Wednesday, 16 April 2014

2 Willow Road

Wednesday 16 April 2014

The three of us had planned for this to be a two-site trip, but we found Erno Goldfinger's House to be sufficiently thought provoking for one day.

The National Trust, for it is they who own it, does not allow photographs, so I suggest that you visit the website for a few images.

We arrived by Overground, mostly, with a touch of rail and tube and some of us patronised the handsome period conveniences at South End Green, before heading up the hill. 2 Willow Road opens at 11.00, and we discovered that we had chosen the time of day which is guided tours only (what did I say a few weeks ago?  check the website!)

The tour begins with a film, shown in what was once one of the two garages of the property.  It felt (and was) rather 1990s, with captioned talking heads describing Goldfinger.  Much of what we were told was repeated on the guided tour, so I think the film would be of more use to people who go in the afternoon and look round on their own.

Then our guide appeared, rather disconcertingly in fairly 17th century breeches;  perhaps 1930s 'spiv' gear might have been more appropriate. Starting outside, he pointed out the concrete frame of the house, with a single skin of bricks, and suggested that it fitted in well with what he described as the ugly Victorian and Edwardian houses further up the hill. You can form your own opinion here. Clearly environmental and conservation groups had less power then than they do now.  Ian Fleming was one of the objectors, getting his revenge later by naming a nasty villain after the architect.

We were told that, because concrete frames do not shift, there are almost no skirting boards in the house. We went indoors, and were shown the Pirelli rubber flooring, laid in the 1970s because the lower part of the house tended to flood as water poured off the Heath and down the road. What is it about architects and basic forward planning?  It seemed to me on a par with a bridge that wobbles when -oh look - lots of people use it, and an aquatic centre that needs extra seating put on top of it if is to fulfil its Olympic purpose.  But I digress.

This house was built between 1937 and 1939.  During the Second World War he was able to live in it, although there was not much architectural work to be had.  He had sensibly fallen in love with and married Ursula Blackwell, heiress to the Crosse and Blackwell canning fortune.  He did not become a British citizen until 1945, which may help to explain why he was not conscripted.  

From the narrow hallway, you go up spiral stairs with hemp balustrades and a brass rail to the living area on the first floor.  The servants' quarters in the basement are now the custodian's flat and so not open to the public.  The upstairs rooms are remarkably bright (except where the National Trust has protected the contents with net curtains on the south side)  There is a splendid dining room with a miniscule kitchen - in which, we were told, Ursula rustled up delicious meals for their many guests.  Also a studio/study and a living room.  This overlooks the garden, now looking lovely since it is cared for by the NT's gardener from Fenton House up the road. Apparently the Goldingers were not keen gardeners.  The rooms were divided by partitions which could be folded back to make large entertaining spaces.

All the walls in all the rooms are hung with items from the Goldfinger art collection, including Henry Moore drawings, Bridget Rileys and several Max Ernsts.  We found our guide rather too keen to express his own views on the art works, which made it a little hard to associate them with the family who had lived here, and who had chosen them.  But we did note the incongruity of some Austro-Hungarian candle holders which belonged to Goldfinger's mother, who lived in the house with them for several years; also a Staffordshire figure on the very modern mantlepiece.

Indeed, there were more surprising artworks, as the artist Ryan Gander has inserted 'interventions' in many rooms. 

Upstairs again, we saw the nursery, as well as a couple of bedrooms, very bare (unlike the cluttered living areas) and apparently very cold, as it was necessary to have grilles with circulating air to counter the condensation arising from the concrete and the metal windows.  It was built in the period where rooms had wash basins, and the lavatory was separate from the bathroom, which seems strange to the modern mind.  The 'master bedroom' had an ensuite bathroom with a bidet which, as our guide said, must have puzzled the 1930s British plumber.

Some of the furniture was designed by Erno Goldfinger, but there are also pieces designed by his daughter. It mostly looked more striking than comfortable.

In general, I did not warm to the house or its designer.  He lived in this comfortable low rise while advocating and building high rise for the ordinary folk (and yes, actually spent six whole weeks living in the Balfron Tower: I expect the lifts were working while he was there).  He 'entertained lavishly' though it seems to have been his wife who provided the food, from a kitchen only just larger than the great man's desk.

