Walking the City of London

Month: July 2022

The definitive guide to the Samuel Pepys Seething Lane Garden. Part 2 – a very full life.

To Pepys, music wasn’t just a pleasant pastime; it was also an art of great significance – something that could change lives and affect everyone who heard it. He was a keen amateur, playing various instruments and studying singing – he even designed a room in his home specially for music-making.

Here are some of the instruments that Pepys played – a fiddle, a flageolet and recorders …

And a theorbo lute …

Alan Lamb, who supervised the carvings, working on the lute. Read more about him and his team here

Pepys attended St Paul’s School as a boy and the hind is from the school’s coat of arms …

Samuel had been a student at Magdalene College, Cambridge and bequeathed the College his vast library of over 3,000 tomes (including the six volumes of his diary). The library, which bears his name, is represented here (the Wyvern is the College crest) …

Pepys kept the diary from 1660 until 1669. The first page …

‘Blessed be God, at the end of last year I was in very good health, without any sense of my old pain but upon taking of cold. I live in Axe Yard, having my wife and servant Jane, and no more family than us three. My wife, after the absence of her terms for seven weeks, gave me hopes of her being with child, but on the last day of the year she hath them again.’

In 1655 when he was 22 he had married Elizabeth Michel shortly before her fifteenth birthday. Although he had many affairs (scrupulously recorded in his coded diary) he was left distraught by her death from typhoid fever at the age of 29 in November 1669. Her silhouette is in the garden paving …

Pepys was on the ship the Royal Charles that brought Charles II back to England at the Restoration and was also a Trinity House Master on two occasions. The carving shows the ship and a section of the Trinity House coat of arms …

The Diary – September 1660 : ‘I did send for a cup of tee (a China drink) of which I never had drank before my lady having made us drink our morning draft there of several wines, but I drank nothing but some of her coffee, which was poorly made, with a little sugar in it’. Tea and coffee are represented in the garden by tea leaves and coffee beans …

Pepys’s home meant that his local Church (‘our own church’ as he described it) became St Olave Hart Street, which is still there for us to explore today. The church is represented by an angel from the vestry ceiling and skulls from the churchyard entrance …

In 1673 he was involved with the establishment of the Royal Mathematical School at Christ’s Hospital which was to train 40 boys annually in navigation for the benefit of the Royal Navy and the English Merchant Navy, The commemorative paver is entitled ‘The science and practice of navigation’ …

He wrote of a visit to Bartholomew Fair : ‘… but above all there was at last represented the sea, with Neptune, Venus mermaids and Ayrid on a dolphin’. You’ll find a mermaid in the garden …

If you wander around the garden here are the other carvings that you will encounter.

 Samuel’s monogram …

A watermark from a letter to Pepys from King James II …

Pepys was President of the Royal Society when Sir Isaac Newton       published Philosophiae Principea …

 A map of Pepys’s London …

The Naval Office in Seething Lane where Pepys worked …

The Pepys coat of arms …

A teasel from the arms of the Clothiers Company where Pepys was once the Master …

Pepys’s profile …

Were he to arise from his resting place next to Elizabeth in St Olave’s what would he make of all this? I’m sure he would be delighted that his ‘own church’ was still there along with the lovely bust of Elizabeth he commissioned after her death. She still looks pretty and animated as if in conversation …

And surely he would be proud of his own bust in the garden, especially as it also commemorates Beauty Retire. Being a man of insatiable curiosity, he would no doubt want to know more about the mechanics of how the garden was irrigated using rainwater harvested from the roof of the hotel next door!

When he retired as secretary of the affairs of the Admiralty of England in 1689 ’not only had he doubled the navy’s fighting strength, but he had given it what it had never possessed before and what it never again lost—a great administrative tradition of order, discipline and service’. The orator of Oxford University declared ‘To your praises, the whole ocean bears witness; truly, sir, you have encompassed Britain with wooden walls.’ Samuel might be a little disappointed that, now in the 21st century, the mention of his name brings to many peoples’ mind only his famous diary.

If you need help finding the various carvings here’s a useful little map …

Do visit the garden if you get the chance. It’s also an opportunity to visit the beautiful St Olave’s Hart Street, Sam’s ‘own church’, which is located nearby. I’ve written about it before and you can find my blogs here and here.

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The definitive guide to the Samuel Pepys Seething Lane Garden. Part 1 – bladderstones, lions and an unfortunate King.

I have written about the garden in Seething lane before since it contains carvings that commemorate the life of the great diarist and naval innovator. However, I thought it might be useful to combine all my previous efforts in two blogs and this is the first so that if you visit the garden (and I strongly recommend you do) you will have easy access to all the information.

