Showing posts with label Joseph Paxton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph Paxton. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Forerunners of the Crystal Palace

By Judith Taylor

The Crystal Palace was a greenhouse on steroids. It was only possible to build such an edifice because two industrial processes came of age at roughly the same time, cast iron and plate glass, both benefiting from mass production with its reliable reproduction of an infinite number of identical components. Iron work in Britain goes back to antiquity as does glass, even before Roman times. What was new were the refinements in their manufacture. The eighteenth century may have been the Age of Enlightenment but in my opinion, the nineteenth century was the Age of Improvement.

Joseph Paxton, the man who conceived of the Crystal Palace, had already produced one masterpiece of its type at his employer’s estate in Derbyshire: Chatsworth, seat of the dukes of Devonshire. The “Great Stove”, as it was known, actually a very large heated greenhouse, can now be seen as a forerunner or rehearsal for ever larger such buildings. Paxton worked on it between 1836 and 1840, using wood as the framework. (“Stove” was a shorthand way of referring to these houses. Dutch gardeners had discovered that artificial heating was essential to maintain sub-tropical plants.)

Great Conservatory at Chatsworth: built between 1836 and 1840.
Finally destroyed 1920

The duke was devoted to tropical orchids and then by extension to all exotic plants. He asked Paxton to create the greenhouse as a way of accommodating all his treasures. At the time the Chatsworth greenhouse was the largest glass building in Europe. A few years later Richard Turner constructed the Palm House for the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. It too was magisterial. Turner also used a wooden frame.

What was different about the Crystal Palace was not only its scale but the fact that it was the first, or at least one of the very first, major public buildings to be prefabricated.

The architectural competition for the design in 1850 produced 245 entries none of which anyone liked. Paxton was going about his own affairs when one day, while sitting in a board meeting of the railway company in which he now owned shares, everything came together in his mind. He sketched out the design on the only paper he had, blotting paper.

Joseph Paxton's original sketch for the Crystal Palace
on blotting paper

From this rough sketch a whole corps of architects, engineers, draftsmen and manufacturers prepared detailed drawings which were enough to persuade the royal commission in charge to go with it. Time was very tight. They only had about a year in which to build the building and equip the exhibition halls. Because of prefabrication it was completed in 190 days, just over six months. One of the reasons this was possible was that they only used two lengths of girder and similarly standardized other parts.

Not only was the design radical and ingenious but the team solved a number of new technical problems very efficiently, like draining water off the roof down through hollow tubes inside the cast iron girders.  This system was not perfect and leakage was always a nuisance.

Certain public structures were inspired by greenhouses of one sort or another. When the railways began in the early decades of the nineteenth century the owners turned to this type of construction for the termini. The buildings needed to be very large to accommodate both trains and people, they needed to be light and airy and they needed to withstand the elements.  Liverpool Street Station was built in 1836. Modern city planning would probably not have placed St Pancras Station within a few blocks of the Euston Terminus (1839). At least the Great West terminus was on the other side of town at Paddington, also constructed in 1839. The stations were built of wrought iron.

Euston Station 1839: early use of wrought iron in a public building

Greenhouse is a very capacious term for many different types of enclosure designed through the ages to nurture both edible and ornamental crops. A useful concept with which to view all the various methods employed is “protected cultivation”. The Romans understood how to do this. The ancient Chinese had effective methods about two thousand years ago.

The Italians discovered that placing a fruit tree against a south facing wall helped to protect it against cold winds. The wall received the sun’s greatest heat for a longer time and this radiated back into the air around the tree. From this it was only a short mental leap to covering the plants.

In the Early Modern era (if I may be allowed to use this now denigrated term) in Western Europe enclosures were initially needed to keep orange trees alive in an alien environment, “orangeries”. The arrival of orange trees in England via Spain and Italy led to the first buildings created for this purpose in the colder climates: orangeries. Orange trees originated in sub-tropical parts of China and required careful attention. Spain and Italy had quite cold winters yet oranges imported from Spain were available in London very early. They were a popular treat.  Nell Gwynne was an orange seller.

Origins of Greenhouses, EWB van der Muijzenberg:
A History of Greenhouses (with permission)

The first record of orange trees in England was at Beddington House in Surrey.  Toward the end of the sixteenth century Sir Francis Carew obtained saplings somehow, possibly from Paris and grew them outdoors.  The great diarist John Evelyn visited Beddington on his garden tours in the mid seventeenth century and noted that Carew had erected a shed over the trees in the very cold weather. Carew died in 1611. Soon after that era the next significant change was planting the small trees in moveable pots.

