Dulwich
Of the many villages of Northern Surrey that have during the last half-century been converted into popular suburbs of London, few have had a more interesting history than Dulwich, which has, moreover, in spite of all the changes that have taken place in it and its surroundings, retained something of the sylvan character that distinguished it when it was a mere outlying forest hamlet of the monastery of Bermondsey. On the dissolution of the religious houses the manor of Dulwich was given by Henry VIII. to Thomas Calton, from whose descendants it was bought in 1606 by the famous actor and Lord Mayor of London, Edward Alleyn, who on his retirement from the stage took up his residence in the ancient mansion belonging to it, from which he watched the rising up of the 'Chappell, Schoole House and Almshouses' that formed the nucleus of the celebrated college founded by him, to which he gave the beautiful name of God's Gift.
In his delightful retreat the generous patron worked out the details of his scheme with the aid of his architect and other helpers, and in its grand old hall he probably received the first master and warden of his new foundation, and nominated the earliest recipients of his bounty. From the Dulwich manor-house, too, are dated many of the letters still preserved, that reveal the difficulties with which Edward Alleyn had to contend before he could obtain the royal sanction necessary to the permanent success of his enterprise, his chief opponent, strange to say, having been the enlightened Lord Bacon, then Lord Chancellor of England, who was anxious that he should endow learning rather than relieve poverty. In 1619, however, the victory was finally won, for on the 21st June of that year the Great Seal of England was affixed to letters patent granting leave to Edward Alleyn 'to found and establish a college in Dulwich to endure and remain for ever to the glory of Almighty God.' God's Gift College, thus started on its long and useful career, originally consisted of a master and a warden, both to be of the same name as the founder, four fellows, six poor brethren, six poor sisters, and twelve poor scholars to be selected from four London parishes. Later, however, the founder somewhat extended his scheme, admitting eighty instead of twelve students, and allowing the children of non-resident parents to share in the benefits of the college on the payment of a small fee.
DULWICH COLLEGE
DULWICH COLLEGE
The land included with the 'Chappell, Schoole House and Almshouses' in Edward Alleyn's munificent gift extended from the heights now covered with houses, known as Champion and Denmark Hill, across the valley in which nestled the village of Dulwich, to the lofty ridges now occupied by Sydenham and Forest Hill, the value of which has increased more than a thousandfold since the death of the donor, so that it became absolutely necessary to modify the original rules, which, in spite of Alleyn's earnest desire to provide for future contingencies, were from the first wanting in the elasticity necessary to meet the inevitable changes that time brings about. Not until 1857, however, was any radical transformation effected, but at that date an Act of Parliament was passed fully meeting the necessities of the case.
The buildings erected under the superintendence of Alleyn fell into decay soon after their completion, and those replacing them suffered much during the Civil War, when troops were quartered in the chapel, who not only defaced the walls and desecrated the altar, but melted down the leaden coffins enshrined in it to convert the material into bullets. After the death of Charles I., whose cause had been espoused by the fellows, all the revenues and lands of the college were confiscated by Cromwell, but on the accession of Charles II. they were restored to their owners, and they have never since been tampered with.
The ancient college buildings have been well restored, and retain the old entrance-gates of finely wrought iron surmounted by the crest and motto of the founder. They are grouped about a central square, and consist of a chapel, in the chancel of which Edward Alleyn is buried, a dining-hall, and an audit room, in which is an interesting collection of portraits, a library containing more than five thousand volumes, a schoolroom, and a kitchen. Adjoining the quadrangle, on the south-west, is the comparatively modern picture-gallery, built after the designs of Sir John Soane for the reception of a fine collection of pictures bequeathed to the college in 1811 by Sir Francis Bourgeois, on the singular condition that he and his friends, Monsieur and Madame Desenfans, from whom he had inherited the paintings, should be buried near them. Their remains rest in a mausoleum connected with the gallery, that was thrown open to the public in 1817, and contains, amongst many other priceless treasures, masterpieces by Rembrandt, Murillo, Velasquez, Gainsborough, and Sir Joshua Reynolds. The new school buildings at Dulwich were built under the superintendence of Sir Charles Barry after the radical change in the constitution of the college, and were opened in 1870. They include a noble central block with a spacious hall, a lecture-theatre and library, whilst two wings connected with them afford accommodation for a large staff of masters and some eight hundred boys.
Sydenham
Although the fame of its college and gallery has long since eclipsed that of its spa, Dulwich was at one time much frequented by the wealthy citizens of London, who resorted there to drink the waters of a spring near the Green Man Inn, the site of which was later occupied by the private school of Dr. Glennie, pulled down in its turn in 1825, in which Lord Byron was a pupil for two years. There was a rival well in the neighbouring hamlet of Sydenham that was even more popular, but all traces of both are now lost, and there is absolutely nothing about the densely populated neighbourhood dominated by the Crystal Palace, to recall the days when Campbell lived in the old house still standing on Peak Hill, where he wrote 'Gertrude of Wyoming,' 'O'Connor's Child,' and the 'Battle of the Baltic.' The view from the terrace of the palace itself is of course much the same in its general features as that upon which the poet looked down, but the forest in which he used to wander, that gave its name to Forest Hill, is replaced by a sea of villas with no special character about them. Fortunately the palace, in spite of the north wing having been destroyed by fire in 1866, is a dignified-looking structure. It was built with the materials and partly on the plan of the Great Exhibition of 1851, and the public are to be congratulated on the fact that its three hundred acres of grounds preserve some of their original rural character when the district was one of the most beautiful near London.
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
Anerley, once famed for its tea-gardens; Gypsy Hill, long the haunt of Zingari squatters; Norwood, or the wood north of Croydon; Streatham, long the home of Mrs. Piozzi, with whom Dr. Johnson often stayed; and Penge, that appears in an early nineteenth-century map as a town with one inn, the Crooked Billet, were all for many centuries outlying settlements, each with a distinctive charm of its own, the last-named set in the midst of a wide-stretching common crossed by the Croydon Canal with many picturesque locks, now replaced by the iron road, the levelling influence of which is apparent on every side.
Hayes
From the somewhat melancholy fate that has overtaken so much of Kent and Surrey, the wildly beautiful Keston Common has so far escaped, and the villages of Hayes and Keston, both on its north-western edge, are still unspoiled. The former has a well-restored Early English church, its Georgian rectory is a fine example of the domestic architecture of its period, and near to it is the celebrated Hayes Place, built in 1757 by the great orator and statesman, Lord Chatham, whose favourite home it was. In it, two years after its completion, was born his even more famous son, William Pitt the younger, whose childhood was passed in a small house connected with Hayes Place by a covered-in passage, for his father was already suffering from the depression which so often clouded his happiness, and, as related by Horace Walpole, who was a frequent guest of Lord Chatham, the harassed statesman 'could not bear his children under the same roof, nor communication from room to room, nor whatever he thought promoted noise.' When in 1766 the elder Pitt inherited another property elsewhere Hayes Place was sold to the Honourable Thomas Walpole, but its previous owner was taken ill soon afterwards, and entreated the purchaser to let him have it back. He was convinced, he said, that he could recover nowhere else, and his whim was humoured, with the best results. Lord Chatham returned to his old home, which was his chief residence until his death. There he received George II. and George III., as well as the leading politicians of the day; and there the young General Wolfe dined with him on the eve of sailing for Canada. The younger William Pitt was now the constant companion of the 'oracle of Hayes,' as his father was affectionately called by his intimates, imbibing from him no doubt much of the practical wisdom that from the first distinguished him; and he it was who had the melancholy privilege of carrying the stricken minister from the House of Lords when he fell down insensible after his noble speech against the unworthy terms of peace proposed by the Duke of Richmond. The dying statesman was taken back to Hayes Place, where in a small room on the ground floor he breathed his last four weeks later.
