Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Eleanor Eden: The Woman Who Almost Married a Prime Minister

by Stephenie Woolterton

The Honourable Eleanor Eden,
engraved by Emery Walker
The Honourable Eleanor Agnes Eden, afterwards the 4th Countess of Buckinghamshire, is most remembered as the woman who nearly married Prime Minister William Pitt the younger in the late 1790s. Many of those who have read about William Pitt (1759-1806) will be aware that he never married, and may also know that at one time he had contemplated marriage to Lord Auckland’s eldest daughter. At the time, Pitt was 37 years old, and Eleanor was 19.

The vast majority of Pitt’s biographers have largely omitted any and all references to Pitt being interested in women (or quickly gloss over them in order to undermine their significance), as it does not fit with their notion of his alleged homosexual inclinations or asexuality. Indeed, one has gone so far as it assert that Pitt “never in his life showed interest in or affection for women.” [1]

I argue that this is far from the case. Dr. Burney, Fanny Burney’s father, remarked in September 1799 that “no one can be more cheerful, attentive, and polite to ladies than Mr. Pitt, which astonishes all those who, without seeing him, have taken for granted that he is no woman’s man, but a surly churl, from the accounts of his sarcastic enemies.” [2]

It is enjoyable to read first-hand anecdotes of Pitt as they help to furnish a rounded glimpse of his private life. Lady Hester Stanhope, Pitt’s niece, once said that he was “always polite to women, and [was] a great favourite with many of them.” [3] The diarist Nathaniel Wraxall, in his posthumous historical memoirs, mentions that Pitt had “in different periods of life distinguished certain ladies, some of whom I could name, by marks of great predilection.” [4]

Pitt’s sister Lady Harriot Eliot (then Lady Harriot Pitt) wrote to her mother from Bath on December 27, 1779, commenting, “I am amazed that you have not heard from William. Lady Charlotte [her emphasis] must be the cause.” [5]

Who was this Lady Charlotte in William’s life at the end of 1779? There is no other surviving evidence that mentions her, and her surname is unknown, but she must have spent a sufficient amount of time with William if both his sister Harriot at Bath (William was in London and Cambridge at the end of 1779) and his mother in Somerset knew of her. Perhaps it was a fleeting affair. Pitt was only 20 years old in 1779, and had not yet entered the grinding world of Parliament, so maybe he found time to be a beau. Although we will never know the whole of the matter, this snippet shows that William had affections for a lady.

Eleanor Agnes Eden
by John Hoppner (c. 1790s)
Another piece of evidence in support of Pitt’s interest in women is Lord Sidmouth’s (Henry Addington) testimony to John Wilson Croker when Croker came to visit him in 1838. Henry Addington knew Pitt from his childhood years. His father, Anthony Addington, had been Lord Chatham’s (Pitt the Elder) physician. Addington later went on to serve as Speaker of the House of Commons, and then briefly as Prime Minister (1801-04) in between Pitt’s two administrations. Despite their political differences, they were friends up until Pitt’s early death in 1806.

Sidmouth, aged 82 in 1838, said to Croker that “Pitt is never said to have had a female attachment; it is not true. He had, I believe, more than one. One I know of; it was to the present Dowager Countess of Buckinghamshire, then Miss Eden.” [6] Eleanor Eden was born on July 9, 1777, and she claims the spot as Pitt’s only confirmed love interest. In the autumn of 1796, many remarked upon how much time Pitt was spending at the Auckland family residence, and Pitt’s friends and political associates began to believe that there could be a marriage on the horizon.

William Pitt (the younger)
by Sir Joshua Lawrence (1807)
Lord Glenbervie recorded a weekend visit at Lord Auckland’s Eden Farm, near Bromley in Kent, when Pitt was also present. On November 20, 1796, Glenbervie wrote the following in his diary: “Pitt had dined and slept here [Eden Farm] the night before, and returned here with us last night after supper. He has been here five days in the week every week for the last two months [so presumably since at least September 1796]. The world supposes he is in love with Miss Eden.” [7]

After another day of direct observation of Pitt in the company of Eleanor, Lord Glenbervie was certain of Pitt’s romantic ardour. “From Pitt’s manner in a walk we took yesterday, his constantly sidling up to Eleanor, and particularly his reluctance to go away and various pretexts for staying beyond an hour when he told us he was engaged, I am now persuaded he is in love and means to marry her...How strange it would seem, and how offensive perhaps to the public both in England and Europe, if it was to be known that almost every day since the recess of Parliament the man [Pitt] on whom rests the interest of so many, the fate perhaps of this and future generations, the main burthen of the contest between the Allies and the French, have been spent here [at Eden Farm] in idleness and lounging and the Minister’s mind chiefly occupied with a passion which employs his thoughts the more from his awkward backwardness to speak, or his yet unsettled resolution on the subject.” [8]

Even the politician Edmund Burke mentioned the widely circulated rumour of Pitt’s intended marriage in a letter he addressed to Mrs. Crewe on December 27, 1796: “The talk of the town is of a marriage between a daughter of his [Lord Auckland’s] and Mr. Pitt; and that our statesman, our premier des hommes, will take his Eve from the garden of Eden.” [9]

However, not everyone was keen on the idea of Pitt marrying Auckland’s daughter. On December 7, 1796, Lord Glenbervie noted how Mrs. Drummond, Pitt’s political right-hand man Henry Dundas’s daughter, heard of the intended marriage: “After dinner Lady Loughborough asked Lady Katherine [Glenbervie’s wife] if she believed in Pitt’s marriage; that all Pitt’s friends believe it will be a match; that she thinks all very right, except the father-in-law [Lord Auckland]. She added that she had said the other day to Mrs. Drummond [Dundas’s daughter], ‘How long do you think my husband and your father will continue in the Cabinet if this marriage takes place?’ There was a good deal of sagacity in the question, enough to indicate the reflections of a greater politician than Lady Loughborough.” [10]

From the same diary entry, Glenbervie reflects on Dundas’s uncomfortable silence in Auckland’s presence when they were recently at Eden Farm:

“When we were at Eden Farm about ten days ago, the conversation turned, at breakfast, on the Dundas’s. Lord Auckland said he thought Dundas out of spirits, which Pitt denied having observed. We all agreed that he [Dundas] was never much of a talker. Pitt qualified it by saying, ‘Never in a mixed company,’ but added a strong instance where the only company was himself, William Grant (the King’s Counsel), and Dundas. He [Pitt] said, after being himself for some time at the whole expense of the conversation, he had stopped and waited to see if either of them would begin any subject and that he literally waited without effect, a dead silence having prevailed for all that time.” [11]

Finally, a further entry of Lord Glenbervie from December 21, 1796 bears out Lord Auckland’s tendency for political intrigue. It also alludes to the reservations other leading politicians may have been expressing concerning a potential marital alliance between Pitt and Eleanor Eden. That day, Glenbervie, Auckland, and Mr. Lowndes were appointed by Pitt to discuss the subject of Pitt’s Poor Bill. Pitt’s intention was to move to bring the bill forward in the House the following day:

