London Traffic Rules of the 1800s

Temple Bar 1830

Loretta reports:

Recently, I explored the mystery of Rotten Row's rules of the road.

Today, I thought we’d look at some general rules of the road for 19th century London.

To being with, there weren’t any. Right. Through most of the 1800s, with a few exceptions, you drove or rode on whatever side of the road you wanted to.

“For much of the century there were, legally, no rules for traffic in most streets.  In the 1840s, buses were equipped with two straps that ran along the roof and ended in two rings hooked to the driver’s arms. When passengers wanted to get down on the left side of the road, they pulled the left strap, for the right, the right strap, and the buses veered across the roads to stop as requested.  Some street had informal traffic arrangements.” One example was Paternoster Row, home of booksellers, publishers, news agents, etc. Here, One day a month, on “Magazine Day,” “‘the carts and vehicles ... enter the Row from the western end, and draw up with horses’ heads towards Cheapside.’”*

In 1852, because of traffic jams at Marble Arch, the police issued the following notice: “‘Metropolitan stage-carriages are to keep to the left, or proper side, according to the direction in which they are going, and must set down their company on that side. No metropolitan stage–carriage, can be allowed to cross the street or road to take up or set down passengers.’”

These rules are the exceptions to the lack of rules. So let’s picture the traffic.

Temple Bar Gate, which seems rather spacious in the above 1830s painting, was a little more than 20 feet across. It stood in one of London’s three main east-west routes. “Carriages were more than six feet wide, and carts often much more.” Now imagine carts, wagons, carriages (including hackneys), riders, pedestrians, all trying to get from St. Paul’s to Pall Mall, arriving at Temple Bar and making a stupendous bottleneck. The 1870 illustration below shows how much room coaches took up.

Temple Bar 1870

The gate wasn’t taken down until 1878.  Fortunately for nerdy historians, Christopher Wren’s handsome arch wasn’t destroyed, but re-erected in 1880 in Theobolds park in Hertfordshire, then eventually re-erected in London in 2004 in Paternoster Row, where you can see it restored to its former glory, and not getting in anybody's way.

*All quotations from Judith Flanders, The Victorian City.  (The book's time span actually reaches to pre-Victorian London.)

Clicking on the image will enlarge it.  Clicking on the caption will allow you to read at the source, where you can learn more and enlarge images as needed.

Three 18th c. Gentlemen & One Red Velvet Coat: Who Wore It Best?

Isabella reporting,

For 18th c. British gentlemen on their leisurely Grand Tour of Italy, there were certain "must-see" items on their agendas: the Colosseum by moonlight, Venice during Carnival, Naples when Mt. Vesuvius was shooting sparks into the sky...and a stop at the studio in Rome of the painter Pompeo Batoni (1708-1787) for an elegant portrait to ship back home.

While Batoni painted historical and Biblical scenes as well as portraits of Italian clerics and ladies, he had his greatest success painting lush, life-sized portraits of young foreigners in classically-inspired settings. These are only three of the many, many that survive in collections around the world and on the walls of British country houses.

While indulgent parents back home might grumble at the cost of sending their scions oversees for (supposedly) educational trips that might last a year or more, they must have proudly hung these portraits in their libraries and drawing rooms.  Here was the painted proof that their sons were worldly gentleman of learning and accomplishment, of confidence and self-assurance. And, much like a modern selfie, a portrait by Batoni was also proof that the gentleman had actually *been* to Italy.

Batoni knew his patrons' tastes well. In addition to trappings like maps, busts of ancient emperors, weighty tomes, a looming column, and a faithful dog, he also must have offered the suitably exotic "foreign" costume for the portrait. Whether the costume worn in each of these portraits - a fur-lined red velvet coat (worn or draped over the shoulders like a cloak) and red velvet breeches, a white silk satin waistcoat, and a black silk ribbon from the wearer's queue trailing nonchalantly forward around his collar – actually existed in the studio to be worn while posing, or was simply painted in by Batoni doesn't really matter. The beautifully textured velvet and fur indicate a rich, luxurious experience that could only be had in Rome.

So here are three portraits, three gentlemen, one costume, and one painter. Which painting do you think best captures the spirit of the Georgian gentleman having his Roman Moment? (As always, click on the images to enlarge them.)

Top left: Portrait of Richard Milles (1735-1820), by Pompeo Batoni, c. 1760s. National Gallery, London.
Right: Charles Compton, 7th Earl of Northampton (1737-1763), by Pompeo Batoni, 1758. Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.
Bottom left: Portrait of Edward Dring, by Pompeo Batoni, 1758. Private Collection.

