CHAPTER XV.
GREENWICH (continued).—THE PARISH CHURCH, &c.
"To Greenwiche, that many a shrew is in."—Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales."
Gradual Extension of London—Greenwich as a Parliamentary Borough—The Assizes for Kent formerly held here—The Present Condition and
Population of Greenwich—The Church of St. Alphege—Portraits of Queen Elizabeth, Charles I., Queen Anne, and George I., formerly in
Greenwich Church—Greenwich one of the Head-quarters of the Huguenot Refugees—The "Spanish Galleon"—Dr. Johnson a Resident
in Greenwich—General Withers and Colonel Disney Residents here—Queen Elizabeth's College—The Jubilee Almshouses—Baths and Washhouses—The Lecture Hall—The Theatre—Croom's Hill—The Roman Catholic Church—The "New Church" of St. Mary—Greenwich
Market—Spring Gardens—Lennier's Collection of Pictures—Strange Monsters exhibited here—The Duke of Norfolk's College—A Remarkable High Tide—Sir John Winter's Project for Charring Sea-coal—The Royal Thames Yacht Club—The Tilt-Boat—The Admiralty Barge—The Royal State Barge—River-side Hotels—Whitebait Dinners—The Origin of the Ministerial Fish Dinner—Samuel Rogers and Curran—Charles Dickens at Greenwich—The Touting System—Greenwich Fair.
Although Greenwich is four miles distant from
London either by road or rail, and five miles from
London Bridge by the river, it has, nevertheless,
for these many years lost its separate existence,
and been absorbed into the great metropolis, just
as many larger places around London have been
swallowed up before and since; and Greenwich,
at the present moment, is almost as much a part
of the great metropolis as St. John's Wood and
Islington.
Of the early history of the manor of Greenwich
we have already spoken; the present local importance of the town, however, must be attributed to
the establishment, firstly of the royal residence
here, and ultimately of the Royal Hospital. It
sent members to Parliament in the fifth and sixth
years of Philip and Mary's reign, but discontinued
to do so afterwards. This was the more strange
on account of the affection with which the royal
town of Greenwich was regarded by Queen Elizabeth. Two centuries later, however, that honour
was restored to it; for under the Reform Bill of
1832 Greenwich, conjointly with Deptford, Woolwich, Charlton, and Plumstead, was created a
Parliamentary borough, returning two members to
Parliament. Among the distinguished men who
have been returned as its representatives, we may
mention Sir David Salomons, the first member of
the Jewish community who ever took his seat in
the House of Commons; Admiral Sir Houston
Stewart, some time Governor of Greenwich Hospital; General Sir William Codrington, Governor of
Gibraltar, and head of the army in the Crimea;
and last, not least, Mr. W. E. Gladstone, who took
refuge here on his rejection by South Lancashire,
in 1868.
In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the assizes for
the county of Kent were held here on three occasions. The town in itself has not much in the way
of public buildings to be described in these pages.
Originally a small fishing village—like its neighbour, Deptford—the place has gone on increasing
gradually to its present size; the streets, consequently, are somewhat irregular in plan and diversified in character, but possess no features either
imposing or picturesque. At the commencement
of the present century the number of inhabitants
was 14,000, which had swelled to 40,000 at the
taking of the census in 1871.
Numerous improvements were made in the twon
during the first decade of the present century;
these considerably altered its appearance. Mr.
Richardson, in his work already referred to, published in 1834, says that, "To show the rural
character of the place to a very recent period, it
may be mentioned that within the last twenty
years there were posts and rails to divide the footpath from the road on Croom's Hill, and that till
the year 1813 there were trees standing in the very
centre of the town, nearly opposite the church.
London Street, the leading thoroughfare on entering the town from the metropolis, has also, within
the last thirty years, assumed a much altered appearance in its change of character from a street
of private residences to one of commerce, almost
every house within it now presenting a shop frontage; whereas, at the period alluded to, the shops
were very few in number, and almost wholly confined to that end nearest the centre of the town."
The parish church, dedicated to St. Alphege,
stands in the centre of the town, at the junction of
London Street, Church Street, and Stockwell Street.
It is one of the "fifty new churches" provided for
by Act of Parliament in the reign of Queen Anne;
and it occupies the site of the old parish church,
the roof of which fell in and seriously damaged the
rest of the fabric in November, 1710. A writer in
the Gentleman's Magazine, for May, 1805, p. 422,
after alluding to the pernicious consequences arising
from the old practice of burying in churches, by
which the pavement was defaced, and the windows
filled up with monuments, remarks, "But, what is
worse, I have known the whole building demolished,
and thrown into a heap of rubbish, by the digging
of a grave too near the foundation of a pillar, so
that, being undermined, great hath been the fall
thereof. Thus fell the ancient church of Greenwich a few years since, but, by the providence of
Heaven, no person was therein." In this church
was a portrait, on glass, of Humphrey, Duke of
Gloucester; there were also several monuments
and brasses to the distinguished worthies who were
buried there, among whom were Thomas Tallis,
the great composer of church music, and musician
in the royal chapels in the reigns of Henry VIII.,
Edward VI., and Queens Mary and Elizabeth; he
died in 1585, and a brass plate recording his burial
here has been affixed in the present church; there
also rest Robert Adams, architect (1595); William
Lambarde, the antiquary, and author of the "Perambulation of Kent" (1601); and Thomas Philipott, writer of the "Villare Cantianum" (1682).
The monuments in the old church perished with
the building, with the exception of that of Lambarde, which was rescued from the wreck and
removed to Sevenoaks Church. In commemoration of St. Alphege was put up in the old church
the following inscription—"This church was erected
and dedicated to the glory of God, and the memory
of Saint Alphege, Archbishop of Canterbury, here
slain by the Danes." Mention is made of the old
parish church by our gossiping friends Evelyn and
Pepys. The former, under date of April 24, 1687,
writes: "At Greenwich, at the conclusion of the
church service, there was a French sermon preach'd
after the use of the English Liturgy translated into
French, to a congregation of about 100 French
refugees, of whom Monsieur Ruvigny was the
chiefe, and had obtain'd the use of the church
after the parish service was ended." Unlike the
excellent John Evelyn, Pepys occasionally notes in
his "Diary" facts which do not raise our estimate
of his morals or his religion; for instance, he writes:
"By coach to Greenwich church, where a good
sermon, a fine church, and a great company of
handsome women."
THE PARISH CHURCH, GREENWICH.
The present church of St. Alphege was completed in 1718, and consecrated by Bishop Atterbury. It is a thoroughly solid-looking edifice of
Portland stone, and was built from the designs of
John James, a local architect. The building is
cruciform in plan, with a tower of three stages,
tapering to a spire, at the western end. In 1813,
during a violent thunderstorm, the spire of this
church was struck by the electric fluid and shivered
to pieces, but it has been replaced. The style
of architecture is the Roman Doric of the period.