“While Pitt was out of the room and Lord Auckland remained there tete-a-tete, I asked him if he was going to have the Privy Seal. He said, ‘I do not know what I am to have…I am not impatient…If this Treasuryship of the Navy could be opened it would make an arrangement for us all very easy.’ I infer from thence that he not only is intriguing for himself to have that office, but that he supposed I was apprised in some degree of some negotiation, or at least some plan of Pitt’s respecting it. But I do not think Dundas will easily quit his hold of an office which from so long enjoyment he must consider in a manner as his estate, and I should be very sorry, and should think Pitt very unwise, if he were to urge any arrangement in a manner unsatisfactory to Dundas.” [12]

What can we glean from Lord Glenbervie’s observations? He certainly wasn’t close to Pitt, but he was a direct observer of Pitt’s time with Miss Eleanor Eden. Glenbervie was also not alone in his assessment that Pitt was in love with Miss Eden. Intriguingly, some of Glenbervie’s journal observations of November and December 1796 seem to bear out the argument that any marriage between Pitt and Auckland’s daughter could have been politically ruinous to Pitt. Dundas and Lord Loughborough seemed to have had their serious reservations about Auckland, and Auckland himself so much as directly stated to Glenbervie that he wanted Dundas’s position (or the Privy Seal). It is clear from this that Dundas feared and disliked the idea of Pitt marrying Lord Auckland’s daughter, and was potentially worried about the amount of influence Auckland could exert over Pitt if he became his father in-law.

In the end, Pitt chose not to marry Eleanor Eden. Some may conclude that Pitt never married because he was not attracted to women, but that in and of itself, especially given the times in which Pitt lived, was not a motivation to stop him from marrying. If anything, marriage would have bolstered Pitt’s reputation. Alternative explanations suggested have been his poor health and his pecuniary indebtedness. Pitt was chronically in debt all of his adult life, but again, this did not usually stop others.

Pitt’s reasons behind ending the courtship remain a mystery. There are, however, some unbound draft letters, and the letters he finally sent to Auckland, which are still in existence. Pitt’s letter to Auckland detailing his painful decision not to marry Eleanor has been printed in its entirety in several places, including Rosebery’s (1900) Letters Relating to the Love Episode of William Pitt and William Hague’s (2004) William Pitt the Younger.

What has never been published are the draft letters Pitt wrote before he sent the final letters to Auckland. These letters, still unbound, are located at The British Library. [13] They are completely separate from the rest of the Auckland papers, and form the private correspondence between William Pitt and Lord Auckland regarding Pitt breaking off his relationship with Eleanor Eden.

Eleanor, Countess of Buckinghamshire
by Emery Walker
The initial draft letter from Pitt to Auckland is undated. In it, Pitt avowed that, “I should not do justice to my own Feelings or explain myself as frankly as I wish to do, if I did not own that every hour of my Acquaintance with her has served to augment and confirm that Impression, [the line ‘I have however the mortification of thinking that I have given way to It farther than I ought to have done’ is scratched out] and to convince me that whoever may have the Good Fortune to be united with her is likely to have more than his share of Human happiness.” [14] Nevertheless, in no uncertain terms Pitt came to his decision, unequivocally stating that “…after the fullest and calmest Reflection, that I am capable of on every Circumstance that ought to come under my Consideration (for her sake at least as much as for my own), I am unalterably convinced that the obstacles to it are decisive and insurmountable.” [15]

After Auckland received Pitt’s first letter on January 20, 1797, he was obviously displeased. One can’t even begin to imagine how Eleanor was feeling. Her innermost feelings for Pitt have never been publicly recorded, but as Auckland refers to her not leaving her room for several days afterwards, it can be inferred that she was in love with Pitt. Auckland himself desired to meet with Pitt in person to discuss Pitt’s reasoning for not marrying Eleanor. He was hoping that an interval of time might elapse whereby the insurmountable circumstances barring the marriage might be overcome. Pitt’s mind, however, was firmly decided. He was not the type of man to settle painful personal matters face-to-face, hence why he broke it off by letter.

Henry Addington, then the Speaker of the House of Commons, was privy to the secret of Pitt’s interest in Eleanor Eden. Judging by the contents of Pitt’s letter to Addington dated January 23, 1797, the day after the relationship with Eden was officially considered as over, Addington may also have known the reasons underpinning why Pitt ended it. Unfortunately, Pitt does not tell all in his letters. Indeed, he was always very careful with what he wrote. In reference to the pain of breaking it off with Eleanor, Pitt tells Addington that “…I trust I can command my Feelings enough to bear the rest, and not to be wanting either to the Calls of Public Duty, or to what yet remains to me of the Private Relations of Life.” [16]

Pitt seemed to be emotionally affected by the situation. His resolve was firm and unwavering; he would not change his mind once his decision had been made. Discussion was futile, but Pitt wasn’t unfeeling: he hoped that “the Shock has been as little distressful in its Consequences, to any Part of the Family.” [17]

In his final draft letter on the matter to Auckland, he entreated him, “believe me, I have not lightly or easily sacrificed my best hopes and [‘most ardent’ is scratched out] earnest Wishes to my Conviction and Judgment.” [18] In all of this, Eleanor’s feelings are not accounted for or explained. She was a nineteen year-old girl, and Pitt was probably her first love.

Two years later, on June 1, 1799, Eleanor married Robert Hobart, the Earl of Buckinghamshire, and she became the Countess of Buckinghamshire. Pitt died less than 7 years later, in 1806, at the age of 46, and Eleanor remained married to Lord Hobart for 16 years until his sudden death in 1816. She had no children, and remained the Dowager Countess of Buckinghamshire for the last 35 years of her life.

Eleanor died at the age of 74 in October 1851, and was buried at Nocton, Lincolnshire, with her husband [19]. She seems to have been a very private, benevolent woman. Eleanor was a very close correspondent with her youngest sister Emily Eden (who was born in 1797 – the year Pitt broke it off with Eleanor), although there is virtually nothing in the public record about Eleanor’s life. In 1861, Emily Eden wrote to Earl Stanhope that Eleanor had “the greatest dislike to the whole subject [of Pitt], and was so urgent against any mention of it.” [20] It is unlikely at this juncture that Eleanor’s true sentiments will ever be known. What can be affirmed is that she was the closest anyone ever got to marrying William Pitt the younger.

In Pitt’s final letter to Auckland, he closes with the following moving words: “I have only to hope that Reading this Letter will no where be attended with half the pain I have felt in writing It.” [21]

References:

