Transcriber’s Note: Italics are enclosed in _underscores_. Superscripts
are shown as ^e or ^{BLE}. Additional notes will be found near the end
of this ebook.
[Illustration: (cover)]
[Illustration: (map)]
LONDON PARKS AND GARDENS
[Illustration: ST. KATHARINE’S LODGE, REGENT’S PARK]
LONDON PARKS AND GARDENS
BY
THE HON^{BLE} MRS. EVELYN CECIL
(ALICIA AMHERST)
CITIZEN AND GARDENER OF LONDON
AUTHOR OF “A HISTORY OF GARDENING IN ENGLAND”
“CHILDREN’S GARDENS,” ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
LADY VICTORIA MANNERS
“_Reade the whole and then judge_”
JOHN CHRISTOPHERSON,
Bishop of Chichester, 1554
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
1907
Printed by
BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
Edinburgh
PREFACE
In spite of the abundance of books on London, not one exists which
tells the story of the Parks and Gardens as a whole. Some of the Royal
Parks have been dealt with, and most of the Municipal Parks, but in
separate works. When Squares are touched on, in guide-books, or in
volumes to themselves, the Gardens are for the most part left alone,
and gossip of the inhabitants forms the centre of the narrative. This
is the case also with public buildings and private houses which have
gardens attached to them. To give a sketch of the history of the
more important Parks and Gardens, and to point out any features of
horticultural interest, is the object of the following pages. London is
such a wide word, and means such a different area at various periods,
that it has been necessary to make some hard and fast rule to define
the scope of this work. I have, therefore, decided to keep strictly to
the limits of the County of London within the official boundaries of
the London County Council at the present time.
I would express my thanks to the authorities of the Parks, both Royal
and Municipal, for their courtesy in affording me information, and to
many friends who have facilitated my search in historical and private
gardens. I am also extremely grateful to my friend, Miss Margaret
MacArthur, who has assisted me in the tedious task of correcting
proofs. The lists of trees and shrubs, and of plants in the beds in
Hyde Park, were kindly drawn up for me by the Park Superintendent, the
late Mr. Jordan, with the consent of H.M. Office of Works.
ALICIA M. CECIL.
10 EATON PLACE,
_August 1907_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY 1
II. HYDE PARK 23
III. ST. JAMES’S AND GREEN PARKS 56
IV. REGENT’S PARK 83
V. GREENWICH PARK 106
VI. MUNICIPAL PARKS 119
VII. SOUTH LONDON PARKS 155
VIII. COMMONS AND OPEN SPACES 185
IX. SQUARES 217
X. BURIAL-GROUNDS 242
XI. INNS OF COURT 261
XII. HISTORICAL GARDENS 289
XIII. PRIVATE GARDENS 327
APPENDIX TO PRIVATE GARDENS: CHARLTON 357
LIST OF SOME OF THE WORKS CONSULTED 361
HYDE PARK AND KENSINGTON GARDENS: LIST OF TREES AND SHRUBS 368
INDEX 377
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOURED PLATES
ST. KATHARINE’S LODGE, REGENT’S PARK _Frontispiece_
_Page_
DOLPHIN FOUNTAIN, HYDE PARK 38
AUTUMN BEDS, HYDE PARK 46
FOUNTAIN BY COUNTESS FEODOR GLEICHEN, HYDE PARK 54
CROCUSES IN EARLY SPRING, ST. JAMES’S PARK 64
AUTUMN IN REGENT’S PARK 90
SPRING IN REGENT’S PARK 102
WATERLOW PARK 148
OLD ENGLISH GARDEN, BROCKWELL PARK 172
STATUE OF PITT, HANOVER SQUARE 220
STATUE OF WILLIAM III. IN ST. JAMES’S SQUARE 226
ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD 250
THE BANK GARDEN 258
THE INNER TEMPLE GARDEN 270
THE FOUNTAIN COURT, MIDDLE TEMPLE 276
LINCOLN’S INN 280
THE GARDEN GATES, GRAY’S INN 288
GREY COAT SCHOOL, WESTMINSTER 298
THE LITTLE CLOISTER, WESTMINSTER ABBEY 302
HERBACEOUS BORDER, LAMBETH PALACE 306
STATUE OF CHARLES II., CHELSEA HOSPITAL 312
CHELSEA PHYSIC GARDEN 324
THE GARDEN OF SIR LAURENCE ALMA-TADEMA, R.A. 334
THE LILY POND, HOLLAND HOUSE 340
ST. JOHN’S LODGE, REGENT’S PARK 347
IN THE TEXT
PAGE
DOLPHIN FOUNTAIN IN HYDE PARK 39
FOUNTAINS AT THE END OF THE SERPENTINE 43