But it is a very interesting and thought provoking house.  Indeed, after over an hour there, we felt we did not want to go and visit another museum and so headed home.

Another Postscript

Though the Museum Project is well under way we still occasionally bask in the glow of our achievement in completing the Bus Project.
We were reminded (and surprised) this weekend when three family followers produced belated ‘certification’ of our five year undertaking. As I understand it the problem was not designing the text nor having them produced in ‘bus blind’ format and font, the problem was to calculate how many routes had we actually taken. It appears there is no formal list and if there were it would almost certainly include the Night, School and Mobility routes, which we did not ride, so there was much counting and calculating and comparing until the three co-conspirators agreed on a figure and here is the result:

With thanks for their efforts to give us a permanent memorial.

Friday, 11 April 2014

The Chelsea Physic Garden

Wednesday 9 April 2014

I cannot think of a better way to spend a sunny April morning than in the Chelsea Physic Garden.

We, Mary, Linda and I that is, were having rather a Charles II morning, as we started at the Royal Chelsea Hospital, about which Linda has already written.  The Physic Garden was established in the same reign though the King was not as interested in plants as he was in doing the right thing for his soldiers.

We got to the Garden just after 11.30 and, while there was no cycle parking, I found a suitable lamp post outside.  The other two had come by public transport via Sloane Square, so had had ample opportunities to notice the serious wealth in the area.  On the other hand, there are large Peabody blocks and still some social housing that has not been bought by the rich to accommodate their university offspring. 

 The area nearest the entrance is being rearranged and replanted, so that medicinal plants are grouped according to the branch of medicine in which they might be useful, so there are beds labelled – for instance - ‘oncology’ and ‘obstetrics and gynaecology’.

We did not take the opportunity of a free guided tour, not least because the labelling is excellent and the explanations clear.  But you can if you like, and they also have talks and study days which are detailed on their website.

Obviously weather and wind direction are important to the gardeners, and this is a very sheltered spot, with tall houses and flats around as windbreaks.

The plants were looking and smelling wonderful, including some beds planted by colour.  

There were other items of interest, for example a Wardian Case.  This was designed in the early 19th century by Dr Nathanial (sic) Bagshaw Ward, to carry plants safely across land and sea.  A Wardian case brought the first germinating tea seedlings from China to India, and so changed the world, or at least the hot drinks aspect of it.

There were many people working in the gardens, and I asked a lovely worker whether they used weedkiller. (The answer is no, except for painting some systemic on really difficult intruders)  The conversation then moved on to slugs, obviously, after the wet winter which the little pests have clearly enjoyed.  She said they used nematodes, but were also about to try out Grazers, which apparently makes the plants taste nasty (to the pest) rather than damaging the plant or the pets, fish, birds etc  that suffer from normal insecticides.  In fact it was first used to deter deer, rabbits etc, and has only recently been adapted for –or against - molluscs. 

We visited the fern house and were amazed by the equisetum. It seems a better name when it is in Latin than the more everyday name, ‘horsetail’, since the 'equi' bit might refer to the equal segments in the stems.  

We paused briefly to watch some people re-chiselling the wording on the plinth of Sir Hans Sloane’s statue.

And then Mary stood us a welcome cup of coffee.  

Refreshed, we went to look at the further corners of the garden, with pond and beautiful Paulownia, or Foxglove tree. 

We also liked the explanations about reclassification which is gradually going on, using DNA rather than morphology (no, I didn’t know what that means, but it is the shape and the look of the thing rather than its actual biological structure.)

We left at about 13.15.  While the garden is not cheap (£9.90 as it happens) it is a delightful and informative oasis in the middle of noisy London. 