1.     Reilly, R. (1978) Pitt the Younger. London: Cassell, p. 332.
2.   Burney (1832) Memoirs of Dr. Burney arranged from his own manuscripts, from family papers, and from personal recollections by his daughter, Volume 3, pp. 278-280.
3.   Lady Hester Stanhope’s recollections to Mr. Madden (1829) The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, p. 361.
4.   Wraxall’s Historical Memoirs, in Waldie, A. (1837) The Select Circulating Library, Volume 9, Part 1, p. 165.
5.     Eliot, H. (ed. by Cuthbert Headlam) (1914) The Letters of Lady Harriot Eliot, 1766-1786. Edinburgh: Constable, p. 45-46.
6. Croker, J.W. (ed. by Louis John Jennings) (1885) The Croker Papers: The Correspondence and Diaries of the late Right Honourable John Wilson Croker, Secretary to the Admiralty from 1809 to 1830, Volume 2. London: John Murray, p. 338.
7.    Bickley, F. (ed.) (1928) The Diaries of Sylvester Douglas, Lord Glenbervie, Volume 1. London: Constable, p. 98.
8.     Ibid, pp. 98-99.
9.   ‘The Correspondence of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke; between the Year 1744 and the period of his decease in 1797, Volume 4,’ (1844) edited by Charles William, Earl Fitzwilliam and Sir Richard Bourke. London: Francis & John Rivington, p. 417.
10. Bickley, F. (ed.) The Diaries of Sylvester Douglas, Lord Glenbervie, Volume 1, p. 102.
11.  Ibid, p. 103.
12.  Ibid, p. 107.
13.  The British Library reference is BL Add Ms 59704.
14.  William Pitt to Lord Auckland, British Library, Add Ms 59704, ff. 1-6.
15.  Ibid.
  6. William Pitt to Henry Addington, January 23, 1797. Devon Record Office, Sidmouth MSS: 152M/C1797/OZ/7.
17.  Ibid.
18. William Pitt to Lord Auckland (draft letter), January 22, 1797. British Library Add Ms 59704, ff. 15-18.
20. The Hon. Emily Eden to Earl Stanhope. 1861. Pitt MSS: U1590/S5/C60/20.
21. William Pitt to Lord Auckland (draft letter), January 22, 1797. British Library Add Ms 59704, f. 18.

Image Credits:

Figure 1: The Honourable Eleanor Eden, engraved by Emery Walker. Image is taken from Lord Ashbourne’s “Pitt: Some Chapters of his Life and Times” (1898), p. 230.

Figure 2: Eleanor Agnes Eden by John Hoppner (c. 1790s). She became Eleanor Hobart, the 4th Countess of Buckinghamshire, upon her marriage. Source:http://www.historicalportraits.com/Gallery.asp?Page=Item&ItemID=27&Desc=Eleanor-Eden-%7C-John-Hoppner.

Figure 3: A posthumous portrait of William Pitt (the younger) by Sir Joshua Lawrence (1807). The Royal Collection Trust. RCIN 400645.

Figure 4: Eleanor, Countess of Buckinghamshire by Emery Walker (c. 1830s). Source: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41400/41400-h/41400-h.htm.

About the Author:

Stephenie Woolterton has an MSc in Social Research, and a background in Psychology. She is currently researching and writing her first book on the private life of William Pitt the Younger. She is also working on a historical novel about Pitt’s ‘one love story’ with Eleanor Eden.

She blogs at: www.theprivatelifeofpitt.com and can be contacted via Twitter at: www.twitter.com/anoondayeclipse

Written content of this post copyright © Stephenie Woolterton, 2014.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Broadside Ballads: Scurrilous Songs and Serotonin

by Piers Alexander

THE Coffe-house Trade is the best in the Town.
Young sparks that have money they thither repair:
The Affairs of the Nation they have written down,
To blow up their Noddles as light as the Air.
Stories, Stories, Lies and Stories;
There's nothing but Stories when they begin.
Pox on your News Letters, they lye both and flatters;
They are but a Trap to wheedle Men in.

From The City Cheat discovered: OR, A New Coffe-house Song.
Perswading all civil and sober Men not to frequent the Coffe-houses so much

The English vernacular is seditious, rhythmic, musical. In the Anglo-Saxon tradition, important pieces of history are set to music, to rhyming couplets: Shakespeare built on that custom. The printing press led to an explosion of creativity, with millions of “Broadside Ballads” being printed in the seventeenth century; so many that they were used as toilet paper, as kindling, to line pie tins.

Singer and researcher Vivien Ellis is one of the contributors to the  100 Ballads Project, which is compiling the most popular songs of the era, and enthuses to me about their democratic, empowering nature.

Most ballads were constructed around a small number of well-known melodies: Lillibulero for comic songs like the one quoted above; Queen Dido for tragic love stories; and so on. Balladeers would write about an execution, or a play, or a political event, and sell copies in the street; and because everyone knew the tunes, they happily bought the broadsides (sheets of paper) and took them home or to the tavern to share them. The Bodleian Library has thirty thousand such street ballads, and according to Vivien Ellis these are only a fraction of the total number printed. 

It was easy for songwriters to express themselves, since the metre and melody were so well-established; but easy for singers too, as there were no recordings or radio. All interpretations were allowed; there was no Melodyne, no mastering, no musical perfection.

But there was a deeper reason for the popularity of ballads and rounds: in Vivien’s words, “Shared singing kept people alive in that brutal time.” Experiments have shown that serotonin levels and pain thresholds rise when groups sing together; singing promotes social cohesion and personal bonding.

Dr Chris Marsh, a collaborator on the 100 Ballads Project, says: “Though we all like to think of the trad song as seditious, the ballads were in many ways deeply conservative in terms of the core social values expressed.”

Many ballads were scurrilous, gossipy, comical. Men (women were of course excluded) would meet in coffeehouses, pick up their broadsides and sing salacious rounds with complete strangers. It was a shorter-lived, more violent and diseased time; but was it less happy? To launch The Bitter Trade, we’re conducting a social experiment: booksellers, coffeehouse fanatics, readers and historical reenactors will be meeting at a coffeehouse in London and singing rounds together. They don’t know it yet, but we will crack that modern reserve and sing out in our native vernacular – wish us luck!




~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Piers Alexander is the author of The Bitter Trade, a novel of coffee racketeering and treason during England’s Glorious Revolution of 1688
www.piersalexander.com

The Bitter Trade is available on all ebook stores and as a paperback from Amazon.

Vivien Ellis is a Grammy-nominated singer and social reformer who specializes in early, folk and new music. She is a contributor to the 100 Ballads Project.


The 100 Ballads Project is compiling the hit songs of the seventeenth century





Sunday, July 6, 2014

Giveaway: Crosscurrents by Jane Jackson

Jane is giving away up to five iTunes copies of Crosscurrents. You can read about the book HERE. Please comment below and leave your contact information to enter the drawing.

Notorious Pirate Havens of the Caribbean

By Nick Smith

The pirate stronghold: a place where the wenches are dirty and cheap, where the rum and smuggled French wine flow fast and free, and a place safe from the Crown…


The popular image of lawless havens of prostitutes, alcoholism, and squalor is not one far from the truth. Throughout the Golden Age of Piracy there were many such places a dubious seafarer of ill-repute could find a bed for the night, and unfussy merchants to unload their pilfered cargo to, but where were they? When were they operational? And why were they tolerated?

In last month's post, I already discussed in detail the history of the buccaneers, but let me give you a quick recap. The buccaneers were mostly runaway indentured servants or grounded sailors attempting to carve a bloody life for themselves in the disease-ridden Caribbean. They were around throughout the 17th Century, and in their early days operated mainly from their base of Tortuga - our first pirate haven.

Tortuga - 1650.

In his book - The Buccaneers of America - Exquemelin gives a firsthand account of how thousands of musket-wielding buccaneers lived on this turtle-shaped island North of Hispaniola. An island disputed by the French, Spanish, and English, but very loosely administered by the French government, it was a perfect place for hardened opportunists to strike out at Spanish-owned Hispaniola and Cuba and to pilfer precious redwoods. Even in times of peace, the Spanish didn't believe there was such a thing in the Caribbean, and so battles waged between the military and civilians alike. Corrupt governors made no move to curb such piratical activities by their warrior inhabitants. No doubt they benefited greatly from the money they earned, and in times of need the buccaneers acted as an elite militia.

