Part 4

A Welsh landlord (apparently in the early twenties) named Davies paid a £50 rent, which he could not get back by catering for his few local customers, chiefly nurserymen. At the present day the property is said to have changed hands for £24,000.

[Henry Walker, in the _Bayswater Annual_ for 1885; also in the _Paddington_, _Kensington_, _and Bayswater Chronicle_ for May 31, 1884, with a woodcut from a drawing of the Royal Oak in 1825. _Cf._ Rutton in _Home Counties Magazine_, ii., p. 21.]

In the thirties and forties the Bayswater district was full of small tea-gardens, one of which, the Princess Royal, {38} ‘opposite Black Lion Lane, now called Queen’s Road,’ may be mentioned. It was kept in the forties by James Bott, previously of the Archery Tavern, Bayswater. Mr. Bott had a bowling-green and tea-rooms, an elegant fish-pond well stocked with gold and silver fish, and ‘an extensive archery ground, 185 feet long, and wide enough for two sets of targets.’ His advertisements hold out two special attractions—one that any gentleman fond of archery might practise there from nine o’clock in the morning till two in the afternoon for ten shillings a year; the other that the grounds led by the nearest way to the Kensal Green Cemetery.

CHALK FARM

THIS was a favourite tea-garden from the latter part of the eighteenth century till the fifties. An inn, originally called the White House, had long existed near the foot of Primrose Hill, and probably first gained custom by its proximity to the hill, which (about 1797) is described {39} as a ‘very fashionable’ Sunday resort of the modern citizens, who usually ‘lead their children there to eat their cakes and partake of a little country air’—a truly idyllic performance. Chalk Farm had also its more martial customers, for towards the close of the eighteenth century the St. Pancras Volunteers used to march thither to fire at a target at the foot of the hill for a silver cup. The duels, moreover, for which a field adjoining the inn was notorious began at least as early as 1790, and lasted till the twenties. As they are hardly to be reckoned among the amusements of the place, I need not record their painful details. The famous interrupted duel of Tom Moore and Francis Jeffrey—when ‘Bow Street myrmidons stood laughing by’—occurred in 1806. Byron treats it as ludicrous, but the meeting was not without its pathos. ‘What a beautiful morning it is!’ said Jeffrey, on seeing his opponent. ‘Yes,’ answered Moore; ‘a morning made for better purposes.’ To which Jeffrey’s only response was ‘a sort of assenting sigh.’ Another famous duel took place on February 16, 1821, by moonlight, between John Scott, the editor of the _London Magazine_, and Mr. Christie. Scott was badly wounded, and was carried on a shutter to the tavern, where he died in a fortnight. This was practically the last of the Chalk Farm duels, {40a} and, curiously enough, it is the _London Magazine_ {40b} that about a year later furnishes a long and most philosophical account of the tea-drinking at this very garden. What the writer notices is the _seriousness_ of the ordinary frequenter of the garden, who drinks and smokes with no approach to the least flexibility of limb or feature. There are three plain citizens sitting stolidly in one alcove without uttering a word. In another box, over a glass of punch, are a prim tradesman and his wife and a sickly-looking little boy, who wants to play with the other children on the lawn, but who is not allowed to ‘wenture upon the nasty vet grass.’ The same observer also notes the occasionally successful efforts of the Cockney sportsmen to shoot wretched sparrows let out of a box at twenty yards’ distance.

In the thirties the aspect was more cheerful, with pony-races, rifle-shooting, {40c} and the contests of the Cumberland and Westmorland wrestlers for silver tankards and snuffboxes.

The tavern (the successor of an older building) was pulled down in 1853, and the present public-house—No. 89, Regent’s Park Road—was built. The open fields which formerly led from this site to the slopes of Primrose Hill are now covered by houses at the back and front of the present building, and the row of tall houses in Primrose Hill Road would effectively shut out the view, even if the tavern had still preserved its garden. A water-colour drawing of about 1830 shows Chalk Farm without any building intervening between itself and its grassy mount. One side of the tavern is provided with many windows, and a veranda looks towards the hill, and close by is the flower-garden. At the back of the house are fields and a road leading to the lower slopes.

[Authorities in Palmer’s _St. Pancras_, p. 287; _Picture __of London_, 1802–1846; Miller’s _St. Pancras_, p. 201; Walford, _Old and New London_, v. 289 _f._; newspapers.