The interior is spacious: it has a broad nave with
aisles, shallow transepts, and a coved recess for
the chancel. Deep galleries extend along the two
sides, and across the western end, the latter containing the organ. In 1870 the old-fashioned
square pews were converted into open sittings, and
various other alterations were made. The galleries,
pulpit, and fittings generally are of dark oak, highly
carved and polished. The columns are of the
Corinthian order; and the decorations of the altarrecess are ascribed to Sir James Thornhill.
Among the notable personages buried in the
new church were Admiral Lord Aylmer, Governor
of Greenwich Hospital and Ranger of the Park,
who died in 1720; General Wolfe, the victor of
Quebec (1759); and Lavinia, Duchess of Bolton
(famous as an actress for her impersonation of
"Polly Peachum"), who was interred here in 1760.
There were formerly hung upon the walls of this
church portraits of Queen Elizabeth, Charles I.,
Queen Anne, and George I.; but becoming, by
lapse of time, dingy and faded, they were stowed
away as lumber in the organ-loft of the church,
and ultimately sold by the churchwardens. The
portrait of Queen Anne went to the Painted Hall,
in Greenwich Hospital, for the sum of £10, the
permission of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty having been obtained to pay that sum for it.
The portraits of Queen Elizabeth, Charles I., and
George I. were sold to a general dealer living in
New Cross for £20 15s., and were subsequently
sold by him at a profit of 50s. to a picture-dealer in
New Bond Street, by whom they were restored.
The portrait of King George represents the king in
full coronation dress, the heavy ermine cloak being
thrown back in front, revealing a rich close-fitting
dress, while round the shoulders is a massive
chain, from which is suspended the prancing horse
of Hanover. On the table beside his Majesty are
the crown and sceptre, the king's hand grasping the
ball and cross. In the background is a view of
Westminster Abbey. The value of this picture is
stated to be over £500. The portrait of Charles I.,
ten feet square, is supposed to be the work of Sir
Peter Lely. The painting represents the king in a
prayerful attitude, and is believed to be even more
valuable than that of George I. All the monarchs
mentioned were associated with Greenwich, but
their portraits are now scattered.
THE DUKE OF NORFOLK'S ALMSHOUSES, IN 1796.
With reference to the manner in which these
portraits came into the possession of the parish,
a correspondent of the Times, in 1876, wrote:—"According to a list, taken in 1706, 'the picture of
Queen Elizabeth in a handsome black frame, with
ornaments of gilding about it, was painted at the
parish charge.' 'The picture of King Charles the
Martyr, with a fair frame, fillited with gold, was the
gift of Mrs. Mary Squib' (probably about 1671).
The remaining portraits were doubtless bestowed
on the parish by the Crown (the lords of the manor),
or loyal parishioners. The antiquities of the church
of St. Alphege have been very unfortunate. After
the roof of the former structure fell in at midnight,
28th of November, 1710, and the present church
was erected, several monuments and all the stained
glass in the windows containing armorial bearings,
were missing; and upon inspecting the parish chest
some years ago, the whole of the ancient charters
and papal bulls relative to this church, known to
have been there in 1816, were not to be found."
Queen Elizabeth, as we have already remarked,
made the palace her favourite summer residence.
Charles I. passed much of his time at the "House
of Delight." Queen Anne, as we have seen, built
one of the wings of the Hospital, which still bears
her name; while George I. landed at Greenwich
on his arrival from Hanover.
Greenwich became one of the head-quarters of
the Huguenot refugees, after the revocation of the
Edict of Nantes; and in London Street was, in
the reigns of James II. and William III., a chapel
for their use. It was erected by one of their
most distinguished members, the aged Marquis
de Ruvigny, a person of learning, who had been
ambassador at St. James's and at other courts, as
well as Deputy of the Protestants of France in the
Parliament at Paris, and who formed the centre of
a large circle of his countrymen. Before their
chapel was ready for use the Huguenots were
allowed to use the parish church, at the end of the
afternoon service, on Sundays. John Evelyn, in his
"Diary," as we have seen above, records the fact
of his being present at this service, in 1687. The
little foreign colony is extinct, and the chapel is
now occupied as a Nonconformist meeting-house.
In Church Street is an inn bearing the very
singular title of the "Spanish Galleon." The sign
owes its existence, in all probability, to the fact
of its standing so near to the pictures of our naval
victories in the Royal Hospital, in which captured
Spanish galleons figure somewhat frequently.
It may possibly be remembered by readers of
Boswell that, when Dr. Johnson first wrote to
Edmund Cave, the proprietor and editor of the
newly-founded Gentleman's Magazine, it was from
"Greenwich, next door to the 'Golden Heart,' in
Church Street," where he had taken apartments
when he first came from his native Lichfield to
town, in order to write the parliamentary articles
for the above-mentioned publication.
The following list of Dr. Johnson's places of
residence after he had entered the metropolis as an
author is based on Boswell's Life:—Exeter Street,
Strand; Greenwich; Woodstock Street, Hanover
Square; No. 6, Castle Street, Cavendish Square;
Strand; Boswell Court; Strand again; Bow
Street; Staple's Inn; Gray's Inn; No. 1, Inner
Temple Lane; No. 7, Johnson's Court; and No.
8, Bolt Court.
Greenwich appears to have been a favourite
place with the old lexicographer; much of his
tragedy of Irene was written whilst he was living
here; and, as Boswell tells us, it was partly composed beneath the spreading elms in Greenwich
Park. Railways being at that time a mode of conveyance undreamed of, the river was Johnson's
favourite highway between Greenwich and London.
The following anecdote, told concerning an incident which took place on one occasion when
Boswell and Johnson were proceeding thither in
a boat from the Temple, may bear repeating:—"Boswell asked Johnson if he really thought a
knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages an
essential requisite to a good education. Johnson:
'Most certainly, sir; for those who know them
have a very great advantage over those who do
not. Nay, sir, it is wonderful what a difference
learning makes upon people even in the common
intercourse of life, which does not appear to be
much connected with it.' Boswell: 'And yet
people go through the world very well, and carry
on the business of life to good advantage, without
learning.' Johnson: 'Why, sir, that may be true
in cases where learning cannot possibly be of any
use; for instance, this boy rows us as well without
learning, as if he could sing the song of Orpheus
to the Argonauts, who were the first sailors.' He
then called to the boy, 'What would you give, my
lad, to know about the Argonauts?' 'Sir,' said
the boy, 'I would give what I have.' Johnson was
much pleased with his answer, and we gave him a
double fare."