If you think I was exaggerating about prostitutes, I wasn't. A French governor, in an attempt to cool the temper of the bloodthirsty buccaneers, imported over a thousand ladies of negotiable affection from Europe! This pirate haven thrived until the 1670s, when the French took a greater interest in the island and expelled the English and Dutch inhabitants.

They went other places instead - most notably Port Royal, Jamaica - our second pirate haven. Under the control of England since the English Civil War, it was a perfect island for the refugee buccaneers to strike at not just Cuba and Hispaniola - but the Spanish Main also. The musket-wielding wood-choppers had become emboldened, and led by such legends as Henry Morgan, they brought literally tons of pilfered wealth back to England. Their attacks were sharp and brutal. 

Did the English government make an effort to curb the activities then? No… they encouraged it, and sent advisers to help. With such fame and fortune earned by some, even more rogues flocked from across Europe. A place beyond control, contemporaries described Port Royal as the most wicked place on earth, and when the earthquake of 1692 sent half of this pirate haven into the sea, it was claimed that God was punishing the depraved for their sins.

A cross-section of Port Royal, before and after 1692. Wikipedia Commons

Port Royal - and the newer-formed Kingston across the bay - did remain as a pirate haven, but other places began to take preference for the sea rovers, such as the neglected French administered Petit and Grande Goave on Hispaniola.

When England (and soon after, Britain) went to war with France and Spain in the early 1700s, most of the English pirates found work as privateers throughout the Caribbean and beyond, operating from Kingston and other English colonies. At the end of the War of the Spanish Succession in 1714, an opportunistic Jamaican governor began handing out letters of marque to pirates once more. He no doubt profited personally from the continued pilfering of Britain's traditional enemies. His action emboldened the now out-of-work sailors and privateers who were deemed to be surplus to requirements since the war's end. They flocked to the Caribbean like flies to a carcass, and even when they became too much of a strain for the capital of Jamaica, they found their own home instead…

Our next pirate haven is the town of Nassau, on New Providence Island - arguably the most famous and important of all pirate havens from the Golden Age. Pirates once friends with the Jamaican governor now set out to carve their own path. With the wealth of pilfered shipping lanes, they invested in the small Bahamas settlement and made it their own. Nassau became the feared home of the famous Blackbeard, Charles Vane, Benjamin Hornigold, Anne Bonney etc.

Those who had been a welcome tradition to the English crown for nearly a hundred years were now deemed to be a pest. Spain had more or less fallen, France was in a recession, and the pirates had turned to attacking British shipping instead. Nassau had been declared a pirate republic by the occupants, an open challenge to the accepted authority.

For five years Nassau remained an independent haven for freebooters until the Royal Navy and pirate hunters were dispatched to curb the problem. At the lead was Woodes Rogers, a once-privateer most notable for rescuing the real-life Robinson Crusoe: Alexander Selkirk. In 1718 he landed on the shores of Nassau, strung up a load of pirates, and offered the Royal Pardon to the rest. And so ended the great tradition of lawless pirate havens throughout the Caribbean. The Golden Age of Piracy was just about over…

An end to piracy: "The Capture of Blackbeard" Jean Leon Gerome Ferris, 1920, oil on canvas.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick Smith is a twenty-eight year old Northumbrian in exile, currently living on a small rock in the Channel Sea where he teaches science. He has a love for all things of a nautical and historical nature.


He is the author of the gritty swashbuckling adventures ROGUES’ NEST & the newly released GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE – both explore the reality of buccaneers and pirates at the start of the 1700s.

ROGUES’ NEST is set in the very real pirate haven of Petit Goave, described briefly above.

Find out more about his work at roguesnest.com 




Seven Chapters of Mayfair: From 1664 Onwards

by Tanja Korobka

The Story of Mayfair is a new book written by Peter Wetherell, Erik Brown and Oliver Bradbury, which is about how a boggy meadow turned into one of the most exclusive and expensive postcodes in Britain.

The book’s main thesis is that Mayfair has undergone seven key chapters - periods of huge social, financial and physical change, influenced by global economic and political shifts, and is set to undergo an eighth and most dramatic “step change” over the next decade.

From mud to mansions
1660s – 1720s

Mayfair was originally unwanted, nameless, muddy fields - the River Tyburn swamps - situated to the west of what was then Central London (Whitehall, Soho, Covent Garden and the City).
Mayfair got its name in 1686 when King James II granted royal permission for a fair to be held on the site of what is now Shepherd Market in the first two weeks of May. At this time Soho, Whitehall and the City were the addresses of choice for the wealthy aristocracy.
It was not until 1710 and 1719 that Sir Richard Grosvenor and the Earl of Scarborough (Mayfair's two original landowning and developer families) built Grosvenor Square and Hanover Square respectively, and started Mayfair's building process that continues until the present day so that, by 1720, the former fields were transformed into a vast building site.

The heyday of the aristocrats
1721 – 1850

Suddenly, though, in 1686, the area acquired not just a name but also a purpose. King James II granted permission for a fair to be held there during the first two weeks of May.

The aristocracy departed their former cramped and outdated houses in Soho, Whitehall, Holborn, and the City and relocated Westwards to the new mansions, townhouses, and green squares of Mayfair.

Of the initial 227 houses built, 117 had titled owners. Dukes, duchesses, marquesses and earls rivaled each other to secure the best houses and dress them in lavish style.

By 1850, the heart of the social scene was Buckingham Palace with the most sought after mansions being in Mayfair, now firmly London’s top address with Belgravia being the next address of choice, and Pimlico being the least sought after part of the Grosvenor family’s estate – an almost “middle class” place for second sons, widowed aunts, and less wealthy relations.

From aristocrats to plutocrats
1851 – 1914

As the Victorian era progressed, the aristocrats and foreign European royals who had until now ruled Mayfair were to gain new neighbours who generated their money not from land or statehood, but from business. Whilst the ancient gentry had been happy to live in relatively plain understated Georgian properties, the Empire’s business kings were not.

The aristocrats were initially horrified by their new neighbours, who were flashy multiple property owners with large yachts, motorcars and private railroad carriages. They became even more jealous when they realised that their sheep farming and forestry could simply not generate the vast amounts of cash that banking, mining and railroads were generating for the newcomers, enabling the “social climbers” to outspend them at every level regarding housing, lavish lifestyles, number of servants, gambling, social events, and the races.

By the Edwardian era, the housing surveys showed that there were more plutocrats and newly titled living in Mayfair and Belgravia than the old landed gentry and aristocracy. Mayfair had firmly become a “new money” address.

Despite this, the super-rich newcomers craved social acceptance from the royals and the old guard, so arose the age and fashion of vast social and cultural philanthropy which continues to this day amongst the super-rich with the new money investing in the Prince Consort’s ambitious artistic, cultural and social projects in order to gain social acceptance and nobility titles.

Aristocracy in decline
1918 – 1939

The horrors of WWI and the Great Depression gave huge blows to both the aristocracy and the plutocrats who found that they could no longer afford to run their vast luxurious homes.

As a result, during the 1920s and 1930s some 25 vast mansions and palaces in Mayfair and additional smaller townhouses, in all over £2 billion worth of property at current values, were ruthlessly torn down and replaced by hotels, offices and modern apartment buildings.

The aristocracy and even the plutocrats were forced to dramatically “downsize”, moving into flats or smaller houses, selling off their artwork, and cutting down on their staff, hangers-on and rich-man’s toys.