Views: Water-colour, _circa_ 1830, showing Primrose Hill and the tavern (W.); drawing by Matthews, 1834, Crace Cat., p. 671, No. 89; drawing by T. H. Shepherd, 1853, _ibid._, p. 569; Partington’s _Views of London_, ii. 181; a view in Dugdale’s _England and Wales_, and water-colour drawings from this.]

THE EEL-PIE (OR SLUICE) HOUSE, HIGHBURY

THIS tavern on the New River, between Highbury and Hornsey Wood House, was well known to Cockney visitors from early in the nineteenth century till its demolition about 1867. {42}

It was famous for its tea and hot rolls, but still more for its excellent pies made of eels, which were popularly supposed to be natives of Hugh Myddelton’s stream, though they came in reality from the coast of Holland. Unambitious anglers of the Sadler’s Wells type frequented the river near here, and on popular holidays in the twenties and thirties ‘the lower order of citizens’ (as an Islington historian politely calls them) had breakfast at the Eel-Pie House on their way to gather ‘palms’ in Hornsey Wood or more distant regions. The house had a pleasant garden till its latest days, but little in the way of gala nights or ballooning.

In the strenuous era of prize-fighting even this quiet place was not without its excitements. Thus, we read that on one day in January, 1826, a wrestling-match was announced between Ned Savage and another. Savage’s opponent (Mr. Pigg) was not forthcoming, and the ‘fancy coves,’ not to be disappointed, retired to a large room in the Sluice House, and soon formed a temporary ring with the forms and tables. A dog-fight and a rat-killing match were then exhibited, and, something ‘of a more manly character’ being called for, a purse was collected, and Bill Webb of Newport Market and (an unnamed) Jack Tar were soon engaged. ‘About twenty rounds were fought; both men received heavy punishment, and both showed fair game qualities.’ The sailor’s courage was particularly admired, but he, alas! had to strike his colours, and Bill Webb ‘pocketed the blunt.’

[_Picture of London_, 1802, and later dates; Cromwell’s _Islington_. The _Morning Chronicle_, October 17, 1804, announces the sale of the ‘old Eel-Pie House’ (already evidently well known), together with ‘20 acres of rich meadow land’ adjoining.

There are several views showing in the foreground the wooden Sluice House standing over the river, and close behind it the Eel-Pie (or Sluice) House Tavern; in the distance, Hornsey Wood House (on the site of the present Finsbury Park). There is a drawing by Mr. H. Fancourt of the Eel-Pie House Gardens, made in 1867, and kindly presented to the writer.]

WESTON’S RETREAT, KENTISH TOWN

THIS garden in the present Highgate Road had a brief existence _circa_ 1858–1865, under the management of Edward Weston, the proprietor of Weston’s (afterwards the Royal) Music Hall in Holborn. A good deal was crowded into a small space, for besides the choice flowers, shrubs, and fruit-trees, there was a conservatory, a cascade, a racquet-court, a small dancing-platform and orchestra, and a panorama 1,600 feet long, representing ‘the sea-girt island of Caprera, the home of the Italian Liberator’ (Garibaldi). This encircled the garden, and was lit at night by variegated gas-jets, stated—but the garden illuminator always exaggerates—to be 100,000 in number. The admission was usually only sixpence.

Some of the entertainers of the Polytechnic Institution were engaged to combine instruction with amusement, and Mr. A. Sylvester exhibited there his patent optical illusion called—though hardly by Mr. Weston’s patrons—the Kalospinthechromokrene. {44a}

There were complaints about the way in which this miniature Cremorne was conducted, and the Sunday opening was particularly objected to by its respectable neighbours. It appears to be the unnamed ‘Retreat’ which James Greenwood in one of his books describes in scathing terms. {44b} Thus, when the Midland Railway Company appeared on the scene, there were many who welcomed its purchase of Mr. Weston’s pleasure-garden. In October, 1866, the trees, orchestra, gas-fittings, tea-cups, and everything belonging to the place, were sold off by auction.

The Retreat was in Fitzroy Place, the entrance being between the present houses numbered 93 and 97, Highgate Road.

[Article in _St. Pancras Guardian_ for January 3, 1902, by ‘P.’ (Mr. R. B. Prosser); newspaper advertisements; Walford, _Old and New London_, v., p. 320; Greenwood’s _Wilds of London_.]

THE MERMAID, HACKNEY

A FARTHING token of the seventeenth century, issued ‘at the Maremaid Taverne in Hackeny,’ {46a} is a humble relic of the early days of this place, which stood on the west side of the High Street.