A CORNER OF THE QUEEN VICTORIA MEMORIAL GARDENS 81
STONE VASE IN REGENT’S PARK 101
PAGODA ON THE ISLAND, VICTORIA PARK 138
STOKE NEWINGTON CHURCH FROM CLISSOLD PARK 143
FOUNTAIN BY TINWORTH, KENNINGTON PARK 167
STATUE OF MRS. SIDDONS, PADDINGTON GREEN 214
WINTER GARDEN, DUKE STREET, GROSVENOR SQUARE 220
SUN-DIAL, ST. BOTOLPH’S 256
TRINITY ALMSHOUSES, MILE END ROAD 293
ABBEY GARDEN, WESTMINSTER 301
GARDEN GATE, CHELSEA HOSPITAL 314
IN THE GARDEN, ST. JOHN’S LODGE 349
London Parks & Gardens
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
_London, thou art the Flour of cities all._
--WILLIAM DUNBAR, 1465–1530.
London has a peculiar fascination of its own, and to a vast number of
English-speaking people all over the world it appeals with irresistible
force. So much has been said and written about it that the theme might
seem to be worn out, yet there are still fresh aspects to present,
still hidden charms to discover, still deep problems to solve. The
huge, unwieldly mass, which cannot be managed or legislated for as
other towns, but has to be treated as a county, enfolds within its area
all the phases of human life. It embraces every gradation from wealth
to poverty, from the millionaire to the pauper alien. The collection of
buildings which together make London are a most singular assortment of
innumerable variations between beauty and ugliness, between palaces and
works of art and hovels of sordid and unlovely squalor.
An Englishman must be almost without soul who can stand for the first
time unmoved within the precincts of Westminster Abbey or look without
satisfaction at the faultless proportions of St. Paul’s. The sense of
possession, the pride of inheritance, are the uppermost feelings in
his mind. But he who loves not only London itself with a patriotic
veneration, but also his fellow-men, will not rest with the inspection
of the beautiful. He will journey eastward into the heart of the mighty
city, and see its seething millions at work, its dismal poverty, its
relentless hardness. The responsibility of heirship comes over him, the
sadness, the pathos, the evil of it all depresses him, the hopelessness
of the contrast overpowers him; but apart from all ideas of social
reform, from legislative action or philanthropic theories, there is
one thin line of colour running through the gloomy picture. The parks
and gardens of London form bright spots in the landscape. They are
beyond the pale of controversy; they appeal to all sections of the
community, to the workers as well as to the idlers, to the rich as well
as to the poor, to the thoughtful as well as to the careless. From the
utilitarian point of view they are essential. They bring new supplies
of oxygen, and allow the freer circulation of health-giving fresh
air. They are not less useful as places of exercise and recreation.
They waft a breath of nature where it is most needed, and the part
they play in brightening the lives of countless thousands cannot be
over-estimated.
The parks and gardens of London have a past full of historical
associations, and at the present time their full importance is slowly
being realised. Much has been done to improve and beautify them,
but much remains to be achieved in that direction before their
capabilities will have been thoroughly developed. The opportunity
is great, and if only the best use can be made of it London Parks
could be the most beautiful as well as the most useful in the world.
It is impossible to praise or criticise them collectively, as they
have different origins, are administered by separate bodies, and have
distinct functions to perform. It cannot be denied that the laying out
in some and the planting in other cases could be improved. Plans could
be carried out with more taste than is sometimes shown, and new ideas
be encouraged, but on the whole there is so much that is excellent and
well done that there is a great deal to be proud of.
