BELOW BRIDGE
'Below Bridge' covers Tooley Street and her lanes: Horselydown,
Bermondsey, Rotherhithe, Deptford, Greenwich, and Woolwich. The railway
has ruined one end of Tooley Street, which is a corruption of St.
Olave's Street. Perhaps it was ruined before the railway appeared at
all. Certainly no one would believe that this dark and narrow street was
once a place of Palaces. The Prior of Lewes had here, opposite St.
Olave's Church, his Inn or Town House: here the Abbot of St. Augustine
had his Inn: and here, we have seen, was the house of Sir John Fastolf.
Here was the Pilgrim's Way to Bermondsey Rood. Some came across the
bridge; some by boat, which was far more convenient, to Tooley Stairs;
some to Battlebridge Stairs; some to Pickle Herring Stairs. The way lay
along Tooley Street and by 'Barmsie' Lane through the fields and
gardens: a lovely rural lane. Beyond Tooley Street lies a quarter
bounded on the North by the River, and on the East by St. Saviour's
Dock: a quarter which is certainly the most industrious in the whole of
London. It is called Horselydown, the derivation of which seems obvious,
but derivations are not to be trusted, however obvious. We may take it
for granted, because we can prove the fact by looking at Roques' map of
1745, that there were meadows where horses grazed as soon as the
embankment was up, and the ground drained. There was some kind of common
here at one time: here suicides and persons deprived of Christian rites
were buried. There was also a Fair held at Horselydown. The industries
made their appearance in the eighteenth century, but they came
gradually. It is now a place of most remarkable variety as regards
occupations. All along the river and the bank of the Dock, formerly
Savoy Dock, there are wharves: inland are bonded warehouses, granaries,
leather warehouses, hide warehouses, hop warehouses, and wool
warehouses. There are tanneries, currieries, fur and skin dyeing works,
breweries, rice mills, mustard mills, pepper mills, dyeing works, dog's
food manufactories, vinegar works, bottle works, iron foundries, wooden
hoop manufactories, cooperages, roperies, smithies, biscuit
manufactories, oil and colour works, pin manufactories, varnish works,
and distilleries. All this in a district half a mile long and a quarter
of a mile broad. Between the factories and the warehouses are houses for
the workmen and the foremen. On the south side stands the Church, almost
the ugliest Church in London: next to the Church is, or was, a few years
ago, a street which has something of the look and feeling of a Close.
It is a great pity that in the whole of South London lying east of the
High Street there is not a single beautiful, or even picturesque Church.
Look at them! St. Olave's, St. John, Horselydown, St. Mary Magdalen, St.
Mary, Rotherhithe, the four oldest churches in the quarter. It cannot be
pretended that these structures inspire veneration or even respect. You
may see drawings of them in Maitland. St. Olave's was rebuilt in 1737,
St. John's, Horselydown, in 1735, St. Mary Magdalen in 1680, and St.
Mary, Rotherhithe, in 1713 on the site of the older church. In 1738 the
steeple was added. The four churches are therefore all examples of the
church architecture of nearly the same period.
[Illustration: A FETE AT HORSELYDOWN IN 1590
(_From the Painting by G. Hoffnagel, at Hatfield_)]
Of all the quarters and parts of London that of Horselydown is the least
known and the least visited, except by those whose business takes them
there every day. There is, in fact, nothing to be seen: the wharves
block out the river: the warehouses darken the streets, the places where
people live are not interesting: there is not an ancient memory or
association, or any ancient fragment of a building, to make one desire
to visit Horselydown. When we pass the Dock, we find ourselves in quite
a different quarter: the wharves are arranged along the river wall,
called the Bermondsey Wall, but behind the wharves there are fewer
factories and more people. Alas! poor people! It is a grimy place to
live in: of greenery or garden land there is none. There is not even any
access to the river except by one or two narrow stairs: the 'works' are
those whose near neighbourhood is not generally desired: places where
they make leather and curry it: or where they make glue or vinegar.
Fortunately, however, the good people of Bermondsey are spared the
handling of tallow, bones, or soap. Things might therefore have been
worse. This is the industrial centre of South London, and it occupies,
including Horselydown, St. Olave's, Bermondsey, and Rotherhithe,
something like a quarter of a million, which is a good-sized city in
itself. On the one side of St. Saviour's Dock we may step aside to look
at two streets, which fifty years ago represented the lowest kind of
vice and brutality, and the worse kind of human pigsties, Talbot Street
and London Street. The former was taken over by Dickens to adorn his
'Oliver Twist'--lugged in, for indeed it does not belong there.
The condition of the latter is figured in Wilkinson's 'London
Illustrated' in the year 1806.
The ugliness of the neighbourhood remains, but some of the dirt has been
washed away.
It seems impossible to create a quarter of workmen's cottages or
residences which shall be beautiful. First there is the slum with a row
of two- or four-roomed cottages in a narrow court: the windows are
broken: the banisters of the staircase are broken away to be burned: the
sanitary appliances are terrible: the court is a laystall. Some of these
delightful places still survive in Southwark. The next step is to build
streets for working men in places where the ground is not too valuable.