Other noted residents of Greenwich about this
time were General Withers and Colonel Disney,
convivial friends of Pope; the latter is mentioned
in Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's letters as "Duke
Disney." They are thus jointly commemorated by
Pope in his Panegyrics:—
"Now pass we Gravesend with a friendly wind,
And Tilbury's white fort, and long Blackwall;
Greenwich, where dwells the friend of human kind;
More visited than either park or hall,
Withers the good, and with him ever joined
Facetious Disney, greet thee first of all;
I see his chimney smoke, and hear him say,
'Duke! that's the room for Pope, and that for Gay.
"'Come in, my friends, here ye shall dine and lie,
And here shall breakfast, and shall dine again;
And sup and breakfast on, if ye comply;
For I have still some dozens of champagne.'
His voice still lessens as the ship sails by,
He waves his hand to bring us back in vain;
For now I see, I see proud London's spires,
Greenwich is lost, and Deptford Dock retires."
In the Greenwich Road, nearly opposite the
railway station, stands Queen Elizabeth's College,
founded by William Lambarde, the historian of
Kent, in 1576, for twenty poor men and their
wives. It is said, and perhaps truly, to have been
the first public charity of the kind founded after
the Reformation. The almshouses were rebuilt
early in the present century; each of the inmates
has a separate tenement and garden, and £20
a year in hard cash. The endowment, which has
been greatly augmented in value since Lambarde's
time, is under the control of the Drapers' Company,
who have of late built some additional houses, and
made other improvements. The founder, with the
consent of the Bishop of Rochester, composed a
form of morning and evening prayer, to be used in
the college; and he made his endowment void, if
it should ever become unlawful, by the statutes of
the realm, to use it.
The Jubilee Almshouses, in this road, were
founded by a subscription raised among the townspeople in 1809, in commemoration of King
George III. having, on the 25th of October of that
year, entered upon the fiftieth year of his reign.
Additional almshouses have since been added on
several public occasions; and there are now twenty
houses in all, and each of the occupants receives
a small annuity.
At the corner of Royal Hill are some commodious baths and wash-houses, near to which is
a large lecture-hall and also a theatre; but with
regard to these buildings nothing need be said
further than that they meet their several requirements. There was formerly a theatre in London
Street, but it was destroyed by fire in 1831. A
few years later the proprietor, a Mr. Savill, constructed, on a novel principle, another theatre of
iron, all the parts of which were put together with
screws, so as to be capable of being taken to pieces,
and conveyed to different towns.
Eastward of Royal Hill, and skirting the western
side of Greenwich Park, is Croom's Hill, a steep
and winding thoroughfare leading from the town
up to Blackheath. A conspicuous object here is
the lofty tower and spire of St. Mary's Roman
Catholic Church, which, with its external statue of
St. Mary, "star of the sea," is built so as to strike
the eye of mariners as they sail up the river.
Near the bottom of Croom's Hill, close by the
principal entrance to the park, stands the "new
church" of St. Mary. It is a neat edifice of a semiclassic style of architecture, constructed of Suffolk
brick and Bath stone, and the chief feature of the
exterior is an Ionic portico at the western end,
above which rises a tower of two stages. The "first
stone" of the structure was laid by the Princess
Sophia in 1823, and the church was consecrated
in 1825. Over the altar is a picture of "Christ
giving Sight to the Blind," painted by Richter, and
presented by the British Institution.
From this church a broad thoroughfare called
King Street leads direct to the pier, close by the
Ship Hotel; and on the west side of this street, is
the Market-place, which has its principal entrance
in Clarence Street, and another entrance in Nelson
Street, a broad well-built street so called after
England's great naval hero. The market was
erected by the Commissioners of the Royal Hospital near the site of a former market, and was
opened in 1831. It contains spacious accommodation for vendors of meat, fish, vegetables, &c.,
and the whole is surrounded by a block of good
substantial houses, with shops. The profits of the
market being vested in Henry, Earl of Romney—whose name is still perpetuated in Romney Place—were given by him, in 1700, to the Royal Hospital, as stated in the preceding chapter.
Like St. James's Park and Hampstead, Greenwich in former times could boast of its "Spring
Gardens." In the General Advertiser for May 25,
1771, occurs the following announcement:—
"Spring Gardens, Greenwich.—The Evening Entertainments at this place will begin this day, the 25th inst.,
with a good Band of Vocal and Instrumental Musick. To
be continued on Saturday and Monday Evenings during the
Summer Season. N.B.—The Grand Room in the garden is
upwards of fifty feet long."
These gardens, as a correspondent of Notes and
Queries tells us, were situate near Christ Church, in
East Greenwich, and, for many years after they
were closed as a place of amusement, were turned
into garden ground, but, as is the fate of many
such places in the vicinity of London, the site is
now nearly built over.
On account of the contiguity of this town to
Deptford, it is frequently mentioned by Evelyn
and likewise by Pepys in their amusing diaries.
The former, writing in 1652, makes this entry:—"Came old Jerome Lennier, of Greenwich, a man
skill'd in painting and musiq, and another rare
musitian, called Mell. I went to see his collection
of pictures, especially those of Julis Romano, which
surely had been the king's, and an Egyptian figure,
&c. There were also excellent things of Polydore,
Guido, Raphael, Tintoret, &c. Lennier had been
a domestic of Qu. Elizabeth's, and show'd me her
head, an intaglia in a rare sardonyx, cut by a
famous Italian, which he assur'd me was exceedingly like her."
For the same reason, too, naturally enough,
Greenwich became a depôt for strange and foreign
curiosa; at all events, Evelyn informs us in his
"Diary" that he came hither in 1657 to see "a
sort of catt, brought from the East Indies, shap'd
and snouted much like the Egyptian racoon, in
the body like a monkey, and so footed; the eares
and taile like a catt, onely the taile much longer
and the skin variously ringed with black and
white; with the taile it wound up its body like a
serpent, and so got up into trees, and with it
would wrap its whole body round. Its haire,"
he adds, "was woolly, like a lamb's; it was
exceedingly nimble and gentle, and purr'd as does
the catt."
If we may believe the paragraph writers of the
London journals in 1683, this place has been
often haunted by other strange monsters; as
witness the following item extracted from their
columns:—"A perfect mermaid was, by the last
great wind, driven ashore near Greenwich, with
her comb in one hand and her looking-glass in
the other. She seemed to be of the countenance
of a most fair and beautiful woman, with her arms
crossed, weeping out many pearly drops of salt
tears; and afterwards she, gently turning herself
upon her back, swam away without being seen
any more." Probably the writer believed the substance of this paragraph, and only exercised his
journalistic talent in decorating his fact with tender
and romantic incidents.