From ballrooms to boardrooms
1945 – 1990

Just as WWI and the Depression decimated the wealth of both the new and old money of Mayfair, WWII helped to end its role as a leading residential address. After 1945, with the offices of the City of London largely destroyed by bombing, some 1.2 million square feet of Mayfair residential property was converted to business use.

In addition, punishing levels of post-war taxation meant that many families were forced to relocate to Belgravia, Chelsea, and even Pimlico. All the inward investment, wealth, and advances in Mayfair since 1851 seemed to have been totally wiped out by 1945 with the riches of the Empire drained away fighting two world wars.

By 1960, a third of Mayfair’s total floor space was being used for business and by 1970 just a third of Mayfair’s property stock was residential. By the late 1980s the decline in the residential population of Mayfair since 1945 was estimated to be as high as 90 per cent.

During the oil boom of the 1970s, whilst newly wealthy Gulf Arabs and Asian royals did buy some property in Mayfair, many acquired properties in more residential dominated locations including Knightsbridge, Belgravia, Holland Park, and Regent’s Park. Mayfair was clearly no longer London’s top residential address.

From offices to homes again
1990 – 2008

By 1990 the last of the temporary office permissions expired and slowly the properties in Mayfair began to be returned to residential use as corporations sought newly built office premises in West London, the City, and Canary Wharf.

By 2004 Wetherell had calculated that residential property in Mayfair was more valuable than office space for the first time in many years.

From bust to boom
2008 – 2014

As London began to lift out from the 2007 global recession, office property values sank to half those of residential so that by 2014 Wetherell was able to record that since 1990 the firm had sold over 100 buildings in Mayfair which were for conversion back into residential use.

The future
2014 – 2030

By 2030 the residential population will have increased even more in Mayfair, bringing vitality to the area, especially on the weekends.

There is now a huge residential development pipeline of over 400 new homes, worth over £840 million, which will be built in Mayfair over the next 5 – 15 years. Already values have exceeded £5,000 per sqft and within the next 5 – 10 years Wetherell calculates that residential property values will reach £10,000 per sqft. Already the entry level price for the smallest Mayfair home is now £1 million.

The real game changer, though, is Crossrail – the £14.8 billion infrastructure project that will bring an extra 1.5 million people within 45 minutes of the West End on its completion in 2018.

Crossrail, the relocation of Embassies and government buildings to Nine Elms, freeing up space for more homes, and the ongoing conversion of offices to residential are all helping towards Mayfair reclaiming its crown – lost since 1945 – as London’s most expensive and top address.

The district’s ancient landowners have been joined by a new generation of landowners and developers, and together they are transforming Mayfair with new luxury retail outlets, hotels, leisure facilities, and homes. This is the future of Mayfair and as the book outlines, it’s extremely exciting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read the full ebook, The Story of Mayfair, for free here.

Blog publisher's note: Do check out the free ebook! It is full of pictures and timelines that will elate a history lover.

Peter Wetherell is an author and Chief Executive of Wetherell Estate Agents. He is appointed by the Duke of Westminster’s Grosvenor Mayfair Estate as their Valuer for freehold and lease extension claims under the various leasehold reform acts. He acts as a Professional Witness for Mayfair residential values at Leasehold Valuation Tribunals (LVT).

Erik Brown is a well-known journalist and publisher in Mayfair.

Oliver Bradbury is a West London-based researcher, with a specialisation in the field of architectural history.






Friday, July 4, 2014

The Abduction of Anne O’Donel

by Paul B. McNulty

While writing my historical novel, The Abduction of Anne O’Donel, I never expected that this 18th century Irish story would have contemporary relevance. However, the recent abduction of schoolgirls in Nigeria reminded me that the horrid practice is still prevalent. It was Anne O’Donel’s abduction, first documented in 1839, that prompted my study of the crime. Even though my novel is based on the experience of a young woman rather than a group of schoolgirls, all would have been terrified by the abduction itself, and by the subsequent fear of violation.

Even if rescued without violation, the prospect of marriage for any woman in the late 18th century would have been negligible because people generally believed that the worst would have happened. I can only hope that a more understanding attitude will apply to the Nigerian girls once they are released.

When Anne O’Donel refused to marry the elderly Timothy Brecknock in 1785, he lured her out of her house late at night using a letter forged with Jasper Martin’s signature. Expecting to meet her handsome lover, Anne is abducted by four masked horsemen and taken to a remote island on Lough Conn. She is held prisoner by the Mitchell family who are under threat of eviction should she escape. Brecknock secretly visits Anne on the island, still believing he can persuade her to marry him rather than force her and risk death by hanging. However, incensed by her attempts to frustrate him, Brecknock is determined to have Anne, willingly or not. Having finally rejected his proposal of marriage, she prepares to fight for her virtue, and perhaps her life. When a drunken Brecknock finally assaults Anne, she is saved at the last minute by the arrival of Jasper on the island.

The Castlebar schoolteacher, Matthew Archdeacon, recorded the abduction of Anne O’Donel in Legends of Connaught in 1839. Further reference to her abduction appeared in the 1916 play The Spancel of Death by T H Nally in which O’Donel was described as the godchild of Sir Harry Lynch-Blosse, the male protagonist in my debut novel, Spellbound by Sibella.

While Archdeacon claimed that “almost every incident … is founded on fact,” Mary MacCarthy cast doubt on its veracity in Fighting Fitzgerald … in 1930. Her doubt is emphasized by the lack of primary sources to confirm the existence of Anne O’Donel, her father, Judge O’Donel, and her betrothed, Jasper Martin. However, Archdeacon’s story, based on the oral tradition, is generally believed to be true.

In contrast to the uncertainty surrounding Anne O’Donel, none exists concerning Timothy Brecknock. His colourful career is well documented, although no mention of his reputed abduction of the young Irish heiress has been found in any primary source. The son of a Northamptonshire farmer, Brecknock matriculated to Pembroke College, Oxford aged seventeen in 1736. Having left Oxford without a degree, he was admitted to Lincoln’s Inn in 1738. Thereafter, he practised as a lawyer and writer in London.

Towards the end of his career, George Robert Fitzgerald of Turlough, County Mayo, appointed him as his law agent, a post that ultimately led to his demise. Aged sixty-seven, Brecknock was hanged in Castlebar, Co Mayo, in 1786 along with Fitzgerald for complicity in the murder of Pat Randal McDonnell, Colonel of the Mayo Volunteers. I have suggested in my novel that this outrage was linked to Anne O’Donel’s abduction.

Archdeacon, Matthew, “Fitzgerald” in Legends of Connaught, Dublin, 1839, p 1-165.
Brecknock, Timothy, “A Letter from Mr. Timothy Brecknock in Castlebar Gaol, to his Sister
in London, dated April 15, 1786,” in Fitzgerald (George R.), The Case of G. R.
Fitzgerald ...,   1786, p 53-69, British Library, Villanova Library.
Dalsimer, Adele, “The Spancel of Death: A Play by T H Nally” Irish Studies, New York,
            1983, 21 p, National Library of Ireland.
Kelly, James, “The Abduction of Women of Fortune in Eighteenth-Century Ireland,”
            Eighteenth-Century Ireland / Iris an dá chultúr, vol 9, (1994), p 7-43,
            http://www.jstor.org/stable/30071338.
MacCarthy, Mary, Fighting Fitzgerald and other papers, London, 1930, 230 p.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I write historical novels based on real events in 18th century Ireland. My credentials include editorship of a student magazine, The Anvil, followed by publication of scientific and popular papers during a career in Biosystems Engineering at University College Dublin. After retirement, I studied The Genealogy of the Anglo-Norman Lynches… through which I discovered my historical stories. My first novel, Spellbound by Sibella, was published in 2013 by Club Lighthouse CLP, Canada who published my second novel The Abduction of Anne O’Donel in May 2014.