The assembly-room, connected with the tavern by a covered way, and the extensive grounds, were much frequented during the last century till the forties. The grounds consisted of an upper and lower bowling-green—one of them sometimes used for archery—and an umbrageous ‘dark walk’ encompassing the kitchen-garden, which was on the west side of the brook which divided the grounds.

Ballooning was for many years a feature of the place, especially in the thirties. {46b} In September, 1837, Mrs. Graham tried an experiment with two parachutes: one, a model of Garnerin’s, was found to oscillate greatly when released from the balloon; the other, Cocking’s parachute, descended slowly and steadily. A month earlier (August 9, 1837) Mrs. Graham had delighted the frequenters of the Mermaid Tea-Gardens by an ascent in the ‘Royal Victoria,’ accompanied by Mrs. W. H. Adams and Miss Dean. A lithograph of the time shows these ladies, ‘the only three female aeronauts that ever ascended alone,’ in their best dresses, cheerfully waving flags to the people below.

An ascent made by Sadler in his ‘G. P. W.’ (George, Prince of Wales) balloon on August 12, 1811, caused great local excitement. Crowds poured in from Greenwich, Deptford, and Woolwich, and the road became so blocked that even ‘families of distinction could not approach within a mile of the tavern.’ Some fortunate parishioners ascended the tower of the church, and a jolly tar got astride of the Mermaid sign. In front of the house an abnormal assemblage of fat men and still fatter women jostled and pushed and tumbled one over another in a way that delighted the coarse caricaturists of the period. Sadler’s companion was a naval officer, Lieutenant (or Captain) Paget, who paid a hundred guineas for his seat in the car. As the balloon rose, Mr. Paget was ‘for some minutes deprived of the power of expression and incapable of communicating his sensations’ to his fellow-traveller, but he did all that was necessary by keeping quiet and waving a flag to the spectators. An hour and a quarter passed, and a descent was then made near Tilbury Fort, and the travellers, who had started at a quarter to three, returned to Hackney at a few minutes after nine. {47}

The old tavern was pulled down at the end of the thirties, and several houses were built on its site. The assembly-room and gardens continued in existence for many years later, but are now also built over.

[_Picture of London_, 1802–1846; newspapers; Robinson’s _Hackney_ (1842), i., p. 149 _f._

There are several contemporary prints of Sadler’s ascent of August 12, 1811, one a coloured caricature published by Thomas Tegg, ‘Prime Bang-up at Hackney; or, A Peep at the Balloon.’ Rowlandson’s ‘Hackney Assembly, 1812 (1802)’ caricatures the dancing.]

THE ROSEMARY BRANCH, HOXTON

EARLY in the eighteenth century, in the days when the London archers shot at rovers {48a} in the Finsbury fields, there stood near Hoxton Bridge (at the meeting of the parishes of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, and St. Mary, Islington) an ‘honest ale-house’ named the Rosemary Branch, {48b} which was doubtless ofttimes visited by the thirsty archer for a mug of beer and a game of shovel-board. The place has no history for many years, though in 1764 it emerges for a moment in a newspaper paragraph: {48c} ‘On Sunday night [August 5], about eight o’clock, as a Butcher and another man were fighting near the Rosemary Branch, the Butcher received an unlucky blow on the side of his ribs, which killed him on the spot. The cause of the quarrel was this: Some boys having a skiff with which they were sailing in a pond near the aforesaid place, the Butcher endeavouring to take it from them, a well-dressed man that was passing expostulated with the man, and putting the question to him, how he should like to be served so if he was in the lads’ stead? On which the Butcher struck the gentleman, who defended himself, and gave the deceased a blow on the temple, and another under his heart, of which he died. His body was carried to Islington Churchyard for the Coroner to sit on it, and yesterday the said gentleman was examined before the sitting Justices at Hicks’s Hall touching the said affair, and admitted to bail.’

In 1783 the old inn was demolished, or was, at any rate, absorbed in the premises of some white-lead manufacturers, who erected (1786–1792) two mills—conspicuous as _wind_mills—in the vicinity. A new tavern was built in front of the mills, with small grounds—about three acres—attached to it. The Rosemary Branch was now frequented as a tea-garden, one of the attractions being ‘the pond near the aforesaid place,’ which was used for boating and skating till, to the disgust of the Sunday visitors, it suddenly dried up about the year 1830.