In or about 1749 there was exhibited at the
"Rose and Crown," near the gates of the park, a
strange collection of wild beasts, from the catalogue
of which we take the following items:—"1. A
large and beautiful young camel, from Grand Cairo,
in Egypt, near eight feet high, though not two
years old, and drinks water but once in sixteen
days. 2. A surprising hyæna, from the Coast of
Guinea. 3. A beautiful he panther, from Buenos
Ayres, in the Spanish West Indies. 4. A young
riobiscay, from Russia; and several other creatures
too tedious to mention. Likewise a travelling
post-chaise, from Switzerland, which, without horses,
keeps its stage for upwards of fifty miles a day,
without danger to the rider. Attendance from
eight in the morning till eight at night." This
list we take from Mr. Frost's "Old Showmen;"
but what the "riobiscay" can have been is beyond
our power to discover.
At the eastern end of the town, fronting the
Thames, is a college for the maintenance of twenty
old and decayed housekeepers, twelve of whom
are to be chosen from Greenwich, and the rest
alternately from two parishes in Norfolk. It is
called the Duke of Norfolk's College, though it
was founded not by one of the Dukes of Norfolk,
but by his brother Henry, Earl of Northampton,
who committed it to the care of the Mercers'
Company. The earl's body rests in the chapel
of the college, having been brought there from
Dover Castle about the year 1770. The edifice,
which is commonly styled Trinity Hospital, is
situated at a short distance eastward of Greenwich
Hospital. It is a large quadrangular pile of brick
buildings, with a tower.
A stone let into the wall of the wharf, opposite
the entrance to the college, bears upon it a line
denoting a "remarkable high tide, March 20,
1874;" the line is two feet four inches above the
pavement, and consequently several feet above the
ordinary high-water mark. Apropos of this mention
of the tide, we may state that the whole valley of
the Thames was once a gulf or bay of the sea,
being, in fact, but a breach or cleft in the ordinary
mass of deposit which once rose for 200 or 300
feet above what is now the bed of the river.
There was a ferry here more than two centuries
ago, for Evelyn records in his "Diary," July, 1656,
how he returned by it out of Essex to Saye's Court.
"Here," Evelyn writes, "I saw Sir John Winter's
new project of charring sea-coale to burn out
the sulphur, and render it sweete. He did it by
burning the coals in such earthen pots as (those
in which) the glasse-men mealt (sic) their mettall,
so firing them without consuming them; using a
barr of yron in each crucible or pot, which bar has
a hook at one end, so that the coales, being melted
in a furnace with other crude sea-coales under
them, may be drawn out of the potts sticking to
the yron, whence they are beaten off in greate
half-exhausted cinders, which, being rekindled,
make a cleare, pleasant chamber fire, deprived of
their sulphur and arsenic malignity. What success
it may have time will discover."Unfortunately,
Evelyn does not tell us whether ultimately Sir
John Winter found his project remunerative; but
it may be added that within the present century
the late Lord Dundonald tried to revive the plan,
with the projected improvement of extracting and
saving the tar. His lordship, however, failed to
make it answer; but the coal thus charred is now
sold by almost every gas company under the name
of coke.
It may not be out of place to record here that
the Royal Thames Yacht Club close their annual
season by an excursion down the river. The
yachts rendezvous in the afternoon at Greenwich,
and come to an anchor for the night at Erith.
The commodore takes the chair in the evening at
the "Crown Inn." On the following morning
the members and their friends proceed on various
cruises, many of these trips extending to several
days. It may interest some of the members to
know that their excursions have had a forerunner
in times long gone by; for Evelyn tells us how, in
the summer of 1661, he sailed with "the merry
monarch" in one of his "yachts or pleasure boats,"
and raced another yacht all the way to Gravesend
and back, the king himself sometimes steering.
"The king," he adds, "lost it in going, the wind
being contrary; but sav'd stakes in returning."
It was by joining with his subjects in these amusements that King Charles gained that personal
popularity which, in spite of his many vices, never
forsook him.
Not only with Dr. Johnson, of whom we have
spoken above, but with the public at large the river
Thames has always been the favourite way of
reaching Greenwich from London, both before and
since the introduction of steamboats. In former
times the chief mode of conveyance on the river
was by small boats rowed by watermen; but the
"tilt boat" is often mentioned, in the reign of
George III., as one of the regular conveyances
which carried passengers down the river—to Greenwich, Woolwich, Gravesend, &c. These boats started
from the Dark House, at Billingsgate; they took
twelve hours on the journey to Gravesend if the
weather was fair, and the wind not utterly adverse;
but more, of course, if that was the case, and if
they had not reached their destination when the
tide turned. These boats were superseded by
steamers, after the model of those already in use
upon the Clyde, about the year 1816. The name
of the "Tilt Boat" is still preserved on the signboards of one or two river-side inns.
The Admiralty barge was constantly employed
on the silent highway of the Thames, down to a
comparatively recent date, in showing the "lions"
of the metropolis to distinguished foreigners. Thus
Lady Lepel Hervey, in the reign of George II.,
relates how one of the lords of the Admiralty,
Mr. Stanley, did the honours on behalf of his
country to the Spanish Ambassador, his family,
and several people of fashion, "the greatest part
of whom he carried in barges down to Greenwich,
nothing being wanting of water equipage; salutes
upon the river, in the greatest pomp and order;
and a reception at the landing at the hospital by
the admiral, the governor, and all the officers."
Greenwich has been the place of debarkation of
many illustrious visitors, and several royal personages, among whom may be noticed the Princess
Augusta of Saxe Gotha, afterwards married to
Frederick, Prince of Wales; and the Princess
Caroline of Brunswick, who landed here in order
to become the much-injured and unhappy wife of
George, Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.).
From this place the latter passed on to London,
in the midst of universal shouts of popular joy,
her progress being almost a triumphal procession.
Alas! in how short a time was she destined to rue
the day! After her separation she lived for many
years at Charlton, on the edge of Blackheath.
One of the last state visits of the sovereign to
Greenwich was made in October, 1797, when
King George III. proceeded in the royal yacht
to Greenwich, and thence to Sheerness to review
the fleet at the Nore, and to see the Dutch ships
which had been lately captured by Lord Duncan
at the battle of Camperdown.