The first orangery was an open brick loggia forming part of the main house. Enclosing the open side was the next move. At first the ratio of brick wall to transparent spaces in the orangeries was more than fifty percent. With time they whittled that down until one side of the building was covered solely with glass panels fitted into narrow supports.  The Dutch had found this out, modifying the conditions as the seasons changed.

In summer the potted plants were wheeled outside into the open air. When it grew colder they were wheeled back in. The structures began to be heated, first by small localized braziers and later by large centralized stoves. One difficulty was the poor quality of early glass and its cost. It could only be made in small seizes and had chromatic and spherical aberrations. For many years transparent sheets of mica were preferred to let the light and warmth in.

Separating the plant house, no longer solely for oranges, from the main house was another step on the road to the classic greenhouse now so widely in use.  The next logical move was making a completely transparent house with the narrowest of supports. The walls and roof were now entirely glass panes in a supporting frame. Changes in building methods allowed this to be done.

John Claudius Loudon was the first person to experiment with wrought iron as a frame for greenhouses. He patented his narrow sash which had the additional advantage of being slightly malleable in 1816. How to get the most out of the exposure through the roof led to some controversy. Loudon came up with his “ridge and furrow” system, alternating the tilt of the glass panes depending on the axis from east to west. It seemed to make sense for many years but was eventually quietly dropped as not being really useful though Paxton did use the system for the Crystal Palace. (Addis) Later users also realized they needed to shade the interior at the hottest times of the day and came up with moveable fabric covers or a light opaque wash on the actual glass.

Floor Plan of the Crystal Palace

Ventilation was an important issue. Because many exotic plants were coming from hot countries the owners of greenhouses assumed that the plants could only flourish if the   greenhouse were kept at its highest temperature. Paxton was one of the first people to recognize that this was not true. By creating adequate ventilation he could cool down the interior at will and previously fragile and skittish orchids began to grow well for him.

Cast iron was the material which gave architects and builders the greatest
opportunity to do new and radical things. Loudon criticized Paxton for using wood in The Great Stove. They had a very complex relationship but Paxton was clever enough to learn from anyone. Loudon felt threatened and was jealous of Paxton but had the more original mind.

“Pig iron” was the by -product of early iron smelting and at first seemed to be useless. The ironmasters needed the soft pasty form of iron which could be wrought into many forms. If the initial pour from the furnace was not at the right temperature they had to let the mixture run off, putting it into containers, later known as “pigs’. It was disappointing as it had to be re -smelted, using up time, labour and fuel. At some time in the fifteenth century they realized this was a valuable material in itself. By modifying the receptacle at the furnace lip they could produce all sorts of parts, such as cooking pots, railings, weapons of varying kinds and tools.

The history of this industry does not lend itself to glib claims of originality but Abraham Darby of Coalbrookdale is supposed to have started cast iron on its path to indispensable industrial material. He recognized the value of coke to do a better job of heating the furnaces than charcoal. This was well established by the mid-eighteenth century and cast iron was in general use by the nineteenth century. Great engineers like Isambard Kingdom Brunel used it to build the longest bridges ever seen over the most daunting rivers and chasms.

Plate glass was the other ingredient in this heady mix. In 1847 James Hartley patented his method of making large clear sheets of plate glass. His family had been glaziers for three generations and he went to France and Germany to learn their methods. After growing up near Birmingham he opened his own works in Sunderland in 1833 and produced plate glass using the German method of rolling the molten mass over a cylinder. Glass was still taxed at 7s 6d a hundred weight so the manufacturer had to be scrupulous in using very last bit of it. The repeal of the tax in 1845 was very welcome. In spite of this kind of plate glass being obviously so superior he met a lot of resistance in the building trades and had to work incredibly hard to sell it.

The foregoing indicates that all this development was only accessible to the very richest families. Nothing said opulence or luxury like the ability to grow pineapples in the chilly English countryside. The fruit was highly symbolic in several ways. One was its use as an architectural ornament. The actual fruit was way out for reach the average person. A stable boy gaping at a glittering gathering in Mayfair could only pine for “a cut of that there pine” as Thackeray says in “Vanity Fair”. The fruit’s modern ubiquity in tins says something for the forces of democracy after all.