John Cavanagh, the fives player (died 1819), whose exploits have been commemorated by William Hazlitt, sometimes found his way to the Rosemary Branch, though most of his matches took place in the neighbourhood at Copenhagen House. By trade he was a house-painter, and one day, putting on his best clothes, he strolled up to the gardens for an afternoon holiday. A stranger proposed to Cavanagh a match at fives for half a crown and a bottle of cider. The match began—7, 8, 10, 13, 14 all. Each game was hotly contested, but Cavanagh somehow just managed to win. ‘I never played better in my life,’ said the stranger, ‘and yet I can’t win a game. There, try that! That is a stroke that Cavanagh could not take.’ Still the play went on, and in the twelfth game the stranger was 13 to his opponent’s 4. He seemed, in fact, to be winning, when a new-comer among the bystanders exclaimed: ‘What! are _you_ there, Cavanagh?’ The amateur fives player let the ball drop from his hand, and refused to play another stroke, for all this time he had only ‘been breaking his heart to beat Cavanagh.’ {49}

[Picture: The Tea-Gardens, Rosemary Branch, 1846]

Early in the thirties, the proprietor, a Mr. McPherson, began to provide ‘gala nights’ for the inhabitants of the district, and advertised his ‘Branch’ as the Islington Vauxhall. In 1835 he is said to have spent £4,000 on the place, but for some mysterious reason chose this moment for retiring from business. In October, 1836, the gardens were offered for sale—three acres only, but provided with ‘elevated terrace-walks’ screened by trees, and with ground for rackets and skittles. The place was taken by a new proprietor, who continued the fireworks and illuminations, and introduced (1837) Mrs. Graham and her balloon, in which she ascended with the gallant Colonel of the Honourable Lumber Troop.

[Picture: Admission Ticket, Rosemary Branch, 1853]

A view of about the middle of the forties depicts the gardens as entirely surrounded by alcoves and trees, with two rope ascents and a pony race {50} going on in the arena simultaneously, like Barnum’s Circus. An admiring youth, a lady in an ample shawl and hat, and two gentlemen posed in the manner of tailors’ models, occupy the foreground, while a crowd of onlookers stand in front of the circle of boxes. Festoons of coloured lamps, a minute balloon, a small theatre, and an orchestra, are also symbolic of the attractions of the Islington Vauxhall.

Early in the fifties the spirited proprietor (William Barton) was advertising his ball-room and monster platform, and introduced Moffatt’s Equestrian Troupe and the Brothers Elliot, two clever acrobats from Batty’s Hippodrome. {51} The Chinese Exhibition, transplanted from Hyde Park, was expounded by a native interpreter, ‘whose pleasing description of the manners and customs of these Eastern people was in itself highly instructive and amusing.’ John Hampton, a noted balloonist of the time, was also engaged for many ascents.

On July 27, 1853, the timber circus caught fire, and an ill-fated troupe of trained dogs and seven horses perished. I do not suggest that these seven horses constituted the whole of the garden stud, but after this time we happen to hear little of the Rosemary Branch as an open-air resort. It was always a place for visitors of humble rank, the admission being sixpence or a shilling. A ticket of 1853 notifies that persons not ‘suitably attired’ will be excluded. It was, moreover, announced that the M.C.’s (Messrs. Franconi and Hughes) ‘keep the strictest order,’ and a policeman or two hovered in the background. All, therefore, should have gone well.

The successor of the Rosemary Branch is a public-house, the Rosemary Branch and Shepperton Distillery, No. 2, Shepperton Road, N., lying between Rosemary Street and Brunswick Place. Houses now occupy the space behind the building. In the background the tall chimney of the white-lead works (Messrs. Campion, Druce, No. 35, Southgate Road) has taken the place of the windmills.

[Tomlins’ _Islington_, p. 151; Cromwell’s _Islington_; _Era Almanack_, 1871, p. 6; _Theatrical Journal_ for 1852; newspaper advertisements, and bills.

Views: _Crace Catalogue_, p. 599, No. 135 (water-colour by Storer); _ibid._, p. 599, No. 136, a woodcut showing the gardens with pony-racing, etc., 1846; an engraving (1812) of the white-lead mills taken from the garden of the Rosemary Branch shows the boating on the pond.]