An existing bust of Pepys has been given a new plinth and one’s eyes are drawn to the sculpture as you walk along Seething Lane …

The new plinth incorporates musical notes …

The music carved on it is the tune of Beauty Retire, a song that Pepys wrote. So if you read music you can hear Pepys’s creation as well as see his bust. He was evidently extremely proud of Beauty Retire for he holds a copy of the song in his most famous portrait by John Hayls, now in the National Portrait Gallery …

Pepys had been plagued by recurring stones since childhood and, at the age of 25, decided to tackle it once and for all and opt for surgery. He consulted a surgeon, Thomas Hollier, who worked for St Thomas’ Hospital and was one of the leading lithotomists (stone removers) of the time. The procedure was very risky, gruesome and, since anaesthetics were unknown in those days, excruciatingly painful. But Pepys survived and had the stone, ‘the size of a tennis ball’, mounted and kept it on his desk as a paperweight. It may even have been buried with him. One of the garden carvings shows a stone held in a pair of forceps.

Every year, on the anniversary of his surgery, Pepys held what he called his ‘Stone Feast’ to celebrate his continued good health and there is a carving in the garden of a table laden with food and drink …

Pepys stayed in London during the terrible time of the plague which he first wrote about on 30th April 1665 mentioning ‘great fears of the sickness’. Despite this, he bravely wrote on 25 August to Sir William Coventry ‘You, Sir, took your turn at the sword; I must not therefore grudge to take mine at the pestilence’.

As plague moved from parish to parish he described the changing face of London-life – ‘nobody but poor wretches in the streets’, ‘no boats upon the River’, ‘fires burning in the street’ to cleanse the air and ‘little noise heard day or night but tolling of bells’ that accompanied the burial of plague victims. He also writes in his diary about the desensitisation of people, including himself, to the corpses of plague fatalities, ‘I am come almost to think nothing of it.’

The pestilence is represented by a plague doctor carrying a winged hourglass and fully dressed in 17th century protective clothing. No one at the time realised that the plague could be spread by fleas carried on rats. One of the species sits cheekily at the doctor’s feet …

There is also a flea based on a drawing from Robert Hooke’s Micrographia. While visiting his bookseller on a frosty day in early January 1665 Pepys noticed a copy of the book ‘which‘, Pepys recorded in his diary, ‘is so pretty that I presently bespoke it’

The illustration in the book …

The Great Fire of London began on 2 September 1666 and lasted just under five days. This is a contemporary view from the west held in the Museum of London collection …

One-third of London was destroyed and about 100,000 people were made homeless. He wrote in his diary ‘I (went) down to the water-side, and there got a boat … through (the) bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods: poor people staying in their houses as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs by the water-side to another. And among other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows and balconys till … some of them burned their wings and fell down.’

A boat in the foreground with the City ablaze in the distance while a piece of furniture floats nearby …

His house was in the path of the fire and on September 3rd his diary tells us that he borrowed a cart ‘to carry away all my money, and plate, and best things‘. The following day he personally carried more items to be taken away on a Thames barge, and later that evening with Sir William Pen, ‘I did dig another [hole], and put our wine in it; and I my Parmazan cheese, as well as my wine and some other things’

There’s a carving of a monkey who is sitting on some books and appears to have taken a bite out of a rolled up document. This refers to an entry in Pepys’s diary for Friday 18th January 1661 :  ‘I took horse and guide for London; and through some rain, and a great wind in my face, I got to London at eleven o’clock. At home found all well, but the monkey loose, which did anger me, and so I did strike her till she was almost dead’.  I’m not sure whether it was his pet or his wife’s, but it certainly paid a heavy price for its misbehaviour.

On 11th January 1660 he visited the Tower of London menagerie and ‘went in to see Crowly, who was now grown a very great lion and very tame’. Crowley also has a carving in the garden …

In 1679 tragedy struck when Pepys was arrested, dismissed from service and sent to the Tower of London on charges of ‘Piracy, Popery and Treachery’. The first two were outlandish and easily disproved but much more damaging and dangerous was the rumour that he had sold state secrets to the French (a crime which carried the terrifying penalty of being hanged, drawn and quartered). Using his own resources and considerable network, he tracked down the story to a lying scoundrel called John Scott. Pepys was subsequently freed and this frightening episode in his life is recorded in the garden by a carving of him incarcerated in the Tower …

He was to return to office in 1686 with the full support of the new king, James II, and set up a special ‘Navy Commission’ to clear the navy’s accounts and restore the force to its 1679 levels. This was completed six months ahead of schedule and was probably his last, and arguably greatest, achievement.

Back in 1649 Pepys had skipped school and witnessed the execution of King Charles the First outside the Banqueting House in Whitehall. There is a carving of the poor King’s head being held aloft by his executioner …

On 9th May 1662 he wrote : ‘Thence to see an Italian puppet play that is within the rayles there, which is very pretty, the best that ever I saw, and great resort of gallants. So to the Temple and by water home’. The ‘puppet play’ was probably Punch and Judy (trigger alert, they have dropped the baby!) …

Part 2 dealing with the remainder of the carvings will follow next week.