After the death of Lord Chatham, Hayes Place was sold, and since then it has changed hands many times, but fortunately its various owners have respected it for the sake of its memories, and but for the addition of a new entrance-hall it remains practically what it was during the occupancy of its first owner. It is the same with the stables, that are some little distance from the house, which have been kept as they were when the old earl and his sons used daily to go down to inspect the horses, and in one corner of the yard is a platform from which, according to tradition, William Pitt the younger used to rehearse his speeches in the presence of his father and the rest of the household.
Keston village, originally a dependency of the manor of the same name that was once the property of Bishop Odo of Bayeux, consists of a few old houses and cottages, some grouped about the Red Cross Inn, also known as Keston Mark, possibly because it is situated on an ancient boundary, others on the common near a picturesque windmill. Its church, a humble little sanctuary, with a nave and chancel only, contains a fine Norman arch, possibly a relic of an earlier building, and in its quiet graveyard rests the novelist Mrs. Craik, better known as Miss Muloch.
Holwood House
On Keston Common, in a spring known as Cæsar's Well, rises the Ravensbourne, which widens close by into a series of ponds overshadowed by venerable trees, and near to them, within the grounds of Holwood House, are the remains of a Roman camp in which, according to some authorities, Aulus Plautius awaited the coming of the Emperor Claudius to receive the homage of the conquered Britons. Whether there be any foundation for this belief or not, there appears at one time to have been an important Roman settlement on Holwood Hill, a complete villa, the foundations of a temple, and many bricks and tiles having been unearthed at different times. Keston is, however, now chiefly celebrated for its connection with William Pitt, who lived for many years in a house that occupied the site of the present mansion in Holwood Park. Even when still a child living on his father's estate at Hayes, Pitt longed, as he often told his friends, 'to call the wood of Holwood his own,' and great was his delight when, in 1785, two years after he became Prime Minister, he was able to purchase it. The table at which he used to write is still preserved in Holwood House, and the park was laid out by him. Many of its trees were planted by his own hand, and others, already venerable when he became their owner, are associated with interesting incidents of his career. One noble wide-spreading oak near the chief entrance to the park is specially revered, because of the tradition that Pitt and William Wilberforce were seated beneath it when they arranged the opening of the campaign against slavery, a fact commemorated by a quotation from one of the latter's letters that is cut in the back of a stone seat marking their resting-place, placed in position by Lord Stanhope in 1862. 'I well remember,' said the philanthropist, 'after a conversation with Mr. Pitt, in the open air, on the root of an old tree at Holwood, just above the steep descent into the vale of Keston, I resolved to give notice, on a fit occasion, to bring forward the abolition of the slave-trade.' The important meeting probably took place in 1787, and Wilberforce was often at Holwood House during the first few of the nineteen years' struggle thus inaugurated, finding distraction from his ever accumulating worries in aiding his host in his amateur woodcraft. In his diary for April 7, 1790, for instance, he records how he sallied forth with Pitt and Grenville, then Speaker of the House of Commons, 'armed with bill-hooks, cutting new walks from one large tree to another through the thickets,' neither of them dreaming how soon the beautiful estate would cease to belong to their host who, a little later, was compelled to part with it. It was sold for £15,000, a very large sum for those days, and, after changing hands more than once, was bought by a Mr. John Ward, who, with little respect for its memories, pulled down the old house to make room for an ornate villa in the Italian style, and cleared away much of the woods that had been the Prime Minister's especial pride.
West Wickham
Though not quite so picturesquely situated as Keston, the neighbouring villages of Farnborough and Downe—the former associated with the name of Sir John Lubbock, who lived for some years at High Elms, the latter with that of Charles Darwin, who long resided at Downe House—have something of its quiet charm. West Wickham, too, though it has unfortunately recently been discovered by the jerry-builder, is still a pretty place, the older cottages and farms clustering about Wickham Court, erected on the site of the original manor-house in the reign of Edward III. by Sir Henry Heydon, but almost entirely rebuilt in the time of Henry VIII. The Heydons were near relations of Anne Boleyn, who is said to have passed some of her happiest days at Wickham Court when her royal suitor was courting her, a tradition confirmed by the true-lovers' knot in which her initials and Henry's are intertwined, engraved on one of the windows in the dining-hall. Very often, probably, the enamoured pair paced to and fro on the smooth bowling-green or on the long grass walk, still known as Anne Boleyn's, between the dense yew hedges, that remain unchanged to this day. Sometimes, too, it is related, the fair Anne would await the coming of her lover in a little Gothic tower, to which a subterranean corridor gave access, and the two may possibly have explored together the secret passages that led beneath the grounds of the mansion to Hayes Common and elsewhere. A new entrance was made to Wickham Court by Sir Charles Farnaby, the ancestor of the present owner, but the rest of the house is much what it was when completed in the sixteenth century, and is a fine example of Tudor domestic architecture. The massive oaken door, with its huge iron bolt, may be the very one that was so often flung open to admit the guests of the Heydons, including Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, to pass through to the banquets held in the great hall. It bears the marks of many a siege, and must have received very rough usage in the troublous times of the Stuarts, when the gloomy dungeon beneath the north-west turret served sometimes as a prison to the enemies, sometimes as a hiding-place to the friends of the owner of the property.
The church of West Wickham, which, with the creeper-clad turrets and chimneys of the court form a charming group when seen from a distance, was rebuilt at the same time as the latter by Sir Henry Heydon, and owns some fine sixteenth-century windows, including one representing scenes from the legend of St. Catherine. There are also some well-preserved monuments and brasses in the nave and chancel, and in the churchyard, entered by an ancient lych gate, with a tiled roof, are some interesting old tombs.
In a wood not far from West Wickham is the grand old hollow oak painted by Millais as the hiding-place of his 'Proscribed Royalist,' and the village itself is associated with the memory of many other famous men. Before Lord Chatham bought the mansion at Hayes in which his celebrated son was born, he lived for some years at South Lodge, and in a smaller house dwelt the Latin chronicler Gilbert West, who was often visited in his retreat by William Pitt the younger, Lord Lyttelton, and the eccentric merchant poet Richard Glover.
Addington
Another ancient and still picturesque village of Surrey is the beautifully situated Addington, the name of which is supposed to signify the town of the Edings, though who these Edings were history does not say. The manor is referred to in Doomsday Book as being held under the king by Tezelm, a cook in the royal service, and from that time to the accession of George III. the owners of the property were bound to observe the quaint custom of preparing a dish, or providing a substitute to do so, for the monarch's consumption on the day of his coronation. The last time the strange ceremony was performed was in 1760, when Mr. Spencer, then lord of the manor, presented to the newly crowned monarch a dish of pottage made according to an ancient recipe, and containing an extraordinary number of ingredients.