SIR HUGH MYDDELTON’S HEAD

THIS was a picturesque old inn, built, it is said in 1614, standing by the water-side opposite the New River Head and Sadler’s Wells. It is shown in Hogarth’s ‘Evening’ (1738)—a gable-ended, vine-clad house with the portrait of the great Sir Hugh as its pendent sign. It will be remembered that this picture represents a portly dame, accompanied by an evidently ill-used husband and two crying children, passing by the tavern, wherein a merry drinking-party is seen through the open window. Perhaps the mantling vine is not a natural feature of the place, but bitter Hogarthian symbolism—‘Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine upon the walls of thy house.’ On the other hand, Clerkenwell has still its Vine Yard Walk, and twenty years ago in one or two of the gardens in a square near Sadler’s Wells, there might be found a vine which produced a passable grape.

The banks of the New River at this time—and, indeed, till near the middle of the nineteenth century—were lined with tall poplars and graceful willows, and were frequented by anglers, young and old. Hood, in his _Walton Redivivus_ (1826), describes Piscator fishing near the Myddelton’s Head without either basket or can, sitting there (as Lamb expresses it) like Hope, day after day, ‘speculating on traditionary gudgeons.’ The covering in of the New River in 1861–1862 ended the Sadler’s Wells angling for ever.

The house was the favourite haunt of the Sadler’s Wells company, and old Rosoman, the proprietor of the theatre; Maddox, the wonderful man who balanced a straw while dancing on the wire; Harlequin Bologna, Dibdin, and Jo. Grimaldi, smoked many a pipe in its long room or in an arbour in the garden. In the fifties, a parlour denominated the ‘Crib’ was set apart for certain choice spirits, who, according to Mr. E. L. Blanchard, were so uncommonly select that they demanded ‘an introduction and a fee’ from all newcomers.

The tavern, having fallen into decay, was replaced in 1831 by a plain, ugly building, surmounted by a bust of Myddelton. The ‘grounds,’ chiefly from the twenties to the fifties, formed a miniature tea-garden with ‘boxes,’ shrubs, and flowers. They were improved in 1852 by Deacon, who succeeded Edward Wells as proprietor. The house, which stood at the west end of Myddelton Place, close to Thomas Street and opposite Arlington Street, was swept away for the formation of Rosebery Avenue.

[Pinks’s _Clerkenwell_, pp. 406–408; Hone’s _Every Day Book_, 1826, p. 344; Partington’s _Views of London_, ii., p. 186 (showing the later tavern); Blanchard’s _Life_, i., p. 83 _f._; _Theatrical Journal_, 1852, p. 237 (_cf._ p. 376); a drawing of the tavern by C. H. Matthews, 1849, in _Crace Catalogue_, No. 93, p. 594.]

THE PANARMONION GARDENS, KING’S CROSS

THE formation of the pleasure-garden that we know as Earl’s Court out of the coal-yards of the North End Road has a parallel in the origin of some ephemeral gardens which arose at Battle Bridge (King’s Cross) on or near the site of mountainous heaps of dust and ashes. The place was recalled by the ‘Literary Dustman’ when he sang:

‘My dawning genus fust did peep Near Battle Bridge, ’tis plain, sirs; You recollect the cinder-heap Vot stood in Gray’s Inn Lane, sirs.’

Now, when these historic dust-heaps were carted off to Russia—the story is a true one—and utilized in rebuilding the walls of Moscow, they left a void which even the London builder could not immediately fill. In the twenties there was still a large vacant space near the corner of Gray’s Inn Lane, bounded by (the present) Liverpool, Manchester, and Argyle Streets, and reaching nearly to the Euston Road. This space became the property of a company which, in 1829, invited the public by prospectus to subscribe about £20,000 for its development. {54} The worthy historian of Clerkenwell describes this company as the ‘Pandemomium’ (_sic_), but as a matter of fact it called itself the Panarmonion, and had nothing demoniac in its objects, but rather the laudable purpose of converting a dusty wilderness into a garden and temple of the Muses. The promoter was a certain Signor Gesualdo Lanza, who presided over a school for acting and singing in the neighbourhood. Lanza proposed to establish—and displayed in lithographic plans—a great ‘Panarmonion Institution,’ consisting of a theatre, a concert-hall, a ‘refectory,’ a reading-room, and even an hotel. These buildings were to rise in a pleasaunce encircled by trees and alcoves, and adorned with a great fountain and cascade.

[Picture: Suspension Railway, Panarmonion Gardens. From an engraving, circa 1830]