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The Whitecross Street Party Art – even better this year. Check out the robin with the positive Covid test!

The announcement I always look forward to …

Crazy creatures blocking the road mean something interesting is happening further up the street …

Lots of stalls …

You won’t go hungry …

There’s a friendly dragon …

A sunbathing fox …

And a shy whale …

Over the weekend there is art being created everywhere ….

Aspiring future exhibitors …

Some of the finished work …

Look at what the jackdaw has in his beak …

Extraordinary work by Stringman …

And the ones that made me smile …

Goodbye until next year …

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St Martin Within Ludgate – Wren’s least altered church (containing some clever word games and the remains of a 17th century food bank).

One of the most striking aspects about St Martin Within Ludgate is its tall, sharp leaded spire which, when seen from the lower part of Fleet Street, is a deliberate foil to the massive rounded dome of St Paul’s Cathedral …

The slim Portland stone exterior facing onto Ludgate Hill was designed by Wren to be best seen from the side …

I think the church suffers a bit because people walking past are more likely to be focused on St Paul’s and therefore miss the modest entrance to St Martin’s. There is a large entrance lobby (designed to reduce traffic noise inside the church) and you then enter one of Sir Christopher Wren’s least altered interiors (1677-1686) with fine dark woodwork which largely escaped the Blitz.

Look up and you will see this beautiful chandelier or candelabrum which is still lit by candles …

As one commentator has noticed, it looks more like something you would find in a country house or a ballroom. The candles were not lit when I visited but I am sure that when they are, on a dark morning or evening, one must get a real feel for what it was like to worship here in earlier centuries. It came to the church via St Vincent’s Cathedral in the West Indies, probably in 1777: a reminder of the links between the City’s trading economy and the British Empire overseas.

And now to the very unusual font and the first word game …

The bowl is white marble and the wooden supporting plinth is painted to look like stone. It dates from 1673, predating the church, and was previously located in a ‘tabernacle’ used by the congregation during the rebuilding.

It contains a Greek palindrome copied from the Cathedral of St Sophia in Constantinople:

Niyon anomhma mh monan oyin

(Cleanse my sin and not my face only)

The second word game is associated a plaque that was originally housed in St Mary Magdalene’s on Old Fish Street which burned down in 1888. I am indebted, as I often am, to the blogger A London Inheritance who pointed out in his blog something I missed when I first visited the church.

The plaque records a charity set up by Elizabethan fish monger Thomas Berry, or Beri. He is seen on the left of the plaque, and to the right are ten lines of text, followed by two lines which describe the charity:

“XII Penie loaves, to XI poor foulkes. Gave every Sabbath Day for aye”

The plaque is dated 1586, and the charity was set up in his will of 1601 which left his property in Edward Street, Southwark to St Mary Magdalen, with the instruction that the rent should be used to fund the loaves. The recipients of the charity were not in London, but were in Walton-on-the-Hill (now a suburb of Liverpool), a village that Berry seems to have had some connection with. The charity included an additional sum of 50s a year to fund a dinner for all the married people and householders of the town of Bootle.

The interesting lines of text are above those which describe the charity. Thomas seems to have spelled his last name either Berry or Beri and these ten lines of anti-papist verse include his concealed name.

St Martin Ludgate

I am a big fan of helpful signage …

The reredos …

… and the communion rails …

There is magnificent carving on the pulpit …

It’s original to the church (1680), made of oak and hexagonal in shape. Each face has an oval panel inlay with rich swags of fruit and flowers carved at the angles …

The sword rest is 18th century wrought iron and is also from St Mary Magdalene like Berry’s plaque. It was seriously damaged in the fire that destroyed the church and is much restored …

Another refugee from St Mary’s is a set of 17th century bread shelves. They would have hung from one of the walls on the entrance porch. After morning service wealthy parishioners would place bread on the shelves for the poor of the parish to collect …

As you can see, they have now been repurposed.

Also on display is one of the bells from the post Great Fire rebuild. Resting on an iron chest, the bell dates from 1683 and was a ‘Gift of William Warne, Scrivener to the Parish of St Martin’s Ludgate’ …

There are four beautifully carved door surrounds illustrating the great skill of the craftsmen of the late 1600s – in this case joiner William Grey and carver William Emmett …

On this one they have (perhaps rather cheekily) included an open pea pod which was a mark commonly associated with the great Master Carver Grinling Gibbons

Here we are sternly ‘admonished’ to imitate the virtues ‘for thine own sake’ of the late John Purcas and his ‘deserving partner’ Anna …

And finally, these made me smile. Presumably people had been nicking their coat hangers – you can’t trust anyone these days …

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