Early in the fifteenth century a manor-house that was more of a stronghold than a private home, was erected at Addington, on what is still known as Castle Hill, but it was pulled down in 1780 and replaced by a less ambitious building on another site, that later became a summer residence of the Archbishops of Canterbury, to whom the property passed by purchase in 1807. With the chapel and library, added in 1830, it now presents a very dignified appearance, and is surrounded by a beautiful park.
The parish church of Addington, though it has been much modified by restoration, retains a fine Norman arch dividing the nave from the chancel, some early Gothic arcades and three very ancient windows, with a good modern one to the memory of Archbishop Tait, who with his wife and one of his sons lie buried in the churchyard, close to Archbishop Longley. In the chancel are some quaint old monuments, notably one to some members of the Leigh family, and several interesting brasses, including that to the memory of Thomas Hatteclyff, who was one of the Masters of the Household of Henry VIII., and died in 1540.
There is little very distinctive about the modern village of Addington, though it retains a few quaint old cottages, and is celebrated for its inhabitants' love of flowers. It is, however, set down in very beautiful scenery, that seems likely long to remain unspoiled. Within easy reach of it and of Croydon, the former residence of the Archbishops of Canterbury, are several other pretty villages and hamlets, including Shirley, with a good modern church, finely situated on the edge of a breezy common; Woodside, that is rapidly losing its rural character through its proximity to the racecourse and railway; and Addiscombe, once famous for a fine old mansion, long the residence of Lord Liverpool, which was pulled down in 1863. When Lord Liverpool, who became Prime Minister in 1809, was at Addiscombe, his predecessor in that office, William Pitt, was often his guest, and the story goes that on one occasion the latter had a narrow escape from sudden death, for he and a party of politicians, who had been dining with the Tory statesman, dashed through the turnpike gates, without paying the toll. The keeper, supposing them to be highwaymen, fired his blunderbuss at the offenders, but with such bad aim that no one was hurt—somewhat, it was rumoured at the time, to the regret of Pitt's many enemies, who would gladly have heard of his removal from their path.
In a charming district east of Croydon are several other still picturesque villages that are gradually being drawn into the ever-widening circle of outlying London, amongst which must be specially noted Sanderstead, perched on the brink of the chalk-downs some 550 feet above the sea level. Mentioned in the will of its Anglo-Saxon owner in 871 as Sansterstede, the manor was in the possession one hundred and ninety-five years later of the abbey of St. Peter's, Westminster, and in the family of the Wigsells, to whom it now belongs, is preserved an interesting memorial of that ownership in the form of a deed bearing the abbey seal, recording the exchange of half a hide of land for a piece of equal value at Papeholt.
Purley
Although it has unfortunately been somewhat spoiled by restoration, the general appearance of the fifteenth-century parish church of Sanderstead, with its square tower and shingled spire, is much what it was when, in 1676, the mansion replacing the old manor-house—that is said to have been constructed of the materials of a twelfth-century monastery—was completed, and amongst the monuments preserved in it are three of considerable antiquarian interest: that of Joanna Ownstead, who died in 1587; that of her brother, John Ownstead, who was for forty years in the service of Queen Elizabeth, and passed away in 1601; and that to Mary Bedell bearing the date 1655. Within a short walk of Sanderstead is the village of Purley, generally believed to be named after William de Pirelea, who bought the land on which it and the mansion known as Purley Lodge are built, some time in the twelfth century, from the abbot of the neighbouring Monastery of Hide, of which no trace now remains. The date of the building of Purley Lodge is not known, but it is famous as having been the residence of John Bradshaw, who was President of the High Court of Justice that condemned Charles I. to death. Later it was the home of William Tooke, who often received in it his more celebrated friend, the Rev. John Horne, who took the name of his host in gratitude for the kindness shown to him in the long struggle with the Government during the War of Independence. After the imprisonment of Horne for getting up a subscription for the widows and orphans of those who fell at Lexington, or, as he expressed it, were murdered by the king's troops, Tooke gave him an asylum at Purley, and it was there that he completed the quaint Epea Ptroenta, to which he gave the sub-title of the 'Diversions of Purley.' On his death William Tooke bequeathed £8000 and Purley Lodge to Horne, who, though he had a house at Wimbledon, where he died in 1812, was often at Purley. He wished to be buried in the garden of the Lodge, and had prepared his grave and tombstone, the latter bearing the inscription—'John Horne Tooke, late Proprietor and now occupier of this spot, born in June 1736, died in—aged—contented and grateful'—but his relatives disregarded his instructions, and he rests in the parish where he breathed his last.
Other still secluded hamlets of north-east Surrey are Farley, with a very interesting Norman and Early English church, and a quaint old moated manor-house, now a farm, and Warlingham, long celebrated for its beautiful common, that was, alas, enclosed in 1864 with the exception of five acres that were reserved for a recreation-ground, the latter with a well-restored old church of uncertain date, the first, according to tradition, in which the service of Edward VI. was used.
Caterham
Warlingham was one of the four hams or homes on the hill occupied before the Conquest by the Saxon tribe known as Wearlingas, the other three having been Woldingham, Chelsham, and Caterham, near to all of which extensive remains have been found of early encampments and defences. Woldingham, that gives its name to a new suburb close by, is still a village, though its doom is evidently sealed, and it is the same with Chelsham, but Caterham has already grown into a town. Picturesquely built, partly in a beautiful valley and partly on the slope of a hill, it retains, however, some interesting relics of the long-ago, including a well-restored fourteenth-century church, and all four of the ancient hams are in touch with beautiful scenery, lofty and breezy commons commanding fine views alternating with well-wooded undulating districts.
Croydon
Situated near the source of the Wandle at the entrance to a beautiful valley that is shut in on the east by wooded hills, and on the west and south-west by breezy uplands, the prosperous modern town of Croydon occupies the site of a very ancient settlement that owned before the Conquest a church and a mill, as proved by the detailed description given of it in Doomsday Book. Now one of the largest and most important, though by no means the most picturesque of the Surrey suburbs of London, Croydon, the name of which is variously interpreted to mean the chalk hill, the crooked or winding valley, and the village of the cross, is associated from very early times with the history of the Church in England. Its manor, the value of which was assessed at the Conquest at sixteen hides and one virgate, was given by William I. to Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury, to whose successors it long belonged, though the palace that in course of time replaced the ancient manor-house was deserted by them in the middle of the eighteenth century and was later altogether superseded by that at Addington already referred to.
THE OLD PALACE, CROYDON
THE OLD PALACE, CROYDON
Combining, as did most of the episcopal residences of mediæval times, the strength of a fortress and the latest refinements of domestic architecture, the palace of Croydon before its partial destruction must have been a kind of epitome of the various styles that succeeded each other between the eleventh and eighteenth centuries, or, to quote the words of Archbishop Herring writing in 1754, 'an aggregate of buildings of different castes and ages.' Fortunately it still retains its three most distinctive features, the banqueting-hall, the guard-room, and the chapel, with some few relics of the many outbuildings for the use of its owner's retainers, and those of his guests, that once covered a vast area. In spite of all its manifest advantages, however, it was never a favourite residence of the archbishops, who, though many of them spent large sums upon it, are said to have complained constantly of its unhealthy situation. Henry VIII., too, often spoke of it in a disparaging way, and Lord Bacon once declared it to be 'a very obscure and dark place.'