The Historic Paine Estate, the Oaks

The Oaks—Entrance today

Loretta reports:

The other day, I discovered a hidden gem nearby.  The Oaks, also known as the Paine Estate, was not exactly hidden. I’ve driven past it scores of times without noticing. Building started in 1774, then paused during the Revolutionary War—the owner being a Tory. The house’s history is long and filled with characters and stories. The house itself is chockablock with objects which date from its earliest days on through its various building stages, its rescue in 1914 by the Timothy Bigelow Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and its life in succeeding decades. It had stood empty for twenty years when the DAR rescued and restored it—which included scraping the black paint off beautiful marble and slate fireplaces.

The Oaks—Original Entrance

Thanks to its being a chapter house, it still has vitality, something you can feel when you enter. As someone lucky enough to visit many historic houses, here and in England, I’ve noticed the difference between houses that are basically museums and houses that are museum-like but continue to have a real life, either as a family residence or, as in this case, an organization’s ongoing use. The Timothy Bigelow Chapter of the DAR meets, holds numerous events, and conducts tours here. A caretaker lives in the house. It’s loved and appreciated. The women who took us about the other day clearly loved the house, and delight in the discoveries they continue to make about it.

Rather than attempt to encapsulate in a short blog what others have covered in beautiful detail, I offer some photos and links.

Small Dining Room

We were invited to touch the table in the center of the photo—and I will tell you I had goose bumps when I learned that John Adams, our second president, dined at this very table, which currently stands in the small dining room of the house.

I loved this bedroom, simply because there was so much interesting stuff in it: the comb-back chairs, the rocking chair arrangement between them, which allowed for mother or nursemaid to sit next to the baby. As Jennifer Willson’s Revolutionary Oaks blog indicates, they are acquiring and finding objects all the time.

I plan to return for a private tour, my photographer armed with a tripod (the rooms are dark, making photography tricky).  Then you can expect some close-ups and details about fascinating objects.

Meanwhile, you can view then (1890) and now photos of the rooms here. Please click on the images to enlarge.

You can find out more about its history here at the chapter’s site, and here at the College of the Holy Cross site.

You can find out about one of the colorful family members, at the the City of Worcester site.



Images by Walter Henritze. Please click to enlarge.

Breakfast Links: Week of June 1, 2015

Fresh for your weekend browsing - our weekly round-up of fav links to other websites, blogs, articles, and images, gathered via twitter.
• Beautiful treasures from London's Fan Museum.
• The elegant iridescence of Victorian mother-of-pearl book bindings.
• Beautiful Norwegian brides with stunning traditional wedding crowns.
• "Their work was non-work. Just air, like the holes in my lace": thoughtful piece on the lowly status of 'women's work.'
• The case of the sultry mountie: or, we need to talk about Cecil.
• A treasured silk dress c1810, handed down through generations of an Australian family.
• Image: New favorite word: tippitywitchet. From online resource for more about the great Georgian clown Grimaldi.
• Right on the border between amazingly cool and kind of creepy: a 17thc. handprint in handmade paper.
• The character of cats: depictions of cats in Georgian and Regency literature.
• Eighteenth century escapades: Evelina and Fanny.
• George Washington's "Baker Master."
• Fascinating web site: everyday life and fatal hazard in Tudor England.
• Image: A biscuit given as a love token, and kept since 1784.
• Multi-colored Chinese dragons finally to return to the Great Pagoda in Kew Gardens, London.
• The classy rise of the trench coat after WWI.
• A lone survivor: the 1893 Andrew Foye house in NYC sits squashed between newer highrises.
• Don't write off paper just yet (we haven't.)
• Washday blues: duties of a Georgian laundry maid.
• Image: Worried about sunburn? Cover up like the lady in this 1890s fashion plate.
• Weird and wild sea monsters from the ocean's dark depths: revelations from the Thai Mahajanaka Jataka.
• Horses weren't the only animals seeing action in WWI: photos of the Imperial Camel Corps.
• A medieval drinking song.
• "The Sparkler of Albion": the many names Charles Dickens gave himself.
• Italian, sort of: tracing 100 years of changing tastes in ethnic dining through the restaurants in one location in NYC.
• Image: Handbill for refreshments to be had at the trial of Warren Hastings in 1788.
• Modern "hands-on" parenting has its roots in the Middle Ages.
• One of the oldest garments from Egypt: linen Tarkhan dress is about 5,000 years old (and how to make a replica.)
• Delve into the rabbit hole with Alice in this online exhibition to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Alice in Wonderland.
• The first ferris wheel, 1893, was a glorious success.
Hungry for more? Follow us on Twitter @2nerdyhistgirls for fresh updates daily.

Above: At Breakfast by Laurits Andersen Ring. Private collection.

Friday Video: Rowan Atkinson as Henry VIII

Isabella reporting,

This is brand-new and brilliant from Horrible Histories -  Rowan Atkinson (of Blackadder fame) tackles Henry VIII by way of Elvis.

Really, what else is there to say?

Readers who receive our blog via email might see a rectangle, square, or nothing where the video ought to be.  To watch the video, please click on the title to this post.