The various open spaces in London can easily be grouped into classes.
First there are the Royal Parks, with a history and management of
their own; then there are all the Parks either created or kept up by
the London County Council, and most of the commons and other large
open spaces are in their jurisdiction also, though a few parks and
recreation grounds are under the borough councils. Municipal bodies for
the most part take charge of all the disused burial grounds converted
into gardens, though some are maintained by the parish or the rector.
Then there is another class of garden which must be included, namely,
all the squares of London, as, although few are open to the public,
they form no insignificant proportion of the unbuilt area.
All through London there are survivals of old gardens, which are still
either quiet and concealed, or thrown open to the public. Such are the
grounds of the Charterhouse, of Chelsea Hospital, or of the Foundling
Hospital, and of other old-world haunts of peace. The rarest thing
in London are the private gardens, yet they too go to make up the
aggregate lungs of the city. Out of a total of upwards of 75,000 acres
there are in round numbers some 6000 acres of parks, commons, squares,
and open spaces in London: of these a little over 4000 acres are in
the hands of the London County Council. Besides this it administers
nearly 900 acres outside the county. The City of London owns large
forest tracts, commons, and parks beyond the limit of the County of
London--Epping, Burnham Beeches, Highgate Wood, and parks in West Ham,
Kilburn, &c.--altogether nearly 6500 acres.
London is such a wide word, it is difficult to set a limit, and
to decide what open spaces actually belong to London. As the town
stretches away into the country, it is impossible to see the boundaries
of London. The line must be drawn near where the chimney-pots become
incessant, and the stems of the trees become black. But the degree of
blackness, dirt, and density is impossible to decide; so a prosaic,
matter-of-fact, but necessary rule has been adhered to in the following
pages, of keeping as strictly as possible to the actual defined limits
of the County of London. Therefore all the parks owned by the City
Corporation or London County Council outside this limit have not been
dealt with, and such places as Chiswick, Kew, Richmond, or Gunnersbury
have been omitted.
To get to some of these places involves a considerable journey. Many
of the outlying parks have to be reached by train, or by a very long
drive, or tram ride. From Hyde Park Corner, for instance, to Bostall
Wood or Avery Hill is a long expedition. To the fortunate few who
possess motor cars the distances are trifling, but the vast majority
of people must exercise considerable ingenuity, and possess a good
bump of locality, if they wish to visit all London’s open spaces. A
knowledge of the distant places, the names of which are inscribed in
large letters on every omnibus, is necessary. The Royal Oak, Elephant
and Castle, or Angel, are but starting-places for the more distant
routes, although they form the goal of green, red, or blue ’busses.
The electric trams of South London have made the approach to Dulwich,
Peckham, Greenwich, and many other parks much more simple, and motor
’busses rattle along close to even the distant Golder’s Hill or
Highbury Fields. With a railway time-table, a good eye for colour in
selecting the right omnibus, and a knowledge of the points of the
compass, every green patch in London can be reached with ease, even by
those whose purses are not long enough to let them indulge in motors,
or whose nerves are not steady enough to let them venture on bicycles.
Each park forms the central point of some large district, and they are
not dependent on the casual visitor for appreciation. Every single
green spot, on a fine Saturday throughout the year, is peopled with
a crowd from the neighbourhood, and on every day in the year, winter
as well as summer, almost every open space has a ceaseless throng of
comers and goers.
What is the cost of maintenance of these parks is a question that
will naturally occur; and the answer in many cases is easy to find,
as the statistics of both the London County Council Parks, published
in their handbook, and those of the Royal Parks, which are submitted
to Parliament every year, are accessible. The following extracts may,
however, be useful. In looking at the two sets of figures, of course
the acreage must be borne in mind, and the great expense of police
in the Royal Parks, amounting to £8782 for Hyde Park alone, must be
deducted before any fair comparison can be made, even when results are
not considered.