Of the existing buildings the oldest is the guard-chamber, with a fine stone ribbed roof and a beautiful oriel window, a true gem of Gothic architecture. Built between 1396 and 1415 by Archbishop Arundel—who is chiefly remembered for his devotion to Henry Bolingbroke, at whose coronation as Henry IV. he officiated in 1399, and for his bitter hostility to the Lollards—the guard-chamber was the scene, in 1587, of the stately ceremony when Queen Elizabeth gave to Sir Christopher Hatton the seals of office of Lord Chancellor of England, that dignity having been refused by the then reigning Archbishop Whitgift, whose memory is held in high honour at Croydon as the founder of the famous hospital and other charities bearing his name.
Of somewhat later date than the guard-chamber, for it was built by Archbishop Stafford between 1443 and 1452, and restored in the seventeenth century by Archbishops Laud and Juxon, the great hall is still, in spite of much defacement, a noble structure, with a fine timber roof and a beautiful late Gothic porch. It is associated with many important historic memories, for in it, when in residence at Croydon, the archbishops held their court, receiving visits from the reigning sovereign and the great nobles and statesmen. It was there that Archbishop Cranmer, in 1553, condemned the heretic John Firth to the stake, at which he was himself to suffer three short years afterwards; there that Queen Mary, with Cardinal Reginald Pole as her adviser, presided over her first council after her beloved husband had left her and she had realised how hopeless was the task of winning his affections; and there her successor, Elizabeth, gave frequent audience to Archbishop Parker, whom she had made primate soon after her accession, and whom she sorely embarrassed by expecting him to give her and her whole court hospitality for several days at a time. In the great hall at Croydon, too, the virgin queen received the French ambassador after the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, taking his breath away by introducing him to his fellow-guests as the man who had plotted to bring about her own death; and it was there, perhaps, that the doomed Archbishop Laud penned much of the journal that reveals the secret springs of his severely criticised actions.
To Croydon, after the see of Canterbury had been vacant for fifteen years, came the newly appointed Archbishop William Juxon, the faithful friend who had ministered to Charles I. to the bitter end, in spite of the contempt the ill-fated monarch had shown for his wise counsels; and later the palace was tenanted for a few weeks at a time by Archbishop Sheldon, builder of the theatre named after him at Oxford, and by his successors: Sancroft, suspended in 1689 for his refusal to take the oath of allegiance to William and Mary; Tillotson, the famous preacher who attended Lord Russell on the scaffold; Tenison, Herring, Hutton, and Dr. Cornwallis; none of whom, except Archbishop Herring, who wrote of it in loving terms, showed any affection for their Surrey home.
The chapel of Croydon Palace, built under Archbishops Laud and Juxon between 1633 and 1663, occupies the site of a much earlier place of worship that is often referred to in ecclesiastical records. No trace of it, however, remains, and its successor has suffered much in the various vicissitudes through which it has passed. It was divided from the see of Canterbury in 1780, and secularised in 1807, after which it served for some time as an armoury for the local militia, and was put to other even less dignified usages. In 1887 it was bought, with the banqueting-hall, by the Duke of Newcastle, who presented both to the sisters of the Church Extension Society, and it is now an orphanage under the care of the Kilburn sisters.
The Saxon church of Croydon, or Croidene, as it was then spelt, referred to in the Doomsday Survey—whose priest, Ælffic by name, was one of the witnesses to a will still extant dated 960—probably rose, as did its Norman successor, from an islet in the midst of the head-waters of the Wandle, which united to form that tributary of the Thames in what was known as My Lord's or Laud's Pond in the palace grounds. Near to this church were a great water-mill and a huge dam, but this was not the mill of Doomsday Book, all trace of which is lost. The huts of the original settlement, of which a few interesting relics were discovered when the excavations were made for the railway, probably extended from the church in the direction of Beddington, but those that formed the nucleus of the new town, and were chiefly occupied by charcoal-burners, were grouped near the church on the Haling side. Until the completion in 1850 of the admirable modern system of drainage, the whole of the now healthy district of Croydon was frequently flooded, and for several centuries the inundations were looked upon as supernatural visitations that could not be averted, but were tokens of impending evil or good fortune. References to this strange belief are of frequent occurrence in the contemporary press, the seventeenth-century antiquary John Aubrey, to quote but one case in point, writing: 'Between this place (Caterham) and Coulsdon ... issues out sometimes a bourne which overflows and runs down to Croydon. This is held by the inhabitants to be ominous, and prognosticating something remarkable approaching, as it did before the happy restoration of Charles II. in 1660; also before the Plague of London in 1665.'
The walls of the church in which the priest Ælffic officiated were skilfully incorporated in the Gothic building that was begun in 1382, completed in 1442, and well restored in the sixteenth century; but unfortunately the latter, with the exception of the Norman walls and Early English tower, was destroyed by fire in 1869. A new building, however, soon rose out of the ruins of its predecessor, in which these two distinctive features were skilfully retained, and the lines of the ancient fabric were followed; but, strange to say, little attention was given to the old monuments, amongst which those to Archbishops Grindal, Whitgift, and Sheldon were the most remarkable, all of which were seriously damaged by the fire, which also destroyed several interesting epitaphs and some quaint frescoes that were discovered in 1845 beneath the whitewash disfiguring the walls.
The only other building of note in modern Croydon is the Whitgift Hospital, erected between 1596 and 1599 by the archbishop after whom it is named, for the reception of twenty-two old men and sixteen old women, and for the education of twenty poor children, ten boys and ten girls, who were under the care of a warden and schoolmaster, the latter also acting as chaplain. Well restored in 1860, and supplemented later by a modern college that receives as many as three hundred boys at a time, the actual hospital still presents very much the appearance it did during its founder's lifetime, and is a good example of Elizabethan architecture. In its hall, a spacious apartment with some fine stained glass, is preserved a black-letter Bible, said to have been given to the school by Queen Elizabeth; and in the room known as the treasury above the entrance-gate are several valuable MSS., including the letters-patent granted to Whitgift.