The royal state barge was used as late as 1843,
when the Prince Consort made a progress in it from
Whitehall to the Brunswick Pier, at Blackwall, for
the purpose of inspecting the Victoria and Albert
steam-yacht, then in process of construction in the
East India Docks. The barge, which had just been
re-fitted and re-gilt at Woolwich Dockyard, was
sixty-four feet in length, and about seven feet in
width; the head and stern were elaborately carved,
and gilt, and, with her highly-varnished timbers, had
a right royal splendour. The vessel was rowed by
twenty-two watermen in scarlet liveries, and the
Admiralty barge, which accompanied it, by ten men
in scarlet coats. The state barge, we are told, "in
its progress to and from Blackwall, attracted many
spectators on the river and its banks, and, with
the Admiralty barge, formed a splendid piece of
water pageantry, such as is but rarely witnessed on
London's majestic river." It has long been disused, and is now laid up, destined never, probably,
to be launched again, but to become the food of
moths and worms.
Overlooking the Thames, and in the immediate
vicinity of the Royal Hospital, are those noted
water-side hotels which have become celebrated for
public dinners, and particularly for whitebait. The
chief of these taverns are the "Ship," a little to the
westward of the Hospital, and the "Crown and
Sceptre," and the "Trafalgar," the latter of which
has become celebrated for its "Ministerial fish
dinners."
"At what period the lovers of good living first
went to eat whitebait at 'the taverns contiguous
to the places where the fish is taken,' is not very
clear. At all events," writes John Timbs, in his
"Club Life of London," "the houses did not resemble the 'Brunswick,' the 'West India Dock,'
the 'Ship,' or the 'Trafalgar' of the present day,
these having much of the architectural pretension of
a modern club-house. Whitebait have long been
numbered among the delicacies of our table; for
we find 'six dishes of whitebait' in the funeral feast
of the munificent founder of the Charterhouse,
given in the Hall of the Stationers' Company, on
May 28, 1612—the year before the Globe Theatre
was burnt down, and the New River completed.
For aught we know, these delicious fish may have
been served up to Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth in their palace at Greenwich, off which place,
and Blackwall opposite, whitebait have been for
ages taken in the Thames at flood-tide. To the
river-side taverns we must go to enjoy a 'whitebait
dinner,' for one of the conditions of success is that
the fish should be directly netted out of the river
into the cook's caldron.
"About the end of March, or early in April,
whitebait make their appearance in the Thames,
and are then small, apparently but just changed
from the albuminous state of the young fry. During
June, July, and August, immense quantities are
consumed by visitors to the different taverns at
Greenwich and Blackwall. Pennant says: 'Whitebait are esteemed very delicious when fried with
fine flour, and occasion, during the season, a vast
resort of the lower order of epicures to the taverns
contiguous to the places where they are taken.'
If this account be correct," adds Mr. Timbs, "there
must have been a strange change in the grade of
epicures frequenting Greenwich and Blackwall
since Pennant's days; for at present the fashion
of eating whitebait is sanctioned by the highest
authorities, from the Court of St. James's in the
West, to the Lord Mayor and his Court in the
East; besides the philosophers of the Royal
Society, and Her Majesty's Cabinet Ministers.
Who, for example, does not recollect such a paragraph as the following, which appeared in the
Morning Post of the day on which Mr. Yarrell
wrote his account of whitebait, September 10,
1835: 'Yesterday, the Cabinet Ministers went
down the river in the Ordnance barges to Lovegrove's "West India Dock Tavern," Blackwall, to
partake of their annual fish dinner. Covers were
laid for thirty-five gentlemen.' For our own part,
we consider that the Ministers did not evince their
usual good policy in choosing so late a period as
September, the whitebait being finer eating in July
or August; so their 'annual fish dinner' must
rather be regarded as a sort of prandial wind-up of
the Parliamentary session than as a specimen of
refined epicurism.
CROWN AND SCEPTRE INN, GREENWICH.
"We remember many changes in matters concerning whitebait at Greenwich and Blackwall.
Formerly, the taverns were mostly built with
weather-board fronts, with bow-windows, so as to
command a view of the river. The old 'Ship,'
and the 'Crown and Sceptre' taverns at Greenwich
were built in this manner; and some of the Blackwall houses were of humble pretensions; these
have disappeared, and handsome architectural piles
have been erected in their places. Meanwhile,
whitebait have been sent to the metropolis, by
railway or steamer, where they figure in fishmongers'
shops, and tavern cartes of almost every degree.
EASTER MONDAY IN GREENWICH PARK. (From an Engraving by Rawle, in the "European Magazine" of 1802.)
"Perhaps the famed delicacy of whitebait rests
as much upon its skilful cookery as upon the freshness of the fish. Dr. Pereira has published a mode
of cooking in one of Lovegrove's 'bait kitchens' at
Blackwall. The fish should be dressed within an
hour after being caught, or they are apt to cling
together. They are kept in water, from which they
are taken by a skimmer as required; they are then
thrown upon a layer of flour, contained in a large
napkin, in which they are shaken until completely
enveloped in flour; they are then put into a
colander, and all the superfluous flour is removed
by sifting. The fish are next thrown into hot lard
contained in a copper caldron or stew-pan placed
over a charcoal fire. In about two minutes they
are removed by a tin skimmer, thrown into a
colander to drain, and served up instantly, by
placing them on a fish-drainer in a dish. The
rapidity of the cooking process is of the utmost
importance, and if it be not attended to, the fish
will lose their crispness, and be worthless. At
table, lemon-juice is squeezed over them, and they
are seasoned with cayenne pepper, brown breadand-butter is substituted for plain bread; and they
are eaten with iced champagne or punch."
Every year the approach of the close of the
Parliamentary session is indicated by what is termed
the "Ministerial Fish Dinner," in which whitebait
forms a prominent dish, and Cabinet Ministers are
the company. The dinner takes place at one
of the principal taverns, usually at Greenwich, but
sometimes at Blackwall. The dining-room is decorated for the occasion, which is of the nature of a
State entertainment. Formerly, it was customary
for the Ministers to go down the river from Whitehall in an Ordnance barge, ornamented with gold
and other colours, and with streamers; now, however, a more prosaic steamer is employed. The
origin of the annual festivity is told by Mr. Timbs
in his work quoted above:— "On the banks of
Dagenham Lake or Reach, in Essex, many years
since, there stood a cottage occupied by a princely
merchant, named Preston, a baronet of Scotland
and Nova Scotia, and sometime M.P. for Dover.
He called it his 'fishing-cottage,' and often in the
spring he went thither, with a friend or two, as
a relief to the toils of his Parliamentary and mercantile duties. His most frequent guest was the
Right Hon. George Rose, Secretary of the Treasury,
and an Elder Brother of the Trinity House. Many
a day did these two worthies enjoy at Dagenham
Reach; and Mr. Rose once intimated to Sir Robert
that Mr. Pitt, of whose friendship they were both
justly proud, would no doubt delight in the comfort
of such a retreat. A day was named, and the
Premier was invited; and he was so well pleased
with his reception at the 'fishing-cottage'—they
were all two if not three-bottle men—that, on
taking leave, Mr. Pitt readily accepted an invitation for the following year.