Middle class and upper working class families were able to benefit from the reduced cost of a mass produced greenhouse later in the century. Smaller houses holding a modest number of plants became widespread. An unheated glasshouse gave enough protection for temperate plants even if they could not handle exotic ones. We cannot imagine the excitement caused by begonias when they first appeared in the 1880s. They are the most ordinary of flowers today but back then they were coddled like orchids. 

John Ruskin and his brethren inveighed against the soullessness of mass production but it played its part in allowing ordinary people to enjoy life more fully. While he was probably correct in theory this access to wholesome pleasure was a powerful counterbalance.

I have only skimmed the surface of a huge topic but hope I have said enough to start readers thinking.

References

Addis, Bill 2006     The Crystal Palace and its place in structural history
International Journal of Space Structures  vol 21 (I) March

Colquhoun, Kate 2006    The Busiest Man in England: a life of Joseph Paxton, gardener, architect and Victorian visionary
Boston        David R. Godine

Desmond, Ray 1993    Kew: the history of the Royal Botanic Gardens
London           The Harvill Press for the Royal Botanic Gardens

Gloag, John and Derek Bridgwater  1948 A History of Cast Iron in Architecture
London        George Allen and Unwin Ltd

Muijzenberg, E. W. B. van der    1980      A History of Greenhouses
Wageningen, The Netherlands      Institute for Agricultural Engineering

Ruskin, John 1851 – 1853 (reissue 2008) The Stones of Venice
London      Euston Grove


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 Judith M. Taylor MD is a graduate of Somerville College and the Oxford University Medical School and is a board certified neurologist. She practiced neurology in New York and since retiring has written six books on horticultural history as well as numerous articles and book reviews on the same subject.
Dr Taylor’s books include The Olive in California: history of an immigrant tree (2000), Tangible Memories: Californians and their gardens 1800 – 1950 (2003), The Global Migrations of Ornamental Plants: how the world got into your garden (Missouri Botanical Garden Press 2009), Visions of Loveliness: the work of forgotten flower breeders (Ohio University Press 2014) and An Abundance of Flowers: more great flower breeders of the past (Ohio University Press  2018).  In 2019 she published A Five Year Plan for Geraniums: growing flowers commercially in East Germany 1946 – 1989.
Dr Taylor’s web site is: www.horthistoria.com




Friday, August 16, 2019

Joseph Paxton, Creator of the Crystal Palace

By Judith Taylor

I have paid homage to two great Victorian men so far in this column but Joseph Paxton, 1803 – 1865, may be the granddaddy of them all. He rose from being the son of a middling farmer who died when the boy was only seven years old to a knight of the realm and confidant of one of the wealthiest and most powerful noblemen in England at a time when such things counted, the Duke of Devonshire.

Joseph Paxton

A slight digression on the topic of the duke, George Spencer Cavendish, sixth duke of Devonshire, 1790 – 1858, is in order here. It was the duke who ignited the latent forces in Paxton and fostered his development all his life. Throughout her married life, Sarah Paxton knew that whatever the duke wanted would always take precedence. She was a sensible woman and understood the situation. The duke’s mother was the infamous Georgiana, duchess of Devonshire. In spite of his great wealth and position he was a shy man, hampered socially by being deaf. That could be the reason he never married. He suffered from the occupational disease of dukes, boredom.

That ended when an Oncidium orchid pierced his soul and he was smitten for life. The careful reader will remember that this was what happened to Dean Hole, only in his case it was a rose. The duke was always a very dutiful steward of his great estates but he began to improve his gardens and devoted his life to creating lasting beauty.

His home in London lay next to the London Horticultural Society’s garden at Chiswick. He enjoyed wandering around that garden and asked the superintendent in 1826 if he could recommend a suitable young man to take charge of his grounds at Chatsworth in Derbyshire. The estate is near the town of Chesterfield in the foothills of the Peak Country. The superintendent recommended Joseph Paxton, still young and untried but clearly ready to take on larger responsibilities.

Chatsworth, Derbyshire

Poor children were not always able to spend much time at school in country villages but perhaps because Joseph was the youngest child he stayed in school long enough to learn to read and write proficiently. This gave him an edge when he applied to become a gardener at the society’s premises. There is a record of his entry in their literacy test. In it he also wrote that he was three years older than he actually was. By the time the duke took him on he was still only twenty.