THE WANDLE NEAR CARSHALTON
THE WANDLE NEAR CARSHALTON
Carshalton
To the extensive parish of Croydon belong a number of outlying villages that were not long ago picturesque riverside hamlets, but are now rapidly developing into populous suburbs, with little to distinguish them from each other. There is still, however, a certain rural charm about Waddon, with its ancient mill, and Beddington, with its well-restored fourteenth-century church, in which are some interesting monuments to the Carews, retains something of the dignity that characterised it when its hall was the seat of that famous family. The history of Beddington can be traced back to Roman times, for near to it have been found the remains of a villa and foundry, with other relics left behind them by the conquerors from Italy; its manor is referred to in Doomsday Book as owning a church and two mills, and it was the property in the early fourteenth century of Sir Nicholas Carew. Forfeited in the reign of Henry VIII. by another Sir Nicholas, who was beheaded in 1539 for his supposed share in the Cardinal Pole conspiracy, it was restored to his son by Queen Elizabeth, who was often the guest of the new owner. The manor-house was either rebuilt or added to for her reception, and is said to have been a grand example of the architecture of the time, but it was unfortunately pulled down in 1709, with the exception of the great hall that was preserved in its successor, and now forms the nucleus of an orphanage for girls that was completed in 1866, its site, with the still existing buildings of the Carew mansion and twenty-two acres of its grounds, having been bought by the corporation of that institution in 1857. Not far from Beddington is the still pretty village of Wallington, famous for the beautiful gardens laid out in the low-lying meadows in which it is situated by the enthusiastic botanist Alfred Smee; and adjoining it is the more important Carshalton, that, in spite of much building in the neighbourhood, retains several picturesque features, notably one or two old mills on the Wandle. Known before the Conquest as Oulton, or the Old Town, a name implying great antiquity, Carshalton is supposed to have received the prefix now distinguishing it because of its position on cross-roads. In the Doomsday Survey no less than five manors are mentioned as included in Oulton that were later consolidated into one, and were owned until the time of Stephen by the powerful De Mandeville family. Confiscated then because of its owner's devotion to the cause of the Empress Maud, it has since changed hands many times, and of the ancient manor-house, associated with many memories of Norman times, not a trace now remains. To atone for this, however, in Carshalton Park—soon, alas! to be built over—is a fine eighteenth-century mansion, now a Roman Catholic convent, in which long lived the great lawyer Lord Hardwicke, replacing a much earlier building that was for some years the home of Dr. Ratcliffe, founder of the library at Oxford bearing his name. Another interesting old house in Carshalton is Stone Court, now the rectory, that once formed part of a much larger mansion, pulled down in 1800, that belonged at one time to Nicholas Gwynesford, Sheriff of Surrey in the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., and Henry VII., and who was also Esquire of the Body to the two latter monarchs.
CARSHALTON POND
CARSHALTON POND
The church of Carshalton was founded in the fourteenth century, but with the exception of the lower part of the tower, it has been entirely rebuilt. It contains, however, a very fine fifteenth-century brass to the memory of Thomas Ellymbridge, a servitor of Cardinal Morton, and several interesting old monuments, including one to the Nicholas Gwynesford mentioned above, and one to Sir William Scawen, the devoted friend of William III., who owned Stone Court from 1729 to his death. Close to the churchyard is another relic of the long-ago, a railed-in and arched-over spring, known as Queen Anne Boleyn's well, because of a tradition that its water suddenly gushed forth beneath the feet of her horse as she was riding with her husband from Nonsuch Palace to Beddington, a legend not borne out by historical fact, for the palace was not begun until three years after Henry VIII.'s second wife was beheaded. Probably the spring was in use long before the sixteenth century, as it is but one of several feeders of the Wandle that flows through Beddington, widening in the centre of the old village into a pond, that is referred to by Ruskin in the Crown of Wild Olives, near to which there used to be several picturesque old inns that were much frequented in coaching days by Londoners on their way to and from Epsom races.
Sutton
Some three miles from Carshalton, on the edge of the undulating downs, that under different names extend for many miles on every side, is the now populous town of Sutton, the last halting-place on the way to the world-famous racecourse, that still owns the ancient though modernised Cock Inn that is associated with so many memories, and the approaches to which are still crowded with vehicles of every variety during the race-weeks. The property in Saxon days of Chertsey Abbey, Sutton, has a long and well-authenticated history. Its manor remained in the hands of the monks until 1538, when it was given with those of Epsom, Coulsden, and Horley to Sir Nicholas Carew, who, as related above, already owned the neighbouring Beddington. Since then it has changed hands many times; in 1845 it was bought by a certain Thomas Alcock, who was in a great measure responsible for the conversion of a secluded hamlet, deserted by all but the resident farmers and their dependants, into a busy and prosperous suburb.
Two still beautiful though rapidly growing villages, within easy reach of Sutton, are Cheam and Ewell, both of which were long in close touch with the famous Nonsuch Palace, part of the site of which is now occupied by a nineteenth-century castellated mansion in the Elizabethan style, the only relics of its predecessor being the foundations of the banqueting-hall, that still remain in an orchard, near the long avenue of trees leading up to the entrance of the new house, that was once part of the now built over park.
The village of Cheam, situated on high ground commanding a fine view of the Downs, clusters about a modern church with a good spire, close to which is preserved the chancel of a much more ancient place of worship, containing some interesting monuments, including one to Lord John Lumley, the famous book collector, whose library was bought by James I. on the death of its owner in 1609, and is now in the British Museum, whilst in the care of the rector of Cheam parish are some exceptionally fine brasses, that were removed to preserve them from injury when the old church was destroyed.
THE COCK INN, SUTTON
THE COCK INN, SUTTON
The manor of Cheam belonged at the Conquest to the see of Canterbury, but it was divided somewhat later into two parts by Archbishop Lanfranc, who retained the eastern half himself, giving the western to the abbot of Canterbury Monastery. Both were, however, confiscated by Henry VIII., and granted by Queen Elizabeth to Lord John Lumley, who held them till his death, when they passed to his nephew, Henry Lloyd. The two old manor-houses were pulled down in the eighteenth century, but one of them is represented by a modern residence, known as Lower Cheam House. More interesting, however, is, or rather was until quite recently, the early Tudor homestead, bearing the name of Whitehall, containing a room called the council-chamber, because Queen Elizabeth is said to have once presided in it over her council when she was resident at Nonsuch Palace, which, according to local tradition, was connected with Cheam by an underground passage that had an entrance from a cellar beneath Whitehall. In this cellar, that probably served as a larder, the persecuted Protestants used to meet for worship in the reign of Queen Mary, and later, by a strange irony of fate, it was turned to account for the same purpose by the Roman Catholics of the neighbourhood.