Thus the town of Bromley near Bow sprang into existence. It consists
entirely of monotonous streets with monotonous houses, all small, all
ugly, all built after the same pattern: the result being dreary and
dispiriting. Then come the model dwelling-houses: the huge barrack, of
which, Bermondsey way, there are enormous stacks, accommodating the
working classes by the hundred thousand. There is not the smallest
attempt at making these places beautiful: they are simple cubes of grey
brick with rows and lines of windows. Outside they may be models of
economy in space. Once within, they may be models of convenience; but
there is another side. The moral effect of this piling up of family on
family is reported to be injurious in ways not contemplated by the
founders: the quiet folk are terrorised by the rowdy; the children are
demoralised: there are dangers not expected, and temptations not
considered: in a word, the model lodging-houses of Southwark and
Bermondsey are not, in every respect, adapted to a model population.
It is difficult between London Bridge and Rotherhithe to get at the
river, except at two or three spots where the old stairs can be
approached by a narrow passage. There is an embankment or terrace: the
whole bank is occupied for commercial purposes: business men do not like
strangers on these wharves: and for all practical purposes the dwellers
below Bridge might just as well be a dozen miles inland. If, however,
the resident of Bermondsey can sometimes--say, on Saturday
afternoon--get down to the stairs and look out upon the river, he will
see close at hand, not only the ships and barges that lie about the
wharves, but the grand new Watergate of London, the most appropriate
entrance that could be devised to the port--the new Tower Bridge.
[Illustration: THE OLD ELEPHANT AND CASTLE, 1814]
Where Bermondsey Wall ended and Rotherhithe began the houses, until
fifty years ago, rapidly grew thinner, until Rotherhithe itself
consisted of little more than a single street, with docks, and stairs,
and taverns on the riverside, and on the other side lanes leading to
cottages and cottage gardens. The Commercial Docks were opened in 1807,
but the place still preserved something of its old character until quite
recently. It consisted of a district round which the river flowed on the
north and east. Like all the country about the Thames, it was low-lying,
and originally a marsh. Even as late as 1830 it was imperfectly drained,
and a good part of it remained still a marsh. Thus the road, now called
Southwark Park Road--why could they not leave the old name, Blue Anchor
Road?--even in 1830 wound through a marsh covered with ditches and
ponds. On the east side, near the junction of Blue Anchor Road with
Jamaica Row, there was a most remarkable collection of ponds and
islands, ending with a broad stream or ditch running into the river at
Rotherhithe stairs. Other ditches or streams lay or flowed at will over
the levels, making islands which were approached by bridges. The
character of the place was entirely that of a marsh: in fact, it was the
last part of London where there lingered still the appearance of a
marsh. The names show this. We have The Reed Bed; Providence Island; the
Seven Islands; the West Pond; the East Pond; Broom Fields; Halfpenny
Hatch, repeated more than once. The numerous Ropewalks scattered about
show that the ground was cheap, and the factories where they make glue,
soap, brimstone, turpentine, white lead, and paper are there, which
require plenty of room and few people to enjoy the smell.
[Illustration: VIEW NEAR THE STORE-HOUSE, DEPTFORD
(_From an Engraving by John Boydell, 1750_)]
Leaving Rotherhithe, we arrive at a place much more interesting, namely,
Deptford. They have done their best to spoil Deptford of late years:
they have taken away the old Trinity Almshouses: they have built new
streets: but a good deal of the old Deptford remains. I walked about it
nearly every day for three months some twelve years ago, reconstructing
the Deptford of 1750 from the Deptford of 1886. It is like
reconstructing the face in youth from a portrait in middle life. I
succeeded at last, to my own satisfaction, and, I hope, to the
satisfaction of my readers when the eighteenth-century Deptford appeared
as the background of a novel. It was not a very big place: it consisted
chiefly of an old church in the lower part of the town, and a new church
in the upper part: there were two almshouses: there was the Hall where
the Brethren of the Trinity House assembled every year before their
service at St. Nicolas and their feast at their house on Tower Hill.
The town was full of sailors and naval officers: the latter were not
remarkable for the finicking ways of the beaux their contemporaries: on
the contrary, they despised such ways--'their fashions I hate, like a
pig in a gate.' When they were young they made love all the time they
were ashore, except when they were drinking and taking tobacco at the
tavern--these occupations, truly, left the honest fellows less time for
love than might have been expected. There were officers' taverns and
seamen's taverns: rum, however, was the favourite drink at both. And,
really, it would surprise you to hear the songs they sang, and to
observe the cheerfulness with which they put up with everything:
favouritism: long and hopeless service in the lower ranks: bad food on
board: long years of foreign service: and for all the gallantry that
these brave fellows showed in service not a word of thanks: not a hint
at promotion.
The Town consisted mostly of a single street: there were shops, but poor
things: there was a market: fruit and vegetables were brought in from
the country round: within a few steps of the town one was in the
loveliest country, with the Ravensbourne flowing between meadows and
under the branches of willows and of alders.