"For a few years, the Premier continued a
visitor to Dagenham, and was always accompanied
by Mr. George Rose. But the distance was considerable; the going and coming were somewhat
inconvenient for the First Minister of the Crown.
Sir Robert Preston, however, had his remedy,
and he proposed that they should in future dine
nearer London. Greenwich was suggested: we do
not hear of whitebait in the Dagenham dinners,
and its introduction probably dates from the
removal to Greenwich. The party of three was
now increased to four, Mr. Pitt being permitted to
bring Lord Camden. Soon after, a fifth guest was
invited—Mr. Charles Long, afterwards Lord Farnborough. All were still the guests of Sir Robert
Preston; and, one by one, other notables were invited—all Tories—and, at last, Lord Camden considerately remarked that, as they were all dining
at a tavern, it was but fair that Sir Robert Preston
should be relieved from the expense. It was
then arranged that the dinner should be given as
usual by Sir Robert Preston—that is to say, at his
invitation—and he insisted on still contributing a
buck and champagne; the rest of the charges were
thenceforth defrayed by the several guests; and
on this plan, the meeting continued to take place
annually, till the death of Mr. Pitt.
"Sir Robert was requested, next year, to summon the several guests, the list of whom, by this
time, included most of the Cabinet Ministers. The
time for meeting was usually after Trinity Monday—a short period before the end of the session. By
degrees, the meeting, which was originally purely
gastronomic, appears to have assumed, in consequence of the long reign of the Tories, a political
or semi-political character. Sir Robert Preston
died; but Mr. Long (now Lord Farnborough)
undertook to summon the several guests, the list
of whom was furnished by Sir Robert Preston's
private secretary. Hitherto, the invitations had
been sent privately; now they were dispatched in
Cabinet boxes, and the party was, certainly, for
some time, limited to the members of the Cabinet.
A dinner lubricates Ministerial as well as other
business; so that the 'Ministerial Fish Dinner'
may 'contribute to the grandeur and prosperity of
our beloved country.'"
From that day to the present the Ministerial
dinner has been an annual festival, except when
some sudden death has lately carried off a member
of the existing Cabinet. The dinner is usually held
a day or two before the prorogation of the Houses
of Parliament.
But some other statesmen, who have not been
Ministers of the Crown, have regaled themselves
here on whitebait. Samuel Rogers, for instance,
tells us that he once dined with Curran in the
public room of the chief inn at Greenwich, when
the Irish orator, as usual, began to indulge in his
favourite exaggerations. "I had rather be hanged
on twenty gallows"—he began, when a stranger
sitting at the next table quietly asked, "Do you
not think, sir, that one would be enough?" Curran
was, for once, fairly taken aback and struck dumb
at the witty retort.
But few dinners at Greenwich, perhaps, were
more jovial and pleasant than that which, in 1842,
celebrated the return of Charles Dickens from his
first visit to America. Talfourd, Milnes, Procter,
Maclise, Stanfield, Marryat, Barham, Hood, John
Forster, and George Cruickshank were there; and
a home tour into Cornwall was then and there
arranged between "Boz," Maclise, Stanfield, and
his future biographer—all now, alas! no more. It
was at a dinner here—preceded by a drive over
Blackheath—that Dickens and Douglas Jerrold
met for the last time, just previous to the sudden
death of the latter, in 1856.
A great change has come over the inns and
taverns of half a century ago; they are now
"hotels," and grand ones too; the "Trafalgar"
still has its bow-windows fronting the river; but
of the old "Ship" and the "Crown and Sceptre,"
their earlier and more attractive features have now
disappeared, giving way to architectural piles of
greater pretensions, and in which, therefore, the
cost of a dinner must be largely increased, in order
to pay the builder.
It is remarked by more than one writer, that
Greenwich is about the last place where the practice of "touting" for customers is kept up at the
doors of small coffee-houses; but, perhaps, the wellknown cry of the butchers in the lesser streets on
Saturday evenings, "Come, buy! buy! what will
you buy?" may be regarded as the last remnant of
a custom once nearly universal. Here you cannot
walk along the streets which lie between the town
and the park without being solicited by ten or a
dozen rival houses to step in and regale yourself.
If you take every card that is offered you, you will
have a good store in your pocket on returning
home at night. "Tea, eightpence, with a pleasant
view of the river." "Tea made, with shrimps, ninepence," and so forth. The inhabitants of Greenwich would seem to be the most accommodating
and hospitable people in the world. You can walk
straight into almost every other house along the
route and order tea, and can depart again only a
few pence the poorer. Numbers of cockneys, however, come to the park already well provided; and
you may see pater and materfamilias and half a
dozen of their hopeful progeny all munching breadand-butter, and drinking cold tea, in one group
beneath the chestnuts.
For very many years, and down to a comparatively recent date (1857), there were two fairs held
annually in Greenwich—namely, on the Monday,
Tuesday, and Wednesday in Easter and Whitsun
weeks. They were formerly held in the road now
occupied partly by St. Mary's Church, and the
remainder by the Hospital Burial-ground; latterly,
the fairs were held in the public thoroughfares,
principally in Bridge Street, which extends from
near the church of St. Alphege to the bridge over
the Ravensbourne at Deptford Creek. In an
account of Greenwich Fair, the "Kalendar of
Amusements" (1840) somewhat bombastically observes: "This great national event, which neither
desires nor deserves any colouring at our hands, is
one of those gaudy and glittering occasions which,
like powerful magnets, attract all the base ore of
the metropolis. The objects of commiseration,
who have groaned through a long winter with
afflictions (stated in coloured chalks on the portion
of pavement they diurnally occupy), who, in the
Van Amburgh spirit, have taught a little dog to
implore and to accept contributions for them—the
absence of arms, tongues, eyes, legs, &c., in a
great measure preventing them officiating personally—now, vigorous and volatile, spring nimbly on the
apex of the metropolitan mail, articulating 'Greenwich, ho!' Now, the fervid children of Erin,
with a 'Horroo! Faugh a ballagh!' ('Clear the
road!') enlarge themselves from the liberties of
little Hibernia, and turn their frontispieces towards
Greenwich. (Their less energetic brethren have
preceded them a week, that being the time they
annually consume in drinking their way down.)