The Royal Hospital Museum

Royal Hospital Road  SW3 4SR
Wednesday April 10th 2014

Linda walked from a very smooth Jubilee plus District Line journey to Sloane Square and Jo arrived per bike, which she was allowed to secure behind the Lodge at the London Gate Entrance to this significant and architecturally impressive site.  Mary had been sitting in the sunshine by the Army Museum  (which will wait for another day) until she checked her phone so we were able to stroll into the complex at opening time – 10AM. The excellent Bus Route 170 goes past the door – a journey we much enjoyed in  May 2011 (the Victoria Line had been a bit peculiar this morning otherwise I might have come this way). I was early enough to ponder on the riches evident in the bespoke shops and flash cars of this part of Chelsea, and then watch the Lodge keeper let in various white vans delivering to the Royal Hospital.

Essentially the Royal Hospital is, in modern day speak, a combination of ‘sheltered housing’ retirement homes and care home/hospital for pension age soldiers.  About 370 of them.  Queen Elizabeth I saw the need to care for wounded or retired army personnel  but the French actually got there first when they built the even more magnificent ‘Les Invalides’.  Charles II moved the project on and arranged for his (and the nation’s) favourite architect Sir Christopher Wren to design the buildings from 1682 onwards.  The Museum, almost immediately on your left after the pensioner Elephant, is housed in the building designated originally for the 50 or so staff dealing with pay and pensions.   (A job which is doubtless dealt with these days by a few minutes on a computer payroll). The entrance hall has a large diorama showing how things were in 1805 when Ranelagh Gardens  were a pleasure destination (I always think an 18th century euphemism for sex, drugs and rock and roll). Where the present day pensioners find their leisure I would not venture to guess – though we did see some of their mobility bikes parked outside the Tesco Metro – but of course they are all of ‘previous good character’, a pre-requisite for getting a home here.

The Museum itself is one large room with a series of very legible information boards and glass cases. There is an eclectic mixture of exhibits – the Chelsea pensioner uniforms through the ages, regimental drum kits, some ’colours’, some history about the building and building materials such as original bolts and screws from Wren’s day.  As befits the venue that hosts the annual Chelsea Flower Show there is even a certificate for a prize winning garden. The end section is wall to wall medals displayed according to campaigns and regiments.  For me the most interesting thing to see was a ‘mock-up’ of a pensioner bedroom – neat and ship shape (wrong service but you know what I mean) with beautiful wood panelling but certainly not spacious. Just before our visit I had spotted a BBC item about the proposed rebuild. Certainly with an aging and increasingly dependent population Chelsea faces the same dilemma as many of the more local and less grand almshouses which is how to maintain the integrity of the building while offering residents and carers a  more disabled-friendly environment.

We exited through the Gift Shop, which is also the Post Office and staffed by Pensioners, and there are certainly some charming souvenirs – Jo was very taken with the memorial Poppy Umbrella so it was just as well it was not raining. In fact the spring sunshine was growing stronger.

The layout of the greater Hospital complex is very reminiscent of Oxbridge Colleges, which of course originated as monastic cloistered foundations, with three ‘courts’   of classical simplicity. Unfortunately the Figure Court is not enhanced by a fairly naff statue of Charles II in Roman Ruler garb but heavily gilded, ('and the Oscar goes to...') but you can look beyond to the River. The central court houses the adjoining Dining Hall and Chapel both of which can be visited.  Mary had been lucky enough to attend a wedding held here and the sideways facing pews make it both friendly and good for gawping at the bride – if that’s your thing. 

The public toilets are below the Light Horse Court and as the notices say were used as shelters during the bombs of World War 2; from this you will gather they are capacious but not accessible. In spite of this 13 people died when a bomb fell in 1941. 

There were several small groups being led round by the more physically able pensioners – if you have the time and the organisational skills to book ahead I think it would be worthwhile to get an enhanced experience of this historic site unique in that it is still very much a lively active place and home to many. 

Monday, 7 April 2014

Old Operating Theatre & Herb Garret

St Thomas Street SE1 9RY
Wednesday April 3rd 2014

Mary was back from catching up with family on her Asian adventure, so the three of us gathered at the foot of the Shard, otherwise known as London Bridge Station. This was to be our foray into the South for this week’s museums.
Some people can be quite ‘sniffy’ about South London but one of its major plus points are the trio of excellent hospitals. Guy’s and St Thomas’s are very close to each other and rationalisation has meant that some services are now combined on one or other site but nevertheless they maintain their own identity.  St Thomas’s, named for that favourite English Martyr St Thomas a Becket and originally part of St Mary Overie Priory, was essentially a very early religious foundation hospital and used to be here in Southwark before it moved to just beside Westminster Bridge.  Guy’s, which is here now, was founded much later by Sir Thomas Guy after St Thomas’s had re-established themselves in Lambeth. Number three in the South London hospital world is of course King’s College, whose main teaching area is on the Strand but whose hospital is in SE5 Camberwell.