+----------------------+------------------------------------------------------+--------+
| | 1907–8. | 1906–7.|
| +------+---------+--------+---------+---------+--------+--------+
| | | | | New | | | |
| | | Wages | Police,| Works | Mainte- | | |
| |Acres.| and | Park- | and | nance. | Total. | Total. |
| | |Salaries.|keepers.| Altera- | | | |
| | | | | tions. | | | |
+----------------------+------+---------+--------+---------+---------+--------+--------+
| | | £ | £ | £ | £ | £ | £ |
| 1. Greenwich | 185 | 225 | 1,090 | 175 | 3,737 | 5,319 | 4,554 |
+----------------------+------+---------+--------+---------+---------+--------+--------+
| { Hyde Park } | | | | | | | |
| 2. { St. James’s } | 509½ | 724 | 12,153 | 4,965 | 50,886 | 69,269 | 48,835 |
| { Green Park } | | | | | | | |
+----------------------+------+---------+--------+---------+---------+--------+--------+
| 3. Kensington Gardens| 274 | 138 | 1,590 | 50 | 5,831 | 7,730 | 7,804 |
+----------------------+------+---------+--------+---------+---------+--------+--------+
| { Regent’s Park } | | | | | | | |
| 4. { and } | 472½ | 290 | 2,171 | 300 | 11,417 | 14,542 | 13,329 |
| { Primrose Hill } | | | | | | | |
+----------------------+------+---------+--------+---------+---------+--------+--------+
_Taken from the Estimates for 1907–8._
+-----------+-------+------------+------------+---------+
| | | Net | Average | |
| | Acres.| Aggregate | Cost of | Number |
| | | Capital |Maintenance.|of Staff.|
| | |Expenditure.| | |
+-----------+-------+------------+------------+---------+
| | | £ | £ | |
| Battersea | 199 | 21,042 | 10,897 | 92 |
| Brockwell | 127¼ | 114,322 | 4,493 | 34 |
| Dulwich | 72 | 45,510 | 3,330 | 28 |
| Finsbury | 115 | 137,934 | 7,649 | 52 |
| Victoria | 217 | 38,430 | 12,099 | 107 |
| Waterlow | 26 | 11,178 | 2,658 | 24 |
+-----------+-------+------------+------------+---------+
_Taken from L.C.C. Handbook No. 1009, 1906._
London has always been a city of gardens, and although much boast is
made of the newly-acquired open spaces, a wail for those destroyed
would have equal justification. It is very terrible that everything in
life has to be learnt by slow and hard lessons, dearly purchased under
the iron rod of experience. It is not till the want of a green spot
is brought painfully home to people by its loss, that the thought of
saving the last remaining speck of greenery is borne in upon them with
sufficient force to transform the wish into action. For generations
garden after garden has passed into building land. No one has a right
to grudge the wealth or prosperity that has accrued in consequence,
but the wish that the benevolence and foresight of past days had taken
a different bent, and that a more systematic retention of some of the
town gardens had received attention, cannot be banished.
When Roman civilisation had been swept away in Britain, and with
it all vestiges of the earliest gardens, there are no vestiges of
horticulture until Christianity had taken hold of the country, and
religious houses were rising up in various parts of the kingdom. The
cradle of modern gardening may be said to have been within the peaceful
walls of these monastic foundations. In no part of the country were
they more numerous than in and around London, and it is probable that
every establishment had its garden for the supply of vegetables, and
more particularly medicinal herbs. Attached to most of them, there was
also a special garden for the production of flowers for decoration
on church festivals. It is probable that the earliest London gardens
were of this monastic character, and as long as the buildings were
maintained the gardens were in existence. The Grey, the Black, the
White, and the Austin Friars all had gardens within their enclosures;
and the Hospitaller Orders--the Templars and Knights of St. John--had
large gardens within their precincts. The Temple Garden is still one
of the charms of London, but only the old gateway of the Priory of St.
John in Clerkenwell remains, and the garden, with all its historical
associations, has long since vanished. It was in a small upper room,
“next the garden in the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem in England,
without the bars of West Smythfield,” that Henry VII., in the first
year of his reign, gave the Great Seal to John Morton, Bishop of Ely,
and appointed him Chancellor, and he “carried the seal with him” to
his house, Ely Place, hard by.[1] These small references show the
picturesque side of such events, the gardens constantly being the
background of the scenes.