Paxton left an accurate account of his first day at Chatsworth which is quoted very frequently but which is nonetheless worth repeating here for its great charm.

“I left London by the Comet Coach for Chesterfield and arrived at Chatsworth at half past four o’clock in the morning of the ninth of May, 1826. As no person was to be seen at that early hour, I got over the greenhouse gate by the old covered way, explored the pleasure grounds and looked round the outside of the house. I then went down to the kitchen gardens, scaled the outside wall and saw the whole place, set the men to work there at six o’clock; then returned to Chatsworth and got Thomas Weldon to play me the water works, and afterwards went to breakfast with poor dear Mrs Gregory and her niece. The latter fell in love with me and I with her and thus completed my first morning’s work at Chatsworth before nine o’clock”.

One can only imagine the expression on the gardeners’ faces when their new boss appeared over a wall and gave them their marching orders. He married Sarah Bown the following year. She was a bit older than he was and not particularly pretty but she was a solidly good person with the added advantage of a substantial legacy. In the parlance of the time according to Trollope’s clerical hierarchy, she was “WOM” (wife own money).

The duke worked ceaselessly to improve his gardens with Paxton. As a torrent of rare and exotic new plants were flooding into Britain from the rest of the world the duke bought everything he could lay his hands on to satisfy this new lust. He even joined the movement for private individuals to send out their own collectors but in his case that ended in tragedy and he never did it again. Two of his nice young gardeners went to the Pacific Northwest region of America and were drowned in the Columbia River.

Many of the imported plants were either tropical or sub-tropical and that led to the need for glasshouses. Paxton had already shown his flair for architecture with other structures at Chatsworth. This was a fortuitous time. The ridiculous tax on glass was repealed in 1845. James Hartley patented his method for making large flat panes of glass which were vastly superior to any previous glass in 1847. Paxton had warmed up by building a wondrous huge glasshouse at Chatsworth, “The Great Stove”, a few years earlier. Dozens of people visited it to marvel at its beautiful structure.

The Conservatory/Glasshouse at Chatsworth

There was one influential person who did not share this opinion; our friend John Claudius Loudon. He spent a lot of time traveling throughout the country visiting gardens and writing about them. These systematic reviews led to improvements in garden design and function. It is possible he felt threatened by the rapid rise and success of Paxton and his “Horticultural Register and General Magazine” founded in 1832 but the review Loudon wrote in his “Gardening Magazine” was laced with bile and spite.

“(Chatsworth) has always appeared to us an unsatisfactory place” was just for openers. He found fault with everything of which Paxton was the proudest. One of his criticisms was that Paxton had used wood to frame the glass panes whereas Loudon had invented an iron glazing bar and believed that to be the better material. Paxton handled himself with immense dignity and eventually the two men saw the value in the other’s views. Paxton used iron to build the Crystal Palace.

Paxton had been steadily rising in the social scale by his sheer skill and ability to get things done. He was no longer a mere gardener in a nice cottage but a builder and a man of business. Before long the duke had invited him to dine at the big house and introduced him to useful people. The old saw about going to a busy person when you needed something done was true in his case. One could rely on Paxton. He was rewarded by increasing social acceptance as well as money. The duke never prevented him from taking on commissions outside Chatsworth. All this was the backdrop to him being chosen to design the Crystal Palace. The queen would knight him in 1852.

The idea of holding “The Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of all the Nations” to celebrate the achievements of the British Empire in manufacturing and all associated arts had been mooted by very serious senior officials but it needed the imprimatur of royal involvement to get it going. Prince Albert stepped in.

He formed a royal commission in 1850 which promptly set up a competition for a building to hold the show. The committee received over two hundred and forty-five submissions in three weeks. Probably out of sheer frustration they ended up choosing a plan by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Time was becoming very short. All of this was closely followed in the press and Paxton was paying attention. The exhibition was supposed to open in October 1851.

Brunel’s design was very pedestrian, mainly built of brick. Not only was it ungainly, the cost was astronomical. Another defect was that it would be permanent, destroying much of  Hyde Park for good. There was a public outcry. Even though the official entry period was over members of the commission listened to Paxton very carefully. Not only was his design very attractive it was also far less expensive than the others.

Prince Albert has never quite had his due, playing second fiddle to the queen but he was extremely intelligent and well informed. Once the exhibition had ended it was he who came up with the idea of creating the museums and other major institutions in South Kensington using the space and materials left behind.