Ewell
Ewell, the name of which is a corruption of the Saxon Ætwelle, signifying the village on the well, so called because it is close to the springs forming the source of a stream known as the Hogsmill, that joins the Thames at Kingston, was but a short time ago a secluded village, but is now rapidly growing into a popular suburb. Unfortunately its characteristic old market-hall has been pulled down, and of the ancient church the tower alone remains, but in its modern successor are preserved several old monuments, tablets, and brasses commemorating residents of days gone by, and in the churchyard are some ancient tombs with curious inscriptions. [Sidenote: Nonsuch Palace] Ewell, however, owes its chief distinction to its nearness to the site of Nonsuch Palace, and the whole surrounding district is full of memories connected with the Tudor sovereigns. Situated in the still sparsely populated parish of Cuddington, that owned a manor-house and church at the time of the Doomsday Survey, the history of which can be traced down to the sixteenth century, the property was acquired in 1539 by Henry VIII., who added it to his Hampton Court estate. With his usual reckless lavishness he resolved to clear away all the existing buildings to make room for a palace that should excel all his other residences. He enclosed sixteen hundred acres as pleasure grounds, and brought down from London a whole army of architects and workmen, under whose auspices quickly rose up a truly beautiful structure, to which the name of Nonsuch was given, because, said its proud owner, it had no equal. It was not quite completed when Henry's career was cut short by death, and his son, Edward VI., seems to have cared nothing for it. He simply handed it over to the care of the then Master of the Revels, Sir Thomas Carwardine, who evidently appreciated it greatly, for the story goes that when Queen Mary came to the throne and instructed him to vacate her palace at Nonsuch, he at first refused to leave it. Indeed, he remained till the royal retainers arrived, and many unseemly quarrels took place between them and their servants about trivial details such as the division of the produce of the royal gardens. There were armed encounters in the park before her majesty took over the custody of the property, to which, however, she was really as indifferent as her brother had been. She actually decided that the best way to save herself from further trouble connected with it would be to pull down the palace and sell the materials. It was saved from this untimely fate only through the generosity of the Earl of Arundel, who for love of his former master, who had taken such pride in it, persuaded the queen to exchange it for certain fair lands in his possession elsewhere. The transfer having been duly arranged, the new owner, as related by his biographer Lyons, proceeded 'fully to finish the house in building, reparations, pavements, and gardens in as complete and perfect sort as by the first intent and meaning of the King.' In it, thirty years after the first stone was laid, the Earl of Arundel entertained Queen Elizabeth and her court for a week, presenting her before she left with a costly set of plate. So greatly, indeed, did the maiden queen enjoy herself at Nonsuch that she longed to become its owner, and when a few years later it passed from the possession of her host to that of his son-in-law, Lord Lumley, she made overtures to the latter for its purchase, which had, of course, the force of a command. During the rest of her life Elizabeth was often at the palace, and from it many important state papers, and even more interesting private letters, were dated. It was there that took place the remarkable interview with her disgraced favourite, the Earl of Essex, after his return from Holland on Michaelmas Eve 1599, that is so vividly described by Rowland Whyte in an oft-quoted letter to Sir Robert Sydney, in which he says: 'At about ten o'clock in the morning my Lord of Essex lighted at Court Gate in post, and made all hast up to the Presence, and so to the Privy Chamber, and stayed not till he came to the Queen's Bedchamber, where he found the Queen all newly up, the hair about her face; he kneeled unto her, kissed her hands, and had some private speech with her, which seemed to give him great contentment for coming from her Majesty to go shift himself in his chamber, he was very pleasant, and thanked God, though he had suffered much trouble amid storms abroad, he found a sweet calm at home. 'Tis much wondered at here,' comments the writer, 'that he went so boldly to her Majesty's presence, she not being ready, and he so full of dirt and mire, that his face was full of it.' It was this very boldness, as Essex knew full well, that was his one chance with his angry mistress, but this time it did not serve him long. The memory was still fresh with them both of the bitter quarrel six months before, when Elizabeth, stung to the quick by his insolent assertion that 'her conditions were as crooked as her carcase,' had boxed his ears and told him to go and be hanged, and on the very night of his arrival at Nonsuch, after the apparent reconciliation, the earl was ordered to consider himself a prisoner. A few days later he left the palace in custody, and the next year he was beheaded in the Tower, all the appeals he had addressed to the woman, to whom, in spite of all his plots against her, he pretended to the last to have been devoted, having been in vain.
On the death of Queen Elizabeth James I. gave Nonsuch Palace to his consort, Queen Anne, and later Charles I. and Henrietta Maria were often there, but its days of glory were already over. It was confiscated by Parliament after the death of the king, but restored to the Crown on the accession of Charles II., who, when his widowed mother had passed away, gave it and the park in which it stood to his mistress, Lady Castlemaine, whom a little later he made Duchess of Cleveland. She, alas, valued not at all the memories of the historic building, but as soon as it was legally secured to her, she had it pulled down, let out much of the park in plots for building, and sold the deer that used to wander about in it. Thus suddenly ended the brief career of Henry VIII's dream palace, that is but poorly represented by its successor, a building erected in the early nineteenth century after the designs of the then popular architect, Sir Jeffrey Wyattville. Part of the once beautiful park is now occupied by the suburb of Worcester, but the grounds immediately surrounding the new residence, through which there is a public footpath to Cheam and Ewell, still retain much of their original charm, and some of the older trees may possibly have been amongst those beneath which Queen Elizabeth delighted to walk.
Epsom
Although it can scarcely, strictly speaking, be said to form a part of outlying London, the town of Epsom is so intimately associated with the metropolis, to which it has from first to last owed its prosperity, that an account of it may well be included in a book dealing as much with the memories of the past as with the attractions of the present. Its history can be traced back to the seventh century, when it is said to have been the residence of the holy abbess, St. Ebba, after whom it is named, the daughter of King Ethelred the Avenger, and sister of Kings Oswald and Oswy, whose story is very variously told, certain chroniclers declaring that she suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Danes after disfiguring herself to escape a worse fate; others that she died peacefully at a great age, surrounded by her devoted nuns. However that may be, no trace now remains of the home of St. Ebba at Epsom, though some are of opinion that its site is occupied by the farm now known as the Court, replacing the manor-house that is referred to in the Doomsday Survey as an appanage of Chertsey Abbey, which also owned in the same district the manor of Horton, the homestead of which is now represented by an eighteenth-century mansion called Horton Place, two churches and two mills, with many acres of land. To these a park, now known as that of Woodcote, with 'right of free chase and free warren,' was added in the twelfth century, the whole property remaining in the hands of the abbot of Chertsey until 1538, when it was bought from him by Henry VIII., who, strange to say, actually paid for it. A few months afterwards it was given to Sir Nicholas Carew, who already owned so much real estate in Surrey, and on his execution for treason in 1539 it reverted to the Crown. In 1589 it was bestowed by Queen Elizabeth on Edward D'Arcy, one of the Grooms of the Chamber, passing after his death through many different hands, at one time being owned by Mrs. Richard Evelyn, sister-in-law of the famous diarist.
For many centuries Epsom remained a secluded hamlet scarcely known to any one but the owners of the great houses in the neighbourhood, who delighted in its charming situation at the edge of the breezy Banstead Downs. The discovery early in the seventeenth century, however, of medicinal springs on the adjacent common inaugurated a complete change, and Epsom Spa soon became a formidable rival to Tunbridge Wells and Hampstead as a favourite resort of the beau monde of the capital, who flocked to it in crowds to drink its waters and amuse themselves. In that entertaining storehouse of local information The Worthies of England, published in 1662, the Rev. Thomas Fuller gives a very graphic description of the finding of the springs at Epsom in 1618: 'One Henry Wicker,' he says, 'in a dry summer and great want of water for cattle, discovered in the concave of a horse or neat's footing some water standing ... with his pad staff he did dig a square hole about it and so departed. Returning the next day, with some difficulty he discovered the same place, and found the hole running over with most clear water. Yet,' he adds, 'the cattle, though tempted with thirst, would not drink thereof, it having a mineral taste therin.' He then relates the gradual growth in popularity of the spring thus accidentally discovered, but he himself evidently had his doubts as to the real efficacy of the waters, for he remarks that he does not wonder the citizens coming to Epsom from the 'worst of smokes into the best of airs find in themselves a perfective alteration.'