It is only one more of the regrettable results of the barbarous way
in which the Reformation was carried out in England, that the gardens
shared the fate of the stately buildings round whose sheltering walls
they flourished. It is not easy to picture the desolation of those
days: the unkept, uncared-for garden, trodden under foot, makes the
forlorn aspect of the despoiled monasteries more pathetic.
London was a city of palaces in Plantagenet times, and the great
nobles had their gardens near or surrounding their castles. Bayard’s
Castle, facing the river for centuries, had its gardens, and there were
spacious gardens within the precincts of the Tower when it was the
chief royal residence in London, and outside the walls of the City fine
dwellings and large gardens were clustered together. Among the most
famous in the thirteenth century was the Earl of Lincoln’s, purchased
from the Dominicans, when they outgrew their demesne in Holborn, and
migrated to the riverside, where their memory ever lives under their
popular name of the Black Friars. Minute accounts of the expenses
of this garden are preserved in the Manor Roll, and a very fairly
accurate picture of what it was can be pieced together. The chief
flowers in it were roses, and the choicest to be found at that date,
the sweet-scented double red “rosa gallica,” would be in profusion.
It might be that, in the shady corners of the garden, periwinkle
trailed upon the ground, and violets perfumed the air. White Madonna
lilies reared their stately heads among the clove pinks, lavender, and
thyme. Peonies, columbines, hollyhocks, honeysuckle, corncockles, and
iris, white, purple, and yellow, made no mean show. The orchard could
boast of many kinds of pears and apples, cherries and nuts. A piece
of water described as “the greater ditch”[2] formed the fish stew
where pike were kept and artificially fed. Besides all this, there
was a considerable vineyard. It was thought a favourable spot for
vines, and the Bishop of Ely’s vineyard, the site of which is still
remembered by Vine Street, was hard by. A good deal of imagination is
now required to conjure up a picture of a vintage in Holborn. Amid
the crowd of cabs, carts, carriages, and omnibuses rolling all day
over the Viaduct from Oxford Street to the heart of the City, it needs
as fertile a brain as that of the poet who pictured the vision of
poor Susan as she listens to the song of the bird in Wood Street to
call up such a scene. The gardens sloping down to the “bourne” were
carefully enclosed--the Earl of Lincoln’s by strong wooden palings,
that of Ely Place by a thorn hedge with wooden gates fitted with keys
and locks.[3] The inner gardens, that were specially reserved for
the Bishop, the great garden and the “grassyard,” were separated by
railings and locked doors from the vineyard. The “grassyard” was mown,
and a tithe of the proceeds from the sale of the grass paid to the
Rector of St. Andrew’s, Holborn. The wine produced was more of the
character of vinegar, and was also sold; as much as thirty gallons of
this “verjuice” was produced in one year. Extra hands were hired to
weed and dress the vineyard, and apparently the vineyard entailed a
good deal of trouble, and for many years it was let. Think of a warm
day in early autumn, clusters of grapes hanging from the twisted vines,
men and women in gay colours carrying baskets of ripe fruit to the
vats where they were trodden, and the crimson juice squeezed out; the
mellow rays of the sinking sun light up the high walls and many towers
of the City, and the distant pile of Westminster is half hidden by the
mists rising from the river, while there, too, the vintage is in full
swing, and the song[4] of the grape-gatherers breaks the stillness of
the October evening. Away to the north the landscape is bounded by the
wooded heights of Hampstead and Highgate. Most of the country round
London then was forest land, and in spite of the changes of centuries
a few acres of the original forest remain in Highgate Woods to this
day, now owned by the Corporation of London. Between the hills and the
city on the north-east lay the marshy ground known as Moorfields, for
some 800 years the favourite resort of Londoners wishing to take the
air. Gradually this open space has been built over, although a few
green patches, such as Finsbury Square, the Artillery Ground, or the
more distant Bunhill Fields, have remained through the changes time
has wrought. This space might have been like one of the other heaths or
commons of London, a beautiful open space in the heart of the town, but
the supposed exigencies of modern civilisation, with the usual want of
foresight, have banished the life-giving fresh air, and the Corporation