In 1849 Paxton had built a small new glass house at Chatsworth when the duke received seedlings of the fabled giant water lily, Victoria amazonica, known at that time as Victoria regia,  from Sir William Hooker at Kew. Its leaves spanned six feet. A child could stand on one of them perfectly safely. There was a race all over Europe to see who could get it to flower first in a temperate country. The duke won.

Paxton's daughter on a leaf of Victoria amazonica in  1849

The story goes that Paxton was at a meeting of the board of the Midland Railway when the idea for the Crystal Palace came to him. He sketched out the now familiar design based on the model of the house he had built for the lily. There is also a possibility that part of the inspiration came from the extraordinary system of veins under the lily leaves’ surface, providing their tensile strength.

The genius of Paxton’s work was that all the parts could be reliably prefabricated of cast iron, vastly decreasing the time needed to erect the complicated building. It was possible to build on a gigantic scale and still support all the expected weight and maintain stability in the face of high winds across Hyde Park. Paxton worked rapidly with skilled draftsmen and engineers to get the drawings ready for the commissioners in a very short time.

A bald recital of the dimensions and materials for the exhibition building is very telling. It was 1848 feet long, (not 1851 which plays on the date), 456 feet wide and 108 feet high at the transept. The surface area covered more than twenty acres allowing for more than ten miles of actual exhibition space within. All this was supported by slender cast iron pillars.

The concept was not new. Glass houses went back a long way in British gardening history from the early orangeries with tiny panes of glass to Turner’s great Palm House at Kew in Britain. There were also fine glass houses on the continent.

The Crystal Palace

The building was constructed remarkably quickly in just seven months. The queen opened it on time. Both the building and the exhibition itself  were an overwhelming success. Paxton did not sit around basking in this new glory but was very busy with the vast number of new commissions it engendered. He worked on Mentmore for the Rothschilds and at one of their French estates. He traveled widely all over the continent and even visited the United States.

The new Lady Paxton remained steadfastly at Chatsworth with the children, five girls and one boy, overseeing the expenses of the garden for him and checking everything carefully. She knew she could not participate in his new social circles.

Paxton grew really rich and was able to hang onto this money unlike so many men of his class. He had one severe disappointment in the behavior of his only son, George. All his life the boy was rebellious and would not accept discipline at home or at school. His parents tried everything they could think of in those as yet unenlightened times but nothing worked. Occasionally Paxton would take George with him on one of his tours but was constantly embarrassed and chagrined by his ill-tempered outbursts and rude manners. One can invoke psycho-babble and consider how a boy would feel whose father was so consistently successful, completely eclipsing anything the child could accomplish.

Early in 1865 Paxton had what was probably a heart attack and never really recovered. Six months later, on June 8, he was dead. Very little is known of what became of George, even the date or place of his death though he did have some children that Paxton enjoyed seeing. The estate was valued at £180 000.


References: Colquhoun, Kate  2006  The Busiest Man in England: a life of Joseph Paxton,  gardener, architect and Victorian visionary
Boston      David R. Godine

All images: Wikpidia in the Public Domain

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Judith M. Taylor MD is a graduate of Somerville College and the Oxford University Medical School and is a board certified neurologist. She practiced neurology in New York and since retiring has written six books on horticultural history as well as numerous articles and book reviews on the same subject. 
Dr Taylor’s books include The Olive in California: history of an immigrant tree (2000), Tangible Memories: Californians and their gardens 1800 – 1950 (2003), The Global Migrations of Ornamental Plants: how the world got into your garden (Missouri Botanical Garden Press 2009), Visions of Loveliness: the work of forgotten flower breeders (Ohio University Press 2014) and An Abundance of Flowers: more great flower breeders of the past (Ohio University Press  2018).  In 2019 she published A Five Year Plan for Geraniums: growing flowers commercially in East Germany 1946 – 1989.
Dr Taylor’s web site is: www.horthistoria.com

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Plants vs. Winter: The Origins of English Conservatories

by K.M. Pohlkamp

Your ruthless Viscount patron has commissioned a heinous new poison. Your stores of toxic cuttings and seeds are running low and the backyard garden is blanketed with snow. Dear assassin, how will you grow the plant ingredients you need?