The Old Operating Theatre belonged to St Thomas’s  but is actually just opposite the pretty and historic courtyards of Guy’s just to confuse matters further. The museum, which has an excellent website, is in the old rather striking tower of St Thomas’ Church. According to Wikipedia the main body of the Church is still subject to a dispute between the Jubilee Line and church landowners.  A beautiful wrought iron skull hangs over the porch entrance but the museum is up a 32 step spiral staircase so beware if you have mobility problems.
Just a word about hospitality (you can see where I am going with this): the museum because of its historic site has no toilets, and the shop is cramped but delightful – instead of the usual smooth marketing pioneered by the National Trust (soaps/china mugs etc) this is a cluttered collection containing some serious books on the history of medicine alongside GIANT microbes and you thought I was joking.
The merchandise is arranged according to where they can fit them under the eaves as opposed to any marketing strategy. We were about to show our National Trust cards to gain reduced entry when the kindly cashier/guide offered us an even greater reduction on the grounds that they had double booked two school parties and the museum would be over-run. In the event we got into the operating theatre after School 1 and were enjoying the Garret by the time School 2 arrived – so we were able to enjoy a leisurely and unimpeded viewing.   

Talking of unimpeded viewings, the operating theatre is well raked with 5 semi-circular rows for the observing medical and apothecary students. Admittedly I was wearing a back pack but found fitting along a row quite a squeeze. ‘They were packed like herrings in a barrel but a lot less silent’ one account says. How apt. The herrings would have seen only women patients as at the time the theatre was adjacent to a women’s ward – for several centuries only the poor were treated in hospital and in Southwark that probably meant the prostitutes from the very many adjacent brothels  or ‘stews’ hereabouts. Neither was there any anaesthesia till late 19th century .
The display cases show a range of surgical instruments reminding us why surgeons were called ‘Sawbones’ and surgical students named ‘dressers’ (for a lively description of similar operations see  here ).

Alongside these are examples of early anaesthetic devices and the famous bars of carbolic soap which finally offered some degree of antiseptic  protection.  Individual surgeons are remembered also –  Astley Cooper,
a St Thomas’s student, who surprisingly early operated successfully on an aneurysm. The theatre – and it must have been a real performance except for the unfortunate starring patient – is one of the earliest surviving. Note the bowl of sawdust beneath the table to catch the blood.

You leave the theatre alongside a range of cases displaying the different specialisms of both doctors and surgeons. Florence Nightingale opined that nursing children requires a special temperament but the children of Southwark were given  their own hospital – the Evelina – thanks to Baron Rothschild. It has in its time been both at Guy’s and St Thomas’s but since 2004 has its own magnificent child-friendly building at the latter.  Close to, the obstetric instruments look surprisingly big and probably remain largely unchanged so it was something of a relief to move onto dressings/pills and potions. It is likely the herbs were kept here to minimise the risk of mice and have space to dry away from the damp ‘miasmas’ of Thames side Southwark.
The LWB have relatives who are both doctors and pharmacists so could view some of the exhibits with a degree of ‘insider knowledge’ – having said that I think the museum would appeal to all and any visitor could relate to a feeling of gratitude that we are able to experience 21st century medicine in all its glory which would not be so advanced without its origins that you see here. For example, I had never heard the story of the man who sucked on his willow twigs and felt so good on the results that he shared the experience… The eventual outcome was that really useful  drug  Aspirin.

