At a moment when a whole district of the metropolis is compulsorily
passing into the hands of a soulless corporation, it is
intolerable that the proprietors of land in that district should
receive no compensation for the historical importance of their
estates. Manning Green, which will soon be replaced by the roar
and bustle--or bustle and confusion, whichever you like--of a
great railway station, is one of those centres whence the great
empire-builders of our race proceeded in past times.
For many centuries it was a bare, bleak spot, such as our England
could boast by the thousand in the rude but heroic days when the
marvellous fortunes of the Anglo-Saxon race were preparing in the
slow designs of Providence. For perhaps a generation it was one of
those suburban villages that are said by a contemporary poet to
“nestle in their trees.” Doubtless it sent forth in the sixties
many brave lads to fight for the liberties of Europe in Italy or
Denmark, but their humble record has perished. Such a thought
recalls the fine lines of Gray:--
“Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest;
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood.”
Twenty to twenty-five years ago the advancing tide of the capital
of the world swept round this little outlying place; it was
submerged, and soon made part of greater London.
Relics are still to be discovered of the period when Manning Green
had something rural about it, as Highgate and South Croydon have
now. Thus “The Jolly Drover” (whose license was recently refused
because it was not a tied house) recalls the great sheep-droves
that once passed through the village from the north. It is now
rare indeed to meet with a countryman driving his flock to market
through the streets of London, though the sight is not absolutely
unknown. The present writer was once stopped in the early morning
by a herd of oxen south of Westminster Bridge, and what may seem
more remarkable he has frequently seen wild animals in the charge
of negroes pass through Soho on their way to the Hippodrome. It is
as Tennyson says:--
“The old order changes, giving place to the new,”
until at last
“Beyond these voices there is peace.”
Another relic of the old village of Manning Green is the Court
Baron, which is still held (how few Londoners know this!) once a
year, for the purpose of providing a small but regular income to a
relative of the Lord Chancellor. This Court was probably not held
before the year 1895, but it is none the less of extreme interest
to antiquarians.
The first mention of Manning Green in history is in a letter to
Edward Lord Cringle, the pioneer and ally of the beneficent reforms
that remain inseparably associated with the name of the eighth
Henry. This letter is written from prison by one Henry Turnbull, a
yeoman, and contains these phrases:--
“For that very certainly, my good Lord, I never did this thing,
no, nor met the Friar nor had any dealing with him. And whatever
I did that they say is treason I did it being a simple man,
as following the Mass, which I know is welcome to the King’s
Majesty, and not knowing who it was that sang it, no, nor
speaking to him after, as God knows. And, my dear Lord, I have
had conveyed to you, as you know, my land of Horton with the Grey
farm and _the mere called Foul Marsh or Manning_, having neither
son nor any other but my own life only, and for that willingly
would I give you this land, and so I have done; and, my good
Lord, speak for me at Court in this matter, remembering my gift
of the land....”
This Turnbull was afterwards executed for treason at Tyburn. There
is still a Turnbull in the parish, but as his father’s name was
Weissenstein he is very unlikely to have any connection with the
original family of yeomen.
The land (if land it could then be called) did not, oddly
enough, remain long in the Cringle family. It was sold by Lord
Edward to the Carmelites, and on the dissolution of that order
was returned by the grateful monarch to its original owner. We
next find “Manning” or “Foul Marsh” drained during that period
of active beneficence on the part of the great landlords which
marked the seventeenth century. We are acquainted of this fact in
our agricultural history by an action recorded in 1631, where it
appears that one Nicholas Hedon had gone to shoot snipe, as had
been once of common right in the manor, and had so trespassed upon
land “now drained at his lordship’s charges, and by him enclosed.”
Hedon lost both ears, and was pilloried.
Manning is probably alluded to also in a strong protest of the
old Liberal blood[12] against ship-money, to which exaction it
contributed 1_s._ 4_d._ The sum need not excite ridicule, as it
represents quite 4_s._ of our present currency. The vigorous
protest of the family against this extortion is one of the finest
examples of our sterling English spirit on the eve of the Civil
War. The money was, however, paid.