The dockyard of Deptford was founded by Henry the Eighth, and continued
till 1869. It was at Deptford that most of the ships were built for the
Royal Navy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries: it was here that
Drake's ship, the _Golden Hind_, in which he had made his voyage round
the world, was laid up, her cabin turned into a place of entertainment.
She remained here, an object of pilgrimage for the Londoners, for many
years. She was a good deal cut about, because everybody wanted to carry
away a piece of her. At last she was suffered to fall to pieces. One
pious archæologist got a chair made out of her timbers and presented it
to the Bodleian Library.
Pepys was often at Deptford in his capacity of Secretary of the
Admiralty. 'Up and down the yard all the morning, and seeing the seamen
exercise, which they do already very handsomely. Then to dinner....
After dinner and taking our leave of the officers of the yard, we walked
to the waterside, and on our way walked into the ropeyard, where I had a
look into the tarhouses and other places, and took great notice of all
the several works belonging to the making of a cable.'
It was at Deptford that Pepys visited Lady Sandwich, 'where I stood with
great pleasure an hour or two by her bedside, she lying prettily in
bed.' During the plague year, when he and his wife were staying at
Woolwich, he goes over to Deptford nearly every day, and was continually
feasting with his friends and always 'very merry,' though the plague was
slaying its thousands only a mile or two away.
Another visitor to Deptford who left a lasting memory was Peter the
Great, who stayed here in 1698, studying ship architecture. The people
of the town had the satisfaction of seeing the Czar of Muscovy--not
quite so great a man then as he is now--smoking a pipe of tobacco and
drinking brandy in their taverns every evening. By day they might see
him working among the dockyard men at the various parts of a ship and
its gear.
The most interesting person, however, who is connected with the annals
of Deptford is certainly John Evelyn.
Evelyn was not a great writer, nor a great scholar, nor a great
statesman: he was not great in anything that he did: yet his memory
remains, and will remain long after that of much stronger men has been
forgotten. He wrote a great deal, and since some of his writings survive
after three hundred years it is manifest that he must have written well.
He was a strong royalist who knew how to take care of his own skin. In
order to avoid being dragged into the army and fighting for the cause
which he loved, he went abroad and travelled in Europe for four years,
during which time the royal cause fell to pieces, and those who fought
for it were ruined. In 1647 he came home again; in 1649 he went back to
France, where he stayed till 1652. By this time he had made many
discoveries and observations on art and antiquities. He also married a
wife, the daughter of Charles's ambassador at Paris. Through his wife he
obtained possession of Sayes Court, Deptford, where, with a few breaks,
one of which was to allow Peter the Great to use the house, he lived
till nearly the end of his life. He was one of the founders and first
Fellows of the Royal Society: he was a member of many commissions: he
was the first Treasurer of Queen Mary's new naval hospital, and held
many other offices.
In quite a brief note Pepys sums up the character and the
accomplishments of this estimable man:
'Nov. 5, 1665. By water to Deptford, and here made a visit to Mr.
Evelyn, who among many other things showed me most excellent painting in
little: in distemper; in Indian ink; water colours; graving: and above
all, the whole secret of mezzotinto, and the manner of it, which is very
pretty, and good things done with it. He read to me very much also of
his discourse he hath been many years and now is about, about Gardening,
which will be a most noble and pleasant piece. He read me part of a play
or two of his making; very good, but not as he conceits them, I think,
to be. He showed me his "Hortus Hyemalis," leaves laid up in a book of
several plants kept dry, which preserve colour, however, and look very
finely, better than a Herball. In fine, a most excellent person he is,
and must be allowed a little for conceitedness; but he may well be so,
being a man so much above others.'
His memory survives on account of the personal character of the man
which is revealed in his works, and of the high opinion in which he was
held. 'A typical instance,' says his latest biographer ('Dict, of Nat.
Biog.'), 'of the accomplished and public-spirited country gentleman of
the Restoration, a pious and devoted member of the Church of England,
and a staunch loyalist in spite of his grave disapproval of the manners
of the court.' Above all things, it might be added, he was a gardener,
and all gardeners are amiable and all gardeners are personally popular.
[Illustration: GEORGE HOTEL, BOROUGH]
Of Greenwich Palace I have already spoken. There is little else in
Greenwich except the Palace or Hospital. The Almshouse known as Norfolk
College must not be forgotten, however. It is on the east side of the
Hospital, and stands behind a stone terrace, overlooking the river. The
College consists of a quadrangle containing a chapel and a small hall or
common room, with gardens at the back. This kind of almshouse is common,
but it is difficult to build it so that it shall not be beautiful.
Norfolk College is quite a beautiful place. Finer and larger is Morden
College, up the hill, designed for decayed merchants.
This is the end of London: a few yards beyond Norfolk College the houses
stop suddenly: on the tongue of land projecting north formed by a loop
of the river there are hardly any houses at all: the place is a dreary
flat as far as Woolwich. The London County Council limits include
Woolwich and Plumstead; but that broad area covered by continuous houses
which begins at Battersea ends at Greenwich.