The garret is full of herbs you can still find in your garden, or seeds from the store cupboard like linseed. My only criticism would be that the beautiful, handwritten labels, totally in keeping with the atmosphere of the whole, are not easy to decipher in a low light.   Penny Royal for hysteria amongst other cures, and oranges and limes to keep scurvy at bay; the discovery of the beneficial side-effects of everyday foodstuffs are well documented here and you realize how far people had come from the days when they administered snake oil and extract of crocodile.
And all – ‘Miseratione Non Mercede' – for compassion not for gain.

I think we could have lingered longer but felt we should side-step the latest school party and let them squirm in front of the surgical instruments while we made our way back down and home from London Bridge.     

Thursday, 3 April 2014

The Clink

Thursday 3 April 2014

Mary is back with us, hooray, and the three of us met in what will one day - though not quite yet - be the wonderful London Bridge Station, under the Shard.  I was the earliest, since the TfL website had told me to allow an hour for a journey by Number 17 bus which actually took 32 minutes.

We were going to visit The Clink, a museum about early prisons.

We walked along to the remains of the Bishop of Winchester's Palace, which once included the prison as one of its many amenities.  The Museum is 'on the site of' rather than the original.

I think all three of us were expecting it to be rather lurid and gory, and so were pleasantly surprised by the displays and the information.  This was the first time in the project so far that we had paid to enter a museum, but we felt it was worth while!  A school party (or at least a group of young people escorted by some adults) arrived after us but as is the way of things, they rapidly swept through and left us to read the various boards and study the objects in peace.

Many of the objects were found in the mud of the Thames, and the Museum thanks the Society of Thames Mudlarks for its donations and loans.

The children's information is given by rather an endearing rat at the bottom of most of the displays, and the museum starts with a description of Southwark, notoriously a 'den of thieves, rogues, vagabonds and harlots'.  Or it was:  now that the average property price in the borough is almost half a million pounds, the profile may be changing.  

The first displays are to the accompaniment of church music, to drive home the fact that it was Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester, who started the prison:  there is a model blacksmith making fetters for the prisoners.  The sound effects continue throughout, children weeping, and tortured prisoners moaning.

'Winchester geese' was the name used for the prostitutes who worked this side of the river, who were expected to wear white aprons and yellow caps.  And the unpleasant side effects which some of their clients experienced were known as 'being pecked by a Winchester goose'.  A number of the women finished up in the gaol and, dying in prison, were not entitled to Christian burial.  Obviously the Bishop and his successors had a slightly skewed view of Christian morality.

There was, predictably, quite a large section on torture, including everyday punishment objects like the Scold's Bridle and the stocks, but also some thought provoking and curiously relevant discussion of torture as a means of interrogation.  One display board gave a list of scenarios and asked which ones would justify the use of torture to get information.

Torture in Britain during the lifetime of the Clink, was all mixed up with religion and again, it all felt rather up to date, with the Catholics being seen as traitors, after the Pope issued his 'fatwah' in 1570, saying that anyone who assassinated Elizabeth I would go straight to heaven.  So two of the suspects in the Babington Plot were imprisoned here, though not their leader, who was in the Tower.

As the politics and religion of the 16th century swung to and fro, both Puritans and Catholics were dealt with in the Clink, but political dissidents were not the only category of prisoner: from 1283 onwards, imprisonment for debt was the law.  In the eighteenth century, there  was a prisoner who called himself the 'Father of the Clink' and we thought Dickens had probably adopted this reference while writing about the Marshalsea in Little Dorrit.

There was quite a section about the anti-Catholic Riots of 1780, because Gordon's followers set fire to the Clink and it was never reopened afterwards.  But the Museum does go on to talk about the reforms of the next century, with the end of Gaol fees in 1815, and the abolition of imprisonment for debt in 1869.

We left at 11.15, having had an entertaining and interesting forty five minutes.

Saturday, 29 March 2014

The Clockmakers’ Museum

Guildhall Library, Aldermanbury EC2V 7HH
Wednesday March 26th 2014

Before I start: a bit about the Guildhall where we spent our morning.  Elsewhere in London or the country this building would merely be the Town Hall for the local area, and those vary between huge imposing Victorian edifices, Thirties utility fa├žades  or mid-20th Century promotional re-builds. And yes this Guildhall serves the same purpose as most town halls – the local HQ from which policy and practice about the different localities within the area are managed, but because the ‘Square Mile’ has UK and global significance the Guildhall somehow has a greater aura about it.  The origins of the building date back to 1411 though both the Great Fire and the Blitz led to damage and reconstruction. The historic Guildhall is now part of a much larger and later complex, two sections of which we visited today.