In the troubles of the Civil Wars Manning (now no longer a
marsh, but a _green_) was sold to John Grayling, but the deed of
conveyance being protested at the Restoration, it was restored
to its original owners at the intruder’s charge by an action of
_Novel Disseizin_. After Monmouth’s rebellion, Manning was in
danger of suffering confiscation, and was hurriedly sold to a
chance agent (William Greaves) at so low a price as to refute for
ever all insinuations of rapacity upon the part of its now ducal
owners. It was happily restored by a grateful nation as a free
gift after the glorious Revolution of 1688, and the agent, who had
only acquired it by taking advantage of the recent troubles, was
very properly punished. King William congratulated the family in a
famous epigram, which a natural ignorance of the Taal forbids us to
transcribe.
In 1718, Manning being still pasture of a somewhat spongy nature
(Guy, in his report, calls it “soggy and poor land, reedy, and
fit for little”), there was a rumour that the New River canal
would pass through it, and it was sold to Jonathan Hemp. The New
River was proved, however, in the pleadings before both Houses
of Parliament, to have no necessity for this canal, and Hemp was
compelled (as it was a mere speculation on his part) to sell it
back again to its distinguished owner at a merely nominal price.
Nothing further can be traced with regard to Manning Green (as
it was now commonly called) till the report in 1780 that coal
had been found beneath it. Such a deposit so near the metropolis
naturally attracted the attention of merchants, and the Family sold
the place for the last time to a merchant of the name of Hogg for
£20,000.
The report proved false; yet, oddly enough, it was the beginning of
Mr. Hogg’s prosperity.
We have no space to dwell on this interesting character. “Hogg’s
Trustees” are an ecclesiastical household word in our principal
watering-places, and the “Hogg Institute” at Brighton is a monument
of Christian endeavour. He was a shrewd bargainer, a just man, and
upon his mantel-pieces were to be discovered ornaments in alabaster
representing Joshua and Richard Cœur de Lion.
The growth of the metropolis entered largely into Mr. Hogg’s
enlightened prevision of the future, and he obtained promises from
a large number of people to build houses upon his land, which
houses should, after a term of years, become his (Hogg’s) property,
and cease to belong to those who had paid to put them up. How Mr.
Hogg managed to obtain such promises is still shrouded in mystery,
but the universal prevalence of the system to-day in modern England
would surely prove that there is something in our Imperial race
which makes this form of charity an element of our power.
Mr. Hogg’s only daughter married Sir John Moss, Lord Mayor; and Mr.
Moss, the son, was the father of the present Lord Hemelthorpe. Thus
something romantic still clings to poor Manning Green, of which
Lord Hemelthorpe was, until his recent bankruptcy, the proprietor.
There is little more to be said about Manning Green. The Ebenezer
Chapel has a history of its own, written by the Rev. Napoleon
Plaything, son of Mr. Honey Q. Plaything, of Bismark, Pa. The
success of the boys’ club has been detailed in _God’s London_, by
Mr. Zitali, of the “Mission to the Latin Races.” The book is well
worth buying, if only for this one essay, written, as it is, by a
brand saved from the burning. Mr. Zitali was for a long time in the
employ of Messrs. Mañanâ, the restaurant keepers, and no one is
better fitted to deal strenuously with the awful problems of our
great cities.
Manning Green is about to disappear, and all its wonderful
associations will become (in the words of Swinburne)
“Smoke, or the smoke of a smoke.”
But until it disappears, and until its purchase price is finally
fixed by the committee, its historical associations will still
remain dear to those who (like the present writer) are interested
in this corner of the Motherland. That men of our blood, and men
speaking our tongue--nay, that those neither of our blood, nor
speaking our tongue, but devoted to a common empire--will remember
Manning Green when the sale is effected, is the passionate and
heartfelt prayer of