I live in Dublin with my wife, three children and two granddaughters. The wild splendour of Mayo and Connemara inspires my writing. Links to social media include Facebook and Twitter, and my website address is http://paul-mcnulty.com

I have also self-published The genealogy of the Anglo-Norman Lynches… in 2013 and a novella, A Rebel Romance in 2014, both with CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. The novella deals with the Irish Rebellion of 1798 and the reputed relationship between John Moore, a United Irishman, and Cecilia Lynch, the illegitimate daughter of Sir Harry Lynch-Blosse of Balla, Co Mayo and the aforesaid Sibella Cottle by whom he was reputedly spellbound.

The Abduction of Anne O’Donel is available as an e-book on Club Lighthouse Publishing, Canada and as both a print book and e-book on Amazon UK and Amazon.com

The Battle of Hattin, July 4, 1187

by Helena P. Schrader


The devastating defeat of the combined Christian army at the Battle of Hattin on July 4, 1187, was one of the most significant disasters in medieval military history. Christian casualties at the battle were so enormous that the defense of the rest of the Kingdom of Jerusalem became impossible, and so the defeat at Hattin led directly to the loss of the entire kingdom including Jerusalem itself. The loss of the Holy City, in turn, led to the Third Crusade and so to the death of the Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich I “Barbarossa” and extended absence from his domains of Richard I “the Lionheart.” Both circumstances had a profound impact on the balance of power in Western Europe.

Meanwhile the critical role played by the Pisan and Genoese fleets in supplying the only city left in Christian hands, Tyre, and in supporting Richard I’s land army resulted in trading privileges that rapidly turned into powerful trading centers in the Levant. These fostered the exchange of goods and ideas that led historian Claude Reignier Condor to write at the end of the 19th Century that: “…the result of the Crusades was the Renaissance.” (The Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem 1099 to 1291 AD, The Committee of Palestine Exploration Fund, 1897, p. 163.)

The importance of Hattin to contemporaries was not just the magnitude of the defeat, but the unexpectedness of it. In retrospect, the victory seems inevitable. Muslim states had always surrounded the crusader kingdom (as they hem in Israel today) and the Muslim rulers could always muster much larger military forces than their Christian opponents. In the early years of Latin presence in the Holy Land, the divisions among the Muslim leaders, most especially the rivalry and hatred between Shiite Caliphate of Cairo and the Sunni Caliphate of Baghdad, had played into Christian hands. However, once Saladin had managed to unite Syria and Egypt under a single, charismatic leader the balance of power clearly tipped to the Muslims.

However, that geopolitical shift was not so obvious to contemporaries. Furthermore, to suggest the defeat was inevitable ignores the fact that Christian armies under Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and Richard I of England defeated Saladin on the battlefield several times each. Saladin was a powerful, charismatic and clever commander, who knew how to deploy his forces effectively and use terrain to his advantage — but he was not invincible. Indeed, he was dealt a defeat every bit as devastating as Hattin in November 1177 at the Battle of Montgisard. His invading army was annihilated, and he himself had to flee on the back of a pack-camel. In July 1182, the Christian army under Baldwin IV stopped another full-scale invasion by Saladin, forcing him to withdraw across the Jordan with comparatively few Christian losses. In June the following year, 1183, the Christian army confronted yet another invasion on an even larger scale and again forced Saladin to withdraw — this time without even engaging in an all-out battle. Saracen victory at Hattin was not, therefore, inevitable.


Despite these apparent successes, it was clear to the King of Jerusalem that Saladin was getting stronger with each new invasion attempt. Saladin had increased his own power base from Cairo and Damascus to Aleppo, Homs and Mosul, while the Christians had no new infusions of blood, territory or income. In consequence, in 1184 Baldwin IV sent a frantic plea to the West, begging for a new crusade and offering the Western leader — whoever he might be — the keys to the kingdom. The lack of response reflected Western complacency about the threat to Jerusalem and implicit confidence in the ability of Baldwin and his barons to continue to defeat Saladin’s attempts to push the Christian kingdom into the sea.

It was because of Baldwin’s earlier successes against Saladin that the news of Hattin and the loss of Jerusalem shocked the West, allegedly causing the immediate death of Pope Urban III. How was it possible that a young and vigorous king, Guy I, could lead the same army to defeat that a youth suffering from leprosy (and only commanding his armies from a litter) had led to victory again and again?

Rarely in human history has a defeat been so wholly attributable to poor generalship on the losing side as at Hattin. To be sure, Saladin set a trap for the Christian armies. The bait was the citizens and garrison of Tiberius under the command of the Countess of Tripoli who were besieged in the citadel after the fall of the city on July 2. The Christian army was mustered at Sephorie only some 15 miles to the west. The pleas for help from the Countess and Tiberius naturally evoked a response from the Christian army, most notably her four grown sons. But the Count of Tripoli himself warned that it was a trap and opposed the decision to go to the aid of Tiberius. Tripoli’s reasoning convinced the majority of his peers and the council of war composed of the leading barons agreed to stay where they were and force Saladin to come to them. However, the Grand Master of the Temple went separately and secretly to King Guy after the council dispersed and convinced him to order the advance for the following day. In short, although warned, King Guy took the bait.

To relieve Tiberius, the Christian army had to cross territory that was at this time of year devoid of fodder for the horses and where water sources were widely dispersed. With Saladin’s forces already occupying the springs at Cafarsset, on the southern route from Sephorie to Tiberias, the Christian army had no choice but to follow the northern track, which led via the springs of Turan. Intense heat and harassment by the enemy slowed the Christian march to a crawl, and by noon on July 3, the Christian army had advanced only six miles to the springs of Turan.

 With nine miles more to go, it was clear the army could not reach Tiberius before nightfall and prudence alone should have dictated a halt at Turan, where men and horses could rest and drink. Instead, King Guy, against all reason, ordered the advance to continue. Immediately, Saladin sent his troops to occupy Turan, thereby not-only blocking the Christian retreat but harassing the Christian rear-guard and further slowing the rate of advance.

A depiction of the Christian army advancing toward
Hattin carrying the “True Cross” from the film
“The Kingdom of Heaven”

When darkness fell on July 3, the Christian army was still six miles short of its objective and forced to camp in an open field completely surrounded by enemy forces. The Christians had been marching and fighting for hours without water in the intense heat of a Palestinian summer. Men and horses were exhausted and further demoralized by the sound of Saracen drums surrounding them and the countless campfires advertising the enemy’s strength.

By morning, those fires were brush-fires intentionally set ablaze to windward of the Christian army in a maneuver that dried their already parched throats further while half-blinding them with smoke. Out of the smoke came volleys of arrows, and again “some of the Christian lords” urged King Guy to charge Saladin’s position at once, in an attempt to win the battle by killing the Sultan. King Guy instead chose to try to march the entire army toward the springs of Hattin, still some three miles away and cut off by one wing of Saladin’s army.