I also don’t need to remind you that the Corporation of London is very well endowed. However the  Clockmakers  Museum
 Is one of its more modest visitor attractions.  It is tucked into a corner of the building housing the Guildhall Library and feels quite cramped; there were eight visitors including ourselves and it got a bit jostly round the 14 or so glass cases. The museum is an illustrated history of clock making and of the Clockmakers’ Company (Guild) founded in London in 1620 (Royal Charter 1631), which is of course quite late as guilds go. While it is linked to the development of clocks, watches and other time measurement it is not simply a history of the mechanics of clock-making and I personally would have welcomed some more detailed explanations of different mechanisms and why pendulums or ‘escape’ wheels or ‘springs’ might be important or innovative.

Having said that, the clocks and watches on display are very pretty. We decided that watches had gone through much the same evolutionary process as the mobile phone only over a longer period of time.  What started as large, clunky and not altogether reliable  time-pieces were gradually refined into a smaller more portable product s (still worn on a chain or fob); as these became more available/affordable watches became larger and more ornate (there is a one cabinet with quite a lot of bling).  The wrist watch and strap seem to be a 20th century thing.  Even during that era when watches started to be mass produced  and London was no longer a ‘brand leader’ in this field what were once ‘gimmicks’ or exclusive selling points  (World Time, water and shock resistant ) eventually became common place too.
The early vitrines show paintings where the ’great and the good’ (as depicted by Holbein – see last week!) have table clocks or watches in their pictures and London along with other central European cities such as Vienna and Augsburg started their own clockmakers guilds, as opposed to belonging to the Blacksmiths!  Watches have always been a form of jewellery and early examples were lockets with pictures or hair locks. However the Great Fire of London, along with destroying so many churches, destroyed half the Company’s workshops.  Nevertheless,  the next  50 years  seem to be considered the ‘Golden Age of  Clock making in the UK) with examples of  Thomas Tompion's work. 

On displays are clocks which run for a year, still running (and ticking and striking melodiously) after 300 years – undoubtedly craftsmanship of the highest order. Tompion certainly hit the big time (pun intended) and found himself hanging out with the celebrities of his day, Wren and Flamsteed amongst others. He also inspired and nurtured more clock making talent.
By Case XI (Roman clock type numerals being totally appropriate here) the domestic time pieces were getting bigger again, sometimes in order to incorporate more ornament and of course each piece was unique and personalised.
By the 19th century and with more world-wide production going on most clockmakers had moved to Clerkenwell; the museum has a display of hunters and half-hunters, expressions I had heard in Victorian novels but never quite comprehended. Well, the museum was not about to enlighten me, but the internet did. Effectively watches were worn in top or other pockets and for those chaps who went hunting the watches were fully encased to avoid damage ; occasionally there was a small opening in the middle where a glimpse of  clock ‘hands ‘ was enough by which to tell the time thus ‘half-hunters’.  These are handsome and ‘manly’ timepieces as opposed to some of the prettier smaller and more ‘ladylike’ versions from earlier.

Like many of the Guilds and Livery Companies, the Clockmakers had by the late 19th Century increased their charitable works and set up an Asylum for 23 Male and Female Pensioners of the trade..  asylum in this sense meaning ‘retirement dwellings’ of which you might well be in need after years of looking at small scale mechanisms.  By the 20th Century London had faded from the world stage as a clock making force, unable to adapt to mass production, but the Company continued to sponsor and encourage innovation (more handy chronometers). The display cases finish with collections of watch keys and other ‘accessories’ – how annoying if you lost your watch key, not unlike being ‘locked out’ of your phone perhaps.

There is much to admire here in terms of skills and adornment – the twin attributes of a good clock maker whether he is working on a delicate watch or an impressive long case clock.  

PS A timely reminder - clocks go forward tonight  - rather me than the museum curators.