In 1621 the lord of the manor had a fence put round the well and a rough shelter erected for the use of those who came to drink from it; but in spite of many efforts made by those interested in advertising its merits Epsom did not become really fashionable for another forty years, probably because the people of London were too much occupied by the political troubles of the day to be able to give much attention to other things. Soon after the Restoration however, the golden age of the Banstead Wells began: a great hall for balls and other entertainments, houses, inns, and shops sprang up as if by magic: regular services of coaches were established between London and the rapidly growing town on the downs; and all through the summer the approaches to the latter were crowded with the equipages of those in search of health or pleasure. Charles II. was very fond of going to Epsom with his court, and one special occasion was long remembered when he was accompanied by his consort Caroline of Braganza, his mistress, Lady Castlemaine, and his illegitimate son, the future Duke of Monmouth, then a handsome boy of twelve years old, who was born the very year of his grandfather's death on the scaffold. The neglected queen, it is said, looked really beautiful for once, but for all that she was quite eclipsed by her rival in her husband's affections, who was triumphantly lovely. The king won all hearts by his gracious manner, and it was indeed impossible to help sympathising with him in his evident delight in the noble child, who kept close to him all day, and would have been a noble heir to the throne.
The popularity of Epsom was maintained throughout the whole of the seventeenth century, as proved by many references to its attractions in the contemporary press. John Toland, for instance, in a work published in the reign of Queen Anne, speaks of it as 'an enchanted camp ... where,' he quaintly observes, 'the rude, the sullen, the noisy, the affected, the peevish, the covetous, the litigious, the sharping, the proud, the prodigal, the impatient, and the impertinent become visible foils to the well-bred, prudent, modest, and good-humoured.' In the early years of the reign of George III., however, the efficacy of the Banstead waters began to be doubted, and changing fashions resulted in the abandonment of Epsom by the beau monde. All efforts to revive interest in the once beloved resort were unavailing, and though the mineral spring still exists in a private garden, its existence was soon practically forgotten. By a strange turn of the wheel of fortune, however, what the fickle goddess took away with one hand she gave back with the other, for thanks to Banstead Downs being the scene of what is looked upon as a national event, the running of the annual races known as the Derby and the Oaks, Epsom has long occupied a more important position than it did even in the eighteenth century.
Epsom Races
According to local tradition James I., when resident at Nonsuch Palace, was the first to introduce horse-racing on the downs, but the earliest competitions referred to in the contemporary press were apparently between men, not horses. Pepys, writing as late as 1663, describes a foot-race between Lee, the Duke of Richmond's footman, and a certain Tyler, a famous runner. That horse-racing was practised in the reign of Charles I. is however, proved by the fact that in 1648 a meeting was held by the Royalists on Banstead Downs under pretence of looking on at it, on which occasion, as related by Clarendon in his History of the Rebellion, '600 horses were collected and sent to Reigate for the use of the King's adherents.'
Writing five years later, the dramatist Thomas Heywood says, 'Epsom is a place of great resort and commonly upon the market days all the countrye gentlemen appoint a friendly meeting ... to match their horses.' Charles II. was as fond of watching the racing as of attending the festivities at the spa, and it is generally supposed that it was his patronage that enabled Banstead to rival Newmarket in popular favour. However that may be, before the end of the eighteenth century the fame of the Epsom races had spread throughout the length and breadth of England, and advertisements of the principal events appeared in all the principal newspapers of the day. In an August number of the London Gazette for 1698, for instance, it is announced that the Banstead Downs Plate of £20 value will be run for on the 24th inst., being St. Bartholomew's Day; and the information is added that any horse may run for the said plate that shall be at Carshalton and certain other places specified, fourteen days before the Plate Day. Before many years of the eighteenth century had passed by Epsom had become practically the capital of the racing world, but the famous Derby and Oak Stakes were not instituted until 1779 and 1780. Both were founded by the then Earl of Derby, and were named, the former after him, the latter after his seat at Woodmansterne, a picturesque little village on the highest point of the Banstead Downs. As is well known, the May meeting, which lasts from the Tuesday to the Friday before Whitsuntide, during which these two great races are run, is the chief event of the racing year, and Derby Day is looked upon as a national festival, even members of Parliament taking a holiday in order to be present at the great event. A vast concourse of people assembles on the downs, and the scenes witnessed there and on the road to and from Epsom, that have been again and again eloquently described in poetry and prose, are without a parallel elsewhere. Scarcely less popular is the Oaks, often called the Ladies' Race, when only filly-foals are allowed to run, and the fair sex is always much in evidence among the spectators, but the excitement is generally less than on the Derby Day. The grand-stand of Epsom, the finest in England, commands a magnificent prospect, extending across the beautiful undulating downs beyond Windsor Castle on one side and London on the other. There are, moreover, many other fine points of view from the higher portions of the common, and the town itself, though deserted by all but its comparatively few residents except in race week, retains even now a certain picturesque appearance, with its clock tower rising up in the main street. The once much frequented assembly-rooms are now divided up into shops, and of the ancient church, in which the aristocratic drinkers of the waters used to worship, the tower alone remains. There are, however, several well-preserved eighteenth-century mansions in the neighbourhood, including Woodcote House, in which is a room with a ceiling painted by Verrio, and Pitt Place, in which Thomas, the second Lord Lyttelton, died suddenly on November 27, 1779, at the very time, it is popularly believed, predicted by the ghost of a girl he had wronged, who appeared to him as he was going to rest three days before the end.
Banstead
The village of Banstead, that gives its name to the famous downs, and is associated with the memory of Hubert de Burgh, is finely situated 536 feet above the sea-level and commands a view even finer than that from the grand-stand on the racecourse. Its history can be traced back to Norman times, but it retains scarcely any relics of the past, its ancient church having been almost entirely rebuilt and most of its old houses pulled down. It is, however, in touch with much charming scenery, and from it may be reached many beautiful hamlets still far beyond the furthermost limits of outlying London.
A century ago a charming little hamlet, traversed by the limpid stream of the Wandle, after which it is named, and surrounded on every side by breezy undulating commons, the thriving, bustling, and, in its poorer quarters, somewhat squalid town of Wandsworth has now little that is attractive about it except two or three ancient mills which, with the tawny-sailed barges, generally grouped at the mouth of the river that here joins the Thames, present a really picturesque appearance. There is, moreover, something dignified about the massive eighteenth-century church of All Saints in the modern High Street, and it contains several interesting monuments, notably one to Alderman Smith, a native of Wandsworth, whose memory, though he passed away as long ago as 1627, is still held dear in the neighbourhood, for he bequeathed large sums of money for the relief of the poor, and also for giving them work, proving his recognition of the importance of the problem of the unemployed, which public-spirited philanthropists had evidently much at heart even at that early date.
Wandsworth is unfortunately associated with but few important historic memories, but towards the end of the seventeenth century many French Protestants, who had fled to England after the massacre of St. Bartholomew's Eve, took refuge in it, and in the Huguenots' cemetery, just outside the town on the way to Clapham, are several tombstones marking their burial-places. Later, the exiled Voltaire was for three years the guest at Wandsworth, in a mansion now destroyed, of Sir Everard Fawkener; and the famous novelist, George Eliot, lived for some time in a house in Southfields, still distinguished by a vine growing on it planted by her.