of London has had to go far afield, to Burnham Beeches and Epping
Forest, to supply what once was at its door. Literally at its door,
as the busy street of Moorgate recalls the Mayor, Thomas Falconer by
name, who in 1415 “caused the wall of the citie to be broken neere unto
Coleman Street, and there builded a posterne now called _Moorgate_,
upon the Mooreside, where was never gate before. This gate he made for
ease of the citizens, that way to passe upon cawseys into the Field
for their recreation.”[5] The fields in question were at that time a
marsh, and though some fifty years later “dikes and bridges” were made,
it was many years before the whole moor was drained. The task at one
time seemed so difficult that the chronicler Stowe, in 1598, feared
that even if the earth was raised until it was level with the city
walls it would be “but little dryer,” such was the “moorish” nature of
the ground. Moorfields was the scene of many curious dramas during its
history. It was the great place for displays, sham fights, and sports
of the citizens. Pepys notes in his Diary, July 26, 1664, that there
was much discourse about “the fray yesterday in Moorfields, how the
butchers at first did beat the weavers (between whom there hath been
ever an old competition for mastery), but at last the weavers rallied
and beat them.” Such scenes were very frequent, and Moorfields for
generations was the theatre of such contests. During the time of the
Great Fire, numbers of homeless people camped out there, passing days
of discomfort and anxiety about their few remaining household goods.
Pepys in his casual way alludes to them: “5th September, ... Into
Moorefields (our feet ready to burn, walking through the town among hot
coles), and find that full of people, and poor wretches carrying their
goods there, and everybody keeping his goods together by themselves
(and a great blessing it is to them that it is fair weather for them to
keep abroad night and day); drunk there and paid twopence for a plain
penny loaf.” The “trained bands” used Moorfields as their exercise
ground, and no doubt the prototype of John Gilpin disported himself
there. As the fields were drained after 1527 they became more and more
the favourite resort of citizens of all ranks. Laid out more as a
public garden in 1606, they continued the chief open space of the city
until a few generations ago.
The garden of the Drapers’ Company was another of the lungs of the
City, and the disappearance of the great part of it, also within recent
years, is much to be regretted. This land was purchased by the Company
from Henry VIII. after the garden had been made by Thomas Cromwell,
Earl of Essex, and forfeited on his attainder. His method of increasing
his garden was simple enough. He appears to have taken what he wanted
from the citizens adjoining, and his all-powerful position at the
time left them without redress. Stowe describes the way this land was
filched away. “This house being finished, and having some reasonable
plot of ground left for a garden, hee caused the pales of the gardens
adjoining to the north part thereof, on a sudden to be taken doune, 22
foot to be measured forth right into the north of every man’s ground, a
line then to be drawn, a trench to be cast, a foundation laid, and an
high bricke wall to be builded. My Father had a garden there, and there
was a house standing close to his south pale; this house they loosed
from the ground, and bare upon Rowlers into my Father’s garden 22 foot
ere my Father heard thereof.... No man durst goe to argue the matter,
but each man lost his Land.”
It is difficult to estimate whether the charitable munificence of the
Company is altogether as great a public benefit, from a health point
of view, as retaining some of the garden for public use would have
been. Men are naturally so conservative, that, because they have been
content to talk and do business, and even search for a breath of air,
in the crowded streets on the hottest summer days, it has probably
never occurred to them that a few minutes on a seat under shady trees
would have “refreshed their spirits,” and the addition of better air
improved their brain powers more effectually. The idea of a garden
city is such a new one that it is not fair to judge by such standards.
Distances are now much reduced by electricity above and below ground,
so that the necessity of crowding business houses together to save
time is not so all-important. When the City gardens became built over,
no doubt the newer and more sanitary conditions were felt amply to
compensate for the loss of oxygen given off by the growing plants, and
the preservation of air spaces in the midst of crowded centres had not
occurred to men’s minds.