"Now, from the cigar-divans in the Strand and
the Quadrant, fair count(er)esses may be observed
stepping into private carriages driven by private
gentlemen, who, dispensing with their slaves in
livery, and hoping the populace will mistake them
for 'those blackguard lords,' whirl through the
streets, as a Bristol Byron says, 'in all the majesty
of mud.' Now, upon the road may be seen stagesand-four, coaches-and-two, and cabs-and-one with
cram licences—a term well known to the whipsters,
who upon this day, by superhuman exertions, prove
their right to the title. Here, like Atlas struggling
under a giddy world, a wretched donkey wags (we
use the next word advisedly) under a wagon, which
must have been erected to mock the efforts of a
troop of horse. Countless hands, armed with
countless missiles, stimulate the martyr in the rear,
whilst a child precedes him holding a wisp of hay
to his mouth. The bait has its effect: of the
posterior applications he appears happily unconscious. But who and what are they that occupy
that vehicle? Alas! none but themselves know
who they are, or what they would be. The police
reports, it is true, afford some information, and that
of a nature perhaps to satisfy a moral curiosity.
"How shall we describe Greenwich? Confusion
and consternation! hilarity and horror! Children
not visible, pocket-handkerchiefs not forthcoming
(distress for each equally evident). People here
full of frenzy, exclaiming, 'What imposition!'
Others there, full of frolic, lisping out, 'What fun!'
Sirens insinuating, 'Tea and coffee! tea and
coffee!' and slaughterers shouting, 'One shilling
a head, sump-tu-ous dinners!' At night, the 'fair
and free' assemble in the 'Crown and Anchor,'
'The Palladium of British Freedom,' 'The Thunderdox,' and 'The Roaring-Rattling-Rioters''
booths, where the waltz is done strict justice to,
and the orchestra, assisted by the united exertions
of all present, absolutely intoxicates the ear. Outside, they revel also, the 'shilling considerers,' preferring a penny privilege, are swung up into the
face of heaven, and vice versâ, in a machine very
like a gallows, which is put in motion by a fellow
very like an executioner. Others speculate in
porter and pudding, and laugh at the vanity of
human nature."
There was not, however, a goodlier day of merrymaking, for the regular traditional Monday-keepers,
passed in the neighbourhood of London, than at
Greenwich Fair. The Pool and the Port of
London are always objects of astonishment to a
foreigner; but to see them on Whit Monday, or
at the commencement of a fine Easter-week, was
the most extraordinary sight he could meet with.
"The river below bridge," writes Mr. Albert
Smith, "presented a singularly animated scene.
Nearly all the vessels in the Pool hoisted their
flags, in compliment to the holiday—bands of
music, that only appeared competent to play 'Love
not' and 'Jeannette and Jeannot,' were stationed
at some of the wharfs, or on board the boats; and
almost every minute a steamer passed, deep in the
water, by reason of her crowded freight of human
beings. It was only by extreme look-out that
numberless accidents were avoided; for the highway was covered with small boats as well, together
with ships being towed into dock, and heavy barges
always getting directly across the way, so that
sometimes a perfect stoppage of several minutes
was necessary. Every available corner of the
decks, cabins, and paddle-boxes of the steamers
was occupied; and more than two-thirds of the
voyagers were obliged to be content with standingroom during the journey—which, under these
circumstances, was not made very rapidly. Indeed, we were but little under the hour going from
Swan Stairs to Greenwich Pier; but everybody was
in thorough good temper with themselves and
everybody else, so that there was no grumbling at
the want of accommodation. They appeared only
too happy to get there at all, albeit all the way
the boats rolled and swayed until the water nearly
washed in at the cabin windows.
"The fair began directly you landed. From the
'Ship Torbay Tavern' up to the park gates, the
road was bordered on either side with stalls, games,
and hand-wagons, containing goods or refreshments of every description. Mr. Punch, too, set
up the temple of his illegitimate drama at three or
four points of the thoroughfare, at each of which
(in our belief that there is but one Punch, and
that he is ubiquitous) he was pursuing that reckless career of vice and dissipation with which his
audience are always so delighted. Snuff-boxes to
throw at—refreshments of singularly untempting
appearance, which nevertheless found eager purchasers—vendors of spring rattles, who ensured 'the
whole fun o' the fair for a penny'—speculators in
heavy stocks of Waterloo crackers and detonating
balls—proprietors of small percussion guns, to
shoot with at targets for nuts—kept increasing,
together with the visitors, as we neared the park;
until the diminished breadth of the street brought
them all together in one struggle to get through
the gates, like the grains of sand in an egg-glass.
… The 'fair,' properly so called, was a long
narrow thoroughfare of stalls, booths, and shows,
in a lane leading from the town to the bridge at
Deptford Creek. Perhaps this was the least attractive part of the day's amusement. The crowd
was so dense and disorderly as to threaten each
minute the erection of barricades of 'brandy-snaps,'
and the overthrow and deposition of the gilt gingerbread kings ranged on each side. More refreshment stalls bordered the way—wonderfully uninviting shell-fish, of shapes you had never before
encountered—mysterious effervescing drinks, like
dirty soapsuds and carbonic acid mixed together—eels in different states of cookery, pickled, stewed,
and in pies—strangely indigestible lumps of pudding, studded at uncertain intervals with black
lumps, presumed to be plums—masses of cold fried
fish, liberally peppered with dust; and dreadful
oysters as large as soup-plates—oysters in June!
But all were doing good business, and rapidly disposing of their stock.
"The shows, possibly, were our greatest delight,
for we love to be harmlessly imposed upon at these
wandering exhibitions. The last time we were at
Greenwich Fair we saw one held in a dismantled
dwelling-house, where various forms in wax-work,
of the true Mrs. Jarley breed, were set up for inspection. In the recess of a window were placed
two figures, evidently intended, originally, for Amy
Robsart and the Earl of Leicester, but which represented, we were now told, Queen Victoria and
Prince Albert, enjoying the retirement of private
life, apart from the pomp of royalty. Why they
should have chosen to enjoy retirement in fancy
dresses of the Elizabethan period, those best acquainted with the habits of those august personages
can possibly inform us. All the characters of the
exhibition were, however, old friends. We fancied
that we once knew them in High Holborn, where
the organ turned at the door, and the monkey sat
on the hot gas-pipe. At all events, if they were
not the identical ones, the artist had cast two in
the same mould whilst he was about it. We do
not think he had been happy in the likenesses.
Sir Robert Peel was, unmistakably, Mr. Buckstone grown a foot taller, and wearing a light
flaxen wig. Lady Sale we once knew as Queen
Adelaide; and Oxford had transmigrated into
Wicks, the eyes having been manifestly wrenched
violently round to form the squint of the latter
miserable culprit. In one point the artist had
excelled nature. He had preserved the apparent
dryness and coolness of the skin, whilst the folks
looking on were melting with the heat.
"In another show were some learned birds.
This was also held in an unfinished house. A
curtain nailed to the rafters divided the rude interior into two parts; by pushing it aside we saw
a flock-bed upon the ground, a mouldering fire,
and a tin saucepan: a thin, unhappy dog was
persuading himself that he was asleep on the bed.