In 1792 was founded in the neighbouring hamlet of Garratt, now absorbed in Wandsworth, the club for checking encroachments on the common, that for several years enjoyed some little fame through the addresses of the candidates for election having been written by the witty dramatist, Samuel Foote, who made the Mayor of Garratt the hero of a popular comedy, the great actor, David Garrick, and the versatile patriot, John Wilkes. Through the instrumentality of this gifted trio a purely local question was turned to account to bring forcibly before the public the abuses that attended the election of members of Parliament, but unfortunately the Garratt ceremony degenerated by degrees into an occasion for mob meetings characterised by riotous behaviour, the candidates being chosen, not on account of their fitness for the dignity to be conferred on them, but for some accidental reason, such as a personal deformity or a caustic wit. The rowdy scenes that took place at these mock elections were immortalised in a series of clever etchings by the celebrated mezzotint engraver, Valentine Green, and the names of Sir John Harper, Sir Jeffrey Dunstan, and Sir Harry Dunstable, none of whom had any right to the titles they assumed, are still remembered as 'mayors' who successively held office. In 1796 the elections were suppressed, and the Garratt Club ceased to exist, but early in the nineteenth century the work it had inaugurated was completed by the purchase for the public of all that was still left of the once vast Wandsworth Common.
Putney
Though it has grown during the last fifty years as rapidly as Wandsworth, the adjacent suburb of Putney, thanks to its fine situation on the main stream of the Thames, has retained a distinction that is wanting to its neighbour on the Wandle. It is, moreover, in close touch with much beautiful scenery, and is associated with the names of many men who have left their mark in history and in literature. True, the ancient church, supposed to have been founded early in the fourteenth century, in which, according to tradition, Cromwell and his generals several times met to hold council during the Civil War, was, with the exception of the tower, replaced by a modern building in 1836; many a noble riverside mansion has been pulled down; and the quaint old wooden bridge, on which the tolls were long levied by collectors wearing blue cloth costumes and armed with copper-headed staves, was improved away in 1886 when the present solid structure was completed, but the view across the river to Fulham, and up and down stream, remains full of charm. The grand water highway that has witnessed so many historic pageants is alive, for the greater part of the year, with a great variety of picturesque crafts, and the towing-path on the Surrey side is the scene of constant activity in the spring and summer, for Putney is still the headquarters of boating men, and it has for a long spell of years been the starting-point of the world-famous Oxford and Cambridge boat-race witnessed by thousands of spectators, whilst in 1906 took place, over the same course, the contest between the Cambridge and Harvard crews that excited, if possible, an even greater amount of interest.
PUTNEY REACH
PUTNEY REACH
At a very early date Putney was included in the manor of Wimbledon, and is referred to in the Doomsday Survey as Putenhei, a name supposed to mean the landing-place, that was changed to Puttenheth before it was contracted into its present form. A local tradition, however, explains the word Putney in another and somewhat amusing fashion. The original parish churches of Fulham and Putney, that greatly resembled each other, were, it is related, built with their own hands by two sisters who had but one set of tools between them. They therefore took it in turns to use them, flinging them across the river to each other, the Fulham builder crying out, for instance, when she wanted the hammer, to heave it full home, the Putney one, when her turn came, shouting—'Put it nigh.' Whatever explanation of its name be adopted it seems certain that even before the Conquest the hamlet of Putenhei was a place of some little importance, for the last of the Saxon kings had a fishery there, and also owned the ferry that existed long before the erection of the wooden bridge alluded to above, and was valued at 20s. a year. Harold's immediate successor as holder of the property was Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury, who paid no toll for crossing the river, but later it became customary for the lord of the manor to exact the payment of several salmon from the lessee of the fishery for the right of landing the spoil of the river on the Putney side, and up to the middle of the seventeenth century the three best salmon in every haul taken in March, April, and May were delivered at the manor-house of Wimbledon. About 1786, however, a money payment was substituted for value in kind, the amount varying from six to eight pounds per season until 1786, when for some unexplained reason, probably because of the decrease in the amount of fish taken, the landlord waived his right to tolls of any kind. For another thirty years, however, it was compulsory to present to the Lord Mayor of London all sturgeons or porpoises caught, the fishermen receiving one guinea for each of the former and thirteen shillings for each of the latter.
The Putenhei ferry continued to yield what was then considered a considerable revenue for many centuries, and a fine of 2s. 6d. was inflicted on any waterman who failed to exact a halfpenny from every stranger and a farthing from every inhabitant of Putney who availed himself of his services. In 1611 two delinquents, one hailing from Fulham, the other from Kingston, were summoned for carrying across divers persons at and near Kingston and Putney against the custom, and to the annoyance and prejudice of the owners of the common ferry, 'and having pleaded guilty and expressed contrition, they were, very much to their own surprise, let off with a reprimand.'
In 1727 the last owners of the ferry, Dr. Pethward and William Skelton, sold their rights to the custodians of the new bridge for £7999, 19s. 11d., the latter giving a further sum to the lady of the manor, the Duchess of Marlborough, for her share in the property, and £23 to the then Bishop of London, who, in virtue of his office, enjoyed the privilege of free passage of the river. Long before the eighteenth century, however, the need of some safer mode of transit was felt, for as traffic increased many accidents took place, through the upsetting of the ferry barges, collisions, etc. About 1629, for instance, Bishop Laud, lately appointed to the see of London, was nearly drowned with his whole suite when on his way one dark evening from Putney to his palace at Fulham, and for this reason he strongly advocated the building of a bridge, but more pressing affairs prevented him from taking any definite steps in the matter. When in 1642 the twin villages of Putney and Fulham were for the first time united by the temporary bridge of boats thrown across the river, after the battle of Brentford, by the Earl of Essex, Laud had left his palace at Fulham for the last time, for he was in the Tower awaiting the issue of his protracted trial. One of the forts that protected the linked lighters and barges, by means of which the defeated Parliamentary army passed over from Middlesex to Surrey, eager to retrieve the disaster at Brentford, is still standing, about five hundred yards below the present bridge, but the connection between the two banks was of course destroyed as soon as it had served its purpose, and it was not until 1871 that a bill was brought before Parliament for building a bridge to replace the ancient Putenhei ferry. It was, however, rejected by thirteen votes, and the reasons given for their opposition by the dissentients throw a singular light on the ignorance and prejudice of men sufficiently well educated to have secured election to the national assembly. The member for London, for instance, declared that 'a bridge so far up stream would not only injure and jeopardise the great and important city he had the honour to represent, and destroy its commerce, but would actually annihilate it altogether,' adding 'not even common wherries would be able to pass the river at low water, and would not only affect the interests of his majesty's government, but those of the nation at large.' This remarkable opinion was endorsed by the Lord Mayor of London, who believed 'that the piles of a bridge would stop the tide altogether,' and by Sir William Thompson, a truly typical Conservative, who went so far as to assert that if the bridge were built quicksands and shelves would be created through the whole course of the river ... and not a ship would be able to get nearer London than Woolwich. The limits of London,' he added, 'were set by the wisdom of our ancestors, and God forbid they should ever be altered.' This remarkable speech was delivered at a time when the rebuilding of the metropolis, after the Great Fire, was actively proceeding, and the most casual observer could not fail to realise how utterly inadequate to avert a catastrophe had been the wisdom of those who had set limits respected neither by the powers of nature nor by man. The city was indeed at that very time in the throes of a new birth; its old boundaries had been swept away, and out of the ashes of the picturesque but plague-haunted town of the past was rising up a new capital that was ere long to send forth outshoots in every direction, and eventually to absorb not only reluctant Putney, but many hamlets and villages even further afield than it.