While the Christian cavalry tried to drive off the Saracen cavalry in a series of charges and counter-charges, the infantry stumbled forward until, half-blinded by smoke, constantly attacked by the enemy and near dying of thirst, the morale of the Christian infantry broke. As casualties mounted, some of the infantry retreated up the slopes of the “horns” of Hattin, two steep hills that flanked the plane on which the army had camped, and refused to fight any more.

Meanwhile, the Count of Tripoli with his knights and Lord Reginald of Sidon finally broke-through the surrounding enemy, charging east toward the Lake of Tiberius. The Christian infantry that had not fled up the slopes tried to follow in the wake of the cavalry, but the Saracens under the command of one of Saladin’s nephews broke before the heavy cavalry of Tripoli but regrouped in time to cut off the Christian infantry that was then slaughtered or taken captive.

By now it was late afternoon, and with the infantry either already slaughtered or refusing to come down from the hilltop, King Guy ordered his knights to retreat up the slope as well. By now, many of the knights were fighting on foot because their horses had been killed after the infantry cover was withdrawn. It was probably at this stage in the battle that the relic, believed to be a piece of the cross on which Christ was crucified, was lost. The Bishop of Acre, who had been carrying it, was killed, and the effect on Christian morale of the loss of this most precious relic — believed to have brought victory in dozens of earlier battle -- was devastating.

The final stages of the Battle of Hattin
as depicted in the film “The Kingdom of Heaven”

But still King Guy did not surrender. What few knights were still mounted made one (or according to some accounts two) last desperate charge(s) to try to kill Saladin, who was mounted and clearly identifiable among his troops. This last charge was probably lead by Balian d’Ibelin. While the charge came close enough to Saladin for him to have to shout encouragement to his men, like Tripoli before him, once Ibelin was through the enemy, he had no chance of fighting his way back up-hill through the ever thickening ranks of the enemy closing in on their prey. Within minutes, King Guy’s last position was over-run and he, along with most of his barons, was taken prisoner.

Of the roughly 20,000 Christian soldiers who had set out from Sephorie, only an estimated 3,000 infantry managed somehow to escape into the surrounding countryside and eventually take refuge in the castles and walled towns then still in Christian hands. Of the 1,200 knights and barons that mustered for the battle, only four barons, Tripoli, Sidon, Edessa and Ibelin, escaped capture along with maybe 100 - 200 knights. The remainder, including the King of Jerusalem, the Masters of the Temple and Hospital, the Constable and brother of King Guy, Aimery de Lusignan, the Lords of Oultrajourdain, Toron, Gibelet, and others — effectively the entire nobility of the Kingdom of Jerusalem — fell into enemy hands. While the majority of these lords and knights were held for ransom, the 230 Templars and Hospitallers that survived the battle were executed at Saladin’s orders.


Medieval painting of prisoners
being led away
(here by a Christian king)

As a result of these losses, both killed and captured, the kingdom was effectively denuded of defenders. King Guy had issued the equivalent of the “levee en masse” of the Napoleonic era, the arriere ban, and every able-bodied fighting man had mustered at Sephorie. Left behind in the castles, towns and cities were women, children, the old and the ill. There were no garrisons capable of offering an effective resistance. Worse, even if there had been, there was no point in resisting since there was no army capable of coming to the relief of a city under siege.

Thus when Saladin’s army appeared before the walls of one fortress and city after another, the citizens had the choice of surrender in exchange for their lives and such valuables as they could carry or hopeless resistance. Since the rules of contemporary warfare dictated that resistance justified massacre, rape and enslavement of cities that resisted, it is hardly surprising that the Christian cities and castles capitulated one after another, starting with Nazareth ca. July 6, and then Acre on July 8, followed by Haifa, Caesarea, Arsuf, Jaffa, Ramla, Ibelin, Darum, Sidon, Beirut, Gibelet, Nablus, Beirut and Ascalon.

By mid-September only isolated castles and two cities defied Saladin: Tyre which was particularly defensible and to which the barons of Tripoli and Sidon and the garrisons of the surrendered cities had withdrawn, and Jerusalem itself. But the siege of Jerusalem is material for another post….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena P. Schrader is the author of numerous books of history and historical fiction. She is currently working on a biographical novel in three parts of Balian d’Ibelin. Read more about her published works at: http://helenapschrader.com and more about her series of novels set in the age of chivalry at: http://tales-of-chivalry.com. You can also follow Helena’s blogs: her author blog: http://schradershistoricalfiction.blogspot.com and her blog about the history of the crusader kingdoms at: http://defendingcrusaderkingdoms.blogspot.com

A crusader in search of faith —

A lame lady in search of revenge —

And a king who would be saint.

St. Louis’ Knight takes you to the Holy Land in the 13th century and a world filled with nobles, knights prophet — and assassins.

Buy now!


Wednesday, July 2, 2014

The Industrial Revolution in Scotland

by Tom Williams

If you head north from England toward Glasgow, you’ll pass through the Scottish Lowlands. Leave the motorway and drive west into the hills and you might find yourself in Leadhills.

Leadhills has been known to claim the title of ‘highest village in Britain’, a claim strongly disputed by Wanlockhead, a mile or so up the road. Careful research (ten minutes with an OS map) suggests that it rather depends where exactly you measure the spot height. There is no doubt, though, that the Hopetoun Arms is the highest residential hotel in the country and anyone wanting to explore the area is recommended to stay there.

Tiny though it is now, Leadhills was once a thriving community, of vital strategic importance to the nation. The place is named for the fact that Leadhills were full of – yes, lead. Before 20th century alternatives were developed, lead was incredibly valuable. Carters carrying lead down from the hills came under the special protection of the Crown. It had many uses but principally it was needed for making water pipes: the word ‘plumbing’ derives from the Latin (plumbus) for ‘lead’.

Nobody is sure when people started mining lead in Leadhills. It may have been as long ago as Roman times. By the 17th-century mining was very important and the area was flourishing. The lead was so plentiful that, at first, it was mined by opencast mining, just digging the lead out at the surface. Over the centuries, though, the miners began to follow the veins further and further into the mountains using a system known as "drift mining". Eventually shafts were sunk and the mines grew into huge enterprises. The development of larger mines and increasingly sophisticated operations meant there was a need to improve the technology that kept the workings dry.

My novel, His Majesty's Confidential Agent, starts in 1792, so I have naturally developed an interest in this era. It was the start of the Industrial Revolution. At school I was taught about the importance of the development of the Spinning Jenny and the development of new technology at Ironbridge in Shropshire. Nobody mentioned Scotland, which is odd as James Watt, the inventor of the steam engine, was a Scot, working in Scotland. Watt was not alone, though. In Leadhills, William Symington was developing steam power himself. The photograph shows the stonework that supported a beam engine of his at the mines in Wanlockhead. The date, if you can't read it, is 1789.



Symington wasn't just copying existing technology. He was working on ways to use steam engines in entirely new situations. His monument, at the graveyard in Leadhills, shows his greatest achievement: the world's first steam powered vessel, the Charlotte Dundas.



Leadhills, toward the end of the 18th century, was poised on the edge of the modern world. The miners were educated, literate men. Their library (founded in 1741) was the first subscription library in Britain.