This dilemma developed while writing my historical novel, Apricots and Wolfsbane, set in the early 1500’s England. Yes, my assassin could have simply harvested a sufficient supply of seeds and cuttings during the previous fall. Yawn. She could have purchased supplies from a shadowy figure in the alley. Instead, I had her bartered for access to a solarium.

Since my character exists in early Tudor England, like a good historical fiction author, I began research period solariums only to find the word didn’t exist until about the mid 1800’s.

Well then.

A quick find and replace later, my assassin’s solarium transformed into a greenhouse.

Problem solved, right?

After all, greenhouse technology was first used in about 30 A.D. to provide the Roman emperor Tiberius with an ample supply of “cucumbers” which physicians believed would ward off his ailments. (Historical note: he likely did not eat cucumbers, but rather melons that lacked sweetness.)

The Roman philosopher, Pliny the Elder, described those first Roman greenhouses as:
“beds mounted on wheels which they moved out into the sun and then on wintry days withdrew under the cover of frames glazed with transparent stone.” 
 The “transparent stone” roofs were thin sheets of mica that were kept warm by maintained fires outside of the stone walls.

It wasn’t until the 13th century that the Italians built the first modern greenhouses (Giardini botanici) which fostered new species brought home by explorers of Africa, the Middle East, Asia and, later, the New World. Development of the concept spread and by 1450, Korea also had “temperature controlled” houses as documented by Jeon Son in his 1459 cookbook, Sanga Yorok.

These early structures comprised of modest wood or metal frames with glass. In southern Europe, a simple roof or a wall of windows maintained sufficient warmth thanks to the “greenhouse effect.” During the day, sunlight warmed the interior of the structure and the glass trapped enough residual heat to keep the plants content throughout the night, even in winter.


This was all great if my assassin was Italian, or Korean, or Spanish. But she’s English. Those early, simple concepts of passive heating proved insufficient against the harsh winter of Northern Europe. 

Thankfully for her (and me), the concept of greenhouses finally took root in England in the 16th century. But even before that time, the value of moving plants inside during cold nights was well understood by the English.

The Gardener's Labyrinth, written by Thomas Hill in 1577 under the pseudonym Didymus Mountain, was the first common gardening book written in English. The book describes the concept of a greenhouse by referencing Tiberius’ original inspiration: (You can download the beautiful original document here.)
“The young plants may be defended from cold and boisterous windes, yea, frosts, the cold aire, and hot Sunne, if Glasses made for the onely purpose, be set over them, which on such wise bestowed on the beds, yeelded in a manner to Tiberius Caesar, Cumbers all year, in which he took great delight . . .”
In the 17th century, glasshouses in Britain came to be called “orangeries,” developed to shelter citrus imported from Spain. Orangeries were originally built as extensions to large buildings but evolved to be separate structures. To fight the brutal winter, early English orangeries featured a charcoal underfloor heating system that dispersed warmth through channels called “hypocausts.” The structures had solid roofs and walls, usually with a large door to facilitate relocation of the trees. Maintenance of the greenhouses required attentive care to close at night and prepare for winter weather.

The popularity of orangeries grew in 1689 when William III took the crown of England, Ireland and Scotland. Also around this time in 1661, Louis XIV commissioned a great glasshouse for Versailles measuring 150 m (490 ft) long, 13 m (43 ft) wide, and 14 m (46 ft) high. These events further transformed glasshouses from university, government and scientific institutions into symbols of aristocracy and the social elite. In England, this status was especially bolstered by the 1696 “window tax” and the 1764 “glass tax.” 

The great English conservatories were born.

The word “conservatory” is derived from the Latin conservato (meaning “stored or preserved”) and the Latin root ory  (meaning “a place for”). However, the word came to invoke glazed structures for conserving or protecting plants from cold weather.

John Nash designed four conservatories for Buckingham Palace in 1825. However, when William IV ordered remodeling of the palace, one of the conservatories was moved to Kew in 1836. The structure remains the oldest, fully glazed greenhouse still standing. The design features structural columns to support the heavy weight of the glass panel roof and walls.

Nash House at Kew Gardens. Photo from Reference [3].

As symbols of prestige, glasshouses became cutting edge with increasing innovations. The magnificent glass and iron greenhouse of the Palm House in Kew was constructed under Queen Victoria between 1844 and 1848 by architect Decimus Burton and iron worker Richard Turner. To achieve construction on the massive scale, architects borrowed techniques from the shipbuilding industry, which provides rationale for why the building resembles an overturned hull. The structure consists of wrought iron arches held together by horizontal tubular structures containing long pressed cables. The center of the greenhouse nave is 19 m (62 ft) high.