In front of the penetralia was a dirty breeding-cage,
in which five or six poor little ragged canaries were
sitting on a perch, huddled up together as if for
better self-defence. A man came to the front and
said, 'Stand back, gents, and then all can see—the
canaries, the performing canaries, brought from the
Canary Islands for the Queen.' The birds were
then taken out, and had to pull carts and draw
water, sit on the end of a trumpet whilst it was
played, and fire cannon; the explosion of the gunpowder throwing them into a state of tumbling,
chuffing, and sneezing, from which they did not
recover by the conclusion of the entertainment.
"As soon as it was dusk, the crowd in the fair
thickened; and its sole object appeared to be to
push a way violently through everything to the
extreme end, and then return again in the same
manner. In the town every tavern and publichouse was filled to overflowing with hungry, or
rather thirsty, occupants; the clouds of tobaccosmoke from the open windows proving the crowded
state of the apartments. The steamboats had
now ceased to ply, but the trains on the railway
continued until a late hour. If you returned to
town by the latter method of conveyance, you met
hundreds more proceeding to Greenwich, even at
very advanced periods of the evening. Where they
got to when they arrived, how they contrived to
return home again when the fair closed, is beyond
conjecture. Those, however, who went simply to
look on were not sorry, by this time, to get clear
of the increasing riot and confusion, to which, on
arriving once more in London, the bustle of Cheapside appeared almost seclusion and tranquillity."
The fag-end, as we may call it, of the fair was
almost always noisy and disreputable. It is thus
described by Mr. J. R. Planché, in his "Recollections," as it appeared to him and a French
friend, his fellow-traveller, on his return from
Paris in 1820:—"It was broad daylight by the
time we reached the junction of the Greenwich
and Old Kent Roads, and a sight suddenly presented itself to the eyes of our visitor which
astonished, interested, and amused him to the
greatest extent. On each side of the road, four or
five deep, a line of human beings extended as far
as the eye could reach: men and women, boys and
girls, the majority of the adults of both sexes in
every possible stage of intoxication, yelling, screaming, dancing, fighting, playing every conceivable
antic, and making every inconceivable noise. For
the instant I was almost as much surprised as
my companion, and as little able to account for
the extraordinary and unexpected scene; but after
a few minutes I recollected it was the morning of
the Wednesday in Easter week, and the end of
Greenwich Fair, and these dregs of the London
populace, which had for three days made the
pretty Kentish borough a bear-garden, and its fine
old park a pandemonium, were now flowing in a
turbid flood of filth, rags, debauchery, and drunkenness, back to their sources in the slums of the
metropolis. There was no picturesque costume to
fascinate the eye of the artist, no towering cauchoise
with its frills and streamers, no snow-white caps,
short scarlet petticoats, and blue stockings, no
embroidered velvet bodices, no quaint gold or
silver head-gear, no jacket gay with countless buttons, no hat bedecked with ribbons, no coquettish
Montero; all was dirt and squalor, dragged
dresses, broken bonnets, hats without crowns,
coats and trousers in tatters. Such was the
British public as it first appeared to 'the great
French comedian.'"
LANE LEADING INTO SHIP STREET, GREENWICH (1830).
A writer in the Somerset House Gazette and
Literary Museum, in 1824, could complain, and
apparently with some show of truth, that even in
his time Greenwich merry-making was but the
ghost of what it had been. He bewails the utter
absence of that "joyous vulgarity, that freedom,
fun, and variety," which had been its boast and
attraction; but "still," he adds, by way of compensation, "there was a tolerable display, a sickly
smile of gaiety about the place. I passed through
a formidable array of gingerbread soldiers, drawn
up in front of a booth, as if for the protection of
the watches, horses, turkey-cocks, old ladies, and
gridirons, which were ranged behind. The uniform
of the military was very imposing; they were
attired in suits of gold leaf; to swallow one of the
doughty heroes would have been to realise the fate
of Crassus. Next succeeded the legerdemain and
'rowly-powly' gentry; the mermaids and mountebanks, and wonders of every class, from a penny to
sixpence, which showed that the fair had not altogether declined from its ancient character. To
quote the old ballad about another fair—
'In houses of boards men walk upon cords
As easie as squirrels crack filberds;
And the cut-purses they do bite and away,
But these we suppose to be ill-birds.
'For a penny you may see a fine puppet-play,
And for two pence a rare piece of art;
And a penny a cann, I dare swear a man
May put six of them into a quart.
'Their sights are so rich they are able to bewitch
The heart of a very fine man-a;
Here's patient Grizel here, fair Rosamunda there,
And the history of Susannah.'
The literary part of the amusements," he continues,
"was sadly neglected. In vain did learned dogs
boast of their erudition, or dandy-pigs shuffle the
cards and play dominoes. … The showman
of one of these establishments, sadly mortified,
paraded in front of his booth; by turns he listened
to the chattering of his monkey and the grunting
of the youthful porkers."He then records a row
and its issue, a general mêlée; and adds, in conclusion, "I had seen quite enough of the fair, and
was soon on my way back from Greenwich."
VIEW FROM ONE-TREE HILL, GREENWICH PARK, IN 1846.
Allusion is made to the fair in Thackeray's
"Sketches and Travels in London," where Mr.
Brown says threateningly to his nephew, "If ever
I hear of you as a casino-hunter, or as a frequenter
of races and Greenwich fairs, and such amusements
in questionable company, I give you my honour
you shall benefit by no legacy of mine, and I will
divide the portion that was (and is, I hope) to be
yours among your sisters." The fair figures also
in his "Pendennis," where the major, Sir Francis,
and Foker dine at Greenwich, and Blanche cries
out, "I adore Richmond, that I do; and I adore
Greenwich, and I say I should like to go there."
It will be remembered that the major, being an
old soldier, allowed the young men to pay for the
dinner between them.
Charles Dickens devotes one of his "Sketches
by Boz" to a description of the cockneys making
a holiday on Easter Monday at Greenwich Fair,
describing, in his usual graphic style, the frolics
and dangers of the road thither, the jostling of
the crowds of fathers, mothers, apprentices and
their sweethearts playing at "Kiss in the ring"
or "Thread the needle," and dining and supping,
and smoking al fresco, and crowding into Richardson's show, the dancing-booths, and the wild beast
caravans, from noon-day till long past the hour
of midnight. He writes, "If the parks be the
lungs of London, we wonder what Greenwich Fair
is—a periodical breaking-out, we suppose; a sort
of spring rash; a three days' fever, which cools the
blood for six months afterwards, and at the expiration of which London is restored to its old habit of
plodding industry as suddenly and as completely
as if nothing had ever occurred to disturb them."