Despite this, children worked in the mines, pulling the lead ore out by hand. Even younger children worked outside barefoot in the winter cold, washing the ore in the streams. The miners were encouraged to build their own houses, which offered decent shelter from the elements and which, at the time, were regarded as models of workers' accommodation, but they were tiny places to raise families, and the graveyard was well filled.


From Leadhills, it’s a short journey out of the mountains to New Lanark, and another monument to those changing times. New Lanark, on the banks of the Clyde, was the site of a cotton mill built by David Dale in 1786. It became an important landmark in industrial development when it was acquired by Dale's son-in-law, Robert Owen, who had become the mill manager in 1800.

Owen built housing for the workers which represented a massive step forward in the accommodation provided for ordinary people at that time. The housing was subsidised and Owen also introduced compulsory medical insurance, which gave his workforce effectively free healthcare. Later he introduced free education, insisting that children in the workforce went to school rather than work in the factories before they were ten. Schooling was available until the age of twelve for those who wanted it and adult education classes were provided in the evening for the workers.

The mills were a triumph of engineering with a complex belt system powering several floors of looms from one huge engine. Waterwheels were also used to provide cheaper supplementary power – an early example of an attempt to use renewable resources whenever possible.

Owen was a great reformer, one of the founders of the Cooperative movement, and he saw the opportunity for social improvement alongside the immense technical developments of the day. New Lanark employees worked 12.5 hours a day with Sundays put aside for recreation and, later in his life, he argued that the working day should be reduced to 8 hours.


New Lanark is, even today, an impressive complex of buildings (many now converted into highly sought-after flats) but it was Owen's ideas for social development that were his most important legacy.

The decades around 1800 marked a time of massive change. It was a time of, literally, revolutionary change in politics, technology and social attitudes. It marked, in many ways, the start of the modern era. And in this corner of Scotland we can still see the physical reminders of these changes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tom Williams is the author of His Majesty's Confidential Agent, which has just been published by Accent Press. Most of it is set in Argentina, which was convenient for him as his main interests are tango and street skating and Buenos Aires turns out to be a really good place to do both of them. Tom writes about 19th century history, Argentina and tango on his blog.

His Majesty's Confidential Agent is a Napoleonic War spy story. The hero, James Burke, was a real person who lied and spied for Britain. There's skulduggery and battles and beautiful women. Swashes are buckled and bodices ripped as Burke fights and intrigues his way from the jungles of Haiti, through the court of the Spanish king, to a bloody climax in Buenos Aires. James Bond meets Richard Sharpe in a tale that is rooted surprisingly firmly in historical fact.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Nelson's Needle

by Antoine Vanner 

Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square has been a landmark in London since it was completed in 1843. It is just under 170 feet tall (including the statue of Nelson himself at the top) and the four sides of the pedestal carry relief panels that commemorate Nelson’s four great fleet actions – St.Vincent, The Nile, Copenhagen and Trafalgar – the bronze cast from French cannon captured in battle. It is guarded at its corners by four enormous bronze lions which were added in 1867.

The creation of the memorial, and of the square surrounding it, commemorated the 21 October 1805 battle which established British naval supremacy for over a century and which laid the foundation for the ultimate victory over Napoleon. Nelson’s death just after victory had been secured (“I thank God I have done my duty” were his last words) confirmed him as a national hero whose lustre has not faded to this day.

The silver plate on the deck of HMS Victory marks 
the spot where Nelson received his fatal wound

The significance of the Trafalgar was recognised as much by Nelson’s contemporaries as by later generations, and in the years after his death memorials were constructed to him in Edinburgh, Dublin, Birmingham, Liverpool and elsewhere. The earliest however, and the one that has the closest associations with Nelson himself, is perhaps the least known.

Nelson's Needle
“Nelson's Needle”, is on the top of the steep Portsdown Hill, just north of Portsmouth, the city that was been the centre of British naval power for almost a thousand years. It stands exposed and lonely, all but surrounded by fields, the only building nearby being the half- hidden, half- underground 1860s-era Fort Nelson.

The monument is an austere structure, a granite obelisk, 93 feet tall, its design based on 4th Century AD monuments in Axum, the ancient religious capital of Ethiopia. At the top, looking out over the Portsmouth, the Solent, the Isle of Wight and the Channel beyond – the starting and finishing point for so many of Nelson’s adventures – is a small bust of the man himself. A dignified inscription on a panel at the base bears the consecration.

Nelson's Bust at
the top of the obelisk
The origin of the monument goes back to Nelson’s lifetime when, in 1799, Nelson's prize agent Alexander Davison campaigned to establish a memorial to “perpetuate the glorious victories of the British Navy” and “to honour Britain’s naval glory and pre-eminence”. It was, however, Nelson’s death at Trafalgar, 21 October 1805, that gave the impetus for construction.

The “Needle” was built in 1807-08, in the immediate aftermath of the battle, and was paid for by a donation of two day’s pay by all who served on Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory, at Trafalgar, as well as by prize money arising from it.  It is pleasing that even 209 years after Nelson’s death the masts and yards of the Victory can still be glimpsed from the monument in the dockyard where it is so lovingly preserved.

The dedication - many of Victory's 
officers and men would have seen it unveiled


HMS Victory's foretop - still visible 
to Nelson from atop the monumnet

Today, by its relative isolation, the monument on Portsdown Hill is still moving in its austerity. In this its dignity contrasts with the tawdry state into which Trafalgar Square in London is so often plunged, especially since holding “Pop” concerts there involves blanking off much of Nelson Column’s base from view.

There are four plinths in the square, the fourth until recently being kept unoccupied – possibly reserved for a statue of the Queen after her death. A recent decision is that items of art are displayed on this plinth for several months, until replaced with another. One wonders what Nelson would have thought of this. He would certainly have approved of the statue of Air Marshal Sir Keith Park, a kindred spirit who played a leading role in ensuring victory in both the Battle of Britain and the Battle of Malta. One doubts however if Nelson would have thought much of the present occupant of the plinth – a huge blue chicken which looks like an overgrown toy from a child’s collection of cheap plastic farmyard animals. Why Nelson has had this inflicted on him is anybody’s guess!

At Trafalgar Square on 21.06.14 - the guardian lions are hidden to the 
right and on the distant plinth on the left the blue chicken can be 
glimpsed. In the foreground is a statue of General Charles James Napier.
The inscription states that it was funded by voluntary subscriptions, 
the majority of the contributions being made by private soldiers.
The blue chicken seems to mock all the other monuments stand for.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Antoine Vanner writes historical naval fiction. He previously spent many years in the international oil industry and also travelled extensively on a private basis. Antoine writes about Nicholas Dawlish, a British naval officer as the British Empire reaches its apogee in the late Victorian period. The Age of Sail is dying slowly and Dawlish is building his career in the new era of steam, ironclads, heavy guns and torpedoes that is replacing it.

Two Dawlish novels have been published so far, "Britannia's Wolf" and "Britannia's Reach". They have been well received – Vanner has been called “the Tom Clancy of nautical fiction” – and are available from Amazon in both Paperback and Kindle formats.  He is currently readying the third Dawlish novel for publication later in 2014.

You can follow Antoine’s regular blog on  www.dawlishchronicles.blogspot.co.uk
 
He also maintains a very extensive website: www.dawlishchronicles.com