London four or five hundred years ago must indeed have needed its
gardens. The squalor and dirt of its cramped streets, the noisy
clamour, the rough and uncouth manners, are unpleasing to realise. The
contrast of the little walled gardens, where the women could sit, and
the busy men find a little quiet from the noise outside, must indeed
have been precious. The profession of a gardener, however, did not
seem to soften their behaviour, for some of the worst offenders were
gardeners. So serious did the “scurrility, clamour, and nuisance of
the gardeners and their servants,” who sold their fruit and vegetables
in the market, become, that they disturbed the Austin Friars at their
prayers in the church hard by, and caused so much annoyance to the
people living near, that in 1345 a petition, to have these “gardeners
of the earls, barons, bishops, and citizens” removed to another part
of the town, was presented to the Lord Mayor. Later on, gardening
operations in the City and for six miles round were restricted to
freemen and apprentices of the Gardeners’ Company, and the sale of
vegetables was almost exclusively in their hands. Their guild had power
to seize and destroy all bad plants, or those exposed for sale by
unlicensed persons. The Gardeners’ Company, incorporated in 1605, had a
second charter in 1616, and a confirmation of their rights in 1635, and
it still remains one of the City companies.
All the smaller householders, even in the crowded parts, continued
to enjoy their little gardens for many centuries. Even after the
spoliation of the monasteries, the houses rebuilt on their sites
had their little enclosures; and large houses such as Sir William
Pawlet’s, on the ground of the Augustine monastery, or later on Sir
Christopher Hatton’s on Ely Place, had their gardens around them.
Even now, in the heart of London, a small row of shabby old houses
survives, each with a small garden attached to it. These are called
Nevill Court, from the site having been within the precincts owned by
Ralph Nevill, Bishop of Chichester, Chancellor in the time of Henry
III., who built a great palace near here. One of the row belongs to the
Moravian Mission, or United Brothers, a sect who trace their origin to
John Huss. They settled in this house in 1737. This old-world corner
opens out of Fetter Lane. A small wooden paling separates the minute
strips of blackened garden from a narrow paved pathway. There were
many such gardens in this locality less than a century ago. Charles
Lamb, when aged six, went to school to a Mr. Bird in Bond Stables,
off Fetter Lane, now vanished; and, returning to the spot in 1825, he
recalled the early associations: “The school-room stands where it did,
looking into a discoloured, dingy garden.... Oh, how I remember ...
the truant looks side-long to the garden, which seemed a mockery of
our imprisonment.” Would that some antiquarian millionaire--if such a
combination exists!--might take into his head to preserve Nevill Court,
to restore the houses and renovate the gardens, and preserve this relic
of Old London, to give future generations some idea of what the smaller
dwelling-houses in the old city were like. In most districts these
little gardens were the usual appendage to dwelling-houses. Pepys,
living in Seething Lane, often mentions his garden. It was there he
sat with his wife and taught her maid to sing; it was there he watched
the flames spreading over the town at the time of the Great Fire; and
in it his money was buried during the scare of the Dutch invasion. So
carelessly, indeed, was the money hidden that 100 gold pieces were
lost, but eventually most of them recovered by sweeping the grass and
sifting the soil. The natural way in which Pepys mentions how other
people--Sir W. Batten and Mrs. Turner--during the Fire buried in their
city gardens their wine and other goods they could not send to the
country, that is, Bethnal Green, only shows how general these little
plots were.