Palm House Green House. Photo from www.kew.org

Sir Joseph Paxton, the gardens superintendent for the Duke of Devonshire, supervised the construction of an iron-framed Great Conservatory at Chatsworth house between 1836 and 1841. The conservatory covered three-quarters of an acre, and at the time, was the largest glass building in the world. Shaped like a tent, it measured 20.5 meters (67 ft) high and 84 m (277 ft) long. Eight boilers heated the conservatory, requiring the operation of ten men and seven miles of iron pipe. During the Great War, the massive amounts of coal required became unavailable, but all the gardeners were enlisted anyway.  Unattended, all the contained plants perished and the Great Conservatory was demolished in 1920.

However, the Great Conservatory became Paxton’s model for the Crystal Palace. Constructed in 22 weeks, the Crystal Palace covered 19 acres and was the largest enclosed space at the time. Containing 293,625 panes of glass, the palace spread five times as long as the Palm House (undoubtedly on purpose), and higher than Westminster Abbey. For his efforts, Paxton was knighted by Queen Victoria. 

The Crystal Palace. Photo from the BBC Hulton Picture Library.

The Crystal Palace was destroyed by fire on the night of November 30, 1936. The two surviving towers were demolished in 1941. The Walt Disney World Magic Kingdom restaurant of the same name was not modeled after the Crystal Palace in London, as you might expect, but rather by after the San Francisco’s conservatory of Flowers.

As all fads, the greenhouse craze would not last. Britain’s expanding empire and new wealth from the Industrial Revolution enabled the construction of an increasing number of glasshouses. However, the Industrial Revolution also decreased the cost of making glass so severely that the glass and window taxes were abolished in 1845 and 1851, respectively. Glasshouses subsequently became affordable to the English middle class and businessmen quickly realized that caste represented a larger consumer base potential. By the early 20th century, plain, self-assembled, small glasshouses were manufactured with iron structures for the common home garden.  

After hours of research, I determined it is possible my English assassin could have had access to a rudimentary glasshouse - if her connections possessed sufficient wealth. Such structures were not common in early Tudor England, but the concepts and technology were understood. However my research posed a new dilemma only I could answer: would access to such a luxury allow my ambitious assassin to prevail . . .

References

[1] Bruno, Gwen. “A Short History of the Greenhouse.” Dave’s Garden. March 1, 2012. Accessed July 13, 2017. http://davesgarden.com/guides/articles/view/3607#

[2] “History of the Conservatory” Richmond Oak Conservatories Ltd. Accessed July 15, 2017. http://www.oakconservatories.co.uk/history-of-the-conservatory/

[3] Hodgson, Larry. “A Brief History of the Greenhouse.” Laidback Gardener. January 27, 2016. Accessed July 12, 2017. https://laidbackgardener.wordpress.com/2016/01/27/a-brief-history-of-the-greenhouse/

[4[ Mountain, Didymus. The Gardener's Labyrinth. 1577.

[5] Paris, H.S. et al. “What the Roman emperor Tiberius grew in  his greenhouses.”  Cucurbitaceae 2008, Proceedings of the IXth EUCARPIA meeting on genetics and breeding of Cucurbitaceae (Pitrat M, ed), INRA, Avignon (France), May 21-24th, 2008. 

[6] “The Crystal Palace.” Disney Vacation Planner. Accessed July 16, 2017. http://www.solarius.com/dvp/wdw/crystal-palace.htm

[7] “The First Greenhouses: From Rome, to America.” RIMOL Greenhouse Systems Blog. February 4, 2013. Accessed July 14, 2017. https://www.rimolgreenhouses.com/blog/the-first-greenhouses-from-rome-to-america

[8] “Way Back When: A history of the English Glasshouse” Hartley Magazine. September 3, 2015. Accessed July 13, 2017. https://hartley-botanic.co.uk/magazine/a-history-of-the-english-glasshouse/

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K.M. Pohlkamp is the author of the Tudor-era novel, Apricots and Wolfsbane, following the career of a female poison assassin. She is a proud mother of two, a blessed wife to the love of her life, and a Mission Control flight controller at NASA. Originally from Wisconsin, she now resides in Houston, Texas.


Twitter: @KMPohlkamp