one-time supporter, the Earl of Sandwich, that he would die on the gallows or of the pox, he replied: ‘That, my lord, will depend upon whether I embrace your principles or your mistress.’

St Giles, Cripplegate has strong literary connections. (Ewan Munro)

In 1728 Alexander Pope lampooned Grub Street in his satirical poem ‘The Dunciad’, which is a thinly-veiled attack on anyone, especially fellow writers, who had offended the thin-skinned poet. One of his targets was John Dryden, who was satirised along with other members of ‘the Grub Street race’ who wrote primarily for money. Dr Samuel Johnson, himself a Grub Street writer, would have been unmoved by Pope’s criticism since Johnson himself averred that ‘no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money’.

The expression ‘Grub Street’ was soon taken to mean any low-quality hack writing, or the struggling writers who produced it, and this usage is reflected in George Gissing’s novel of 1891, New Grub Street. It features Edwin Rearden, a novelist of some talent and high ideals, who struggles to earn a living; and the cynical and calculating Jasper Milvain, who willingly undertakes hack writing for money while despising those who publish and read his work. Edwin dies and Jasper prospers.

Aldersgate Street, nearby, and the gate from which it took its name, is recalled by Dickens in The Adventures ofMartin Chuzzlewit