Gerard, that delightful old herbalist and gardener to Lord Burghley,
in Elizabeth’s reign, had his own garden in Holborn. In it flourished
no less than some 972 varieties of plants, of which he published a
catalogue in 1596. His friend and fellow-botanist, L’Obel, whose name
is best remembered by the familiar genus Lobelia, testified that he
had seen all the plants on the list actually growing there. The great
faith and skill with which these old gardeners attempted to grow in
London all the newly-acquired floral treasures, from all parts of the
world, is truly touching. To make them “denizons of our London gardens”
was Gerard’s delight. And this worthy ambition was shared by L’Obel,
who looked after Lord Zouche’s garden in Hackney; by John Parkinson,
author of the delightful work on gardening; and later on, the mantle
descended to the Tradescants, who had their museum (the nucleus of the
Ashmolean) or “Ark” and garden in Lambeth; by Sir Hans Sloane, who
established the Physic Garden in Chelsea, and numerous others. It is
curious to think how many of the plants now familiar everywhere made
their first appearance in London. They were not reared elsewhere and
brought to the large shows which are arranged in the metropolis to
exhibit novelties to the public, but really London-grown. They were
foreign importations, little seeds or bulbs, sent home to the merchants
trading with the Levant, or brought back by enterprising explorers
from the New World and carefully nurtured in the London gardens,
that the citizens “set such store by.” There were several of these
“worshipful gentlemen” to whom the introduction of flowers is due, and
of many a plant Gerard could say with pride, they “are strangers to
England, notwithstanding I have them in my garden.” Most plants were
grown for use, but others “we have them,” says Gerard, “in our London
gardens rather more for toyes of pleasure than any vertues they are
possessed with.” Some of the first potatoes introduced were grown in
London. Gerard had those in his garden direct from Virginia, and prized
them as “a meat for pleasure.” Jerusalem artichokes were brought to
London by him, and grown there in early days (1617). Parkinson also
had them, calling them “Potatos of Canada.” Bananas were first seen in
England in Johnson’s the herbalist’s shop in Snow Hill. At a much later
date--early in last century--the fuchsia was made known for the first
time to Lee, a celebrated gardener, who saw a pot of this attractive
plant in the window of a house in Wapping, where a sailor had brought
it as a present to his wife. So attached to it was she, that she only
parted with it when a sum of eight guineas was offered, besides two of
the young rooted cuttings. London can claim so many flowers, it would
be tedious to enumerate them all. The first cedars in this country grew
in the Chelsea Physic Garden, some of the first orchids at Loddige’s
Garden in Hackney, and many things have emanated from Veitch’s Nursery,
or the Botanical Gardens in Regent’s Park, or the gardens which used
to belong to the Royal Horticultural Society in South Kensington. The
chrysanthemum in early days flourished in Stoke Newington, and one of
the very first results of cross-fertilisation, which now forms the
chief part of scientific garden work, was accomplished by Fairchild, a
famous nurseryman at Hoxton, who died in 1730.
This same Thomas Fairchild left a bequest for a sermon, to be
preached annually on Whit Tuesday, at St. Leonard’s, Shoreditch,
on “the Wonderful Works of God in the Creation,” which is still
delivered, often by most excellent preachers, but to a sadly small
and unappreciative congregation. Every opportunity ought to be taken
to awaken the interest in these wonders of creation in the vegetable
kingdom, and so much might be done in London Parks. They are too
frequently merely places of recreation, and until recently but little
has been attempted to arouse enthusiasm for the beauties of nature,
and to make them instructive as well as attractive. Even in the
crowded heart of London a great deal could be effected, and it is a
satisfaction to feel that attention is being drawn to the subject and
an effort being made in the right direction. In the summer of 1906 a
“Country in Town Exhibition” was held in Whitechapel. This novel idea
was so successful, and met with such appreciation, that 33,250 people
visited the exhibition during the fortnight it was open, besides the
hundreds that collected to see H.R.H. Princess Christian perform the
opening ceremony. The available space of the Whitechapel Art Gallery
was filled with plants that would thrive in London; the Office of
Works arranged a demonstration of potting; bees at work, aquaria,
specimens dried by children or drawn in the schools, growing specimens
of British plants, such as the dainty bee-orchis, plants and window
boxes grown in the district, and such-like, made up the exhibits.
Lectures were organised on plant life and nature in London which were
largely attended. A series of drawings and plans of the Mile End Road
and Shadwell, as they are, and as they might be, were prepared, and
the cost of such transformations was worked out. These were exhibited
in the hopes of awakening the interest of the Corporation who owns
the site of the disused market in Shadwell, and of causing more to be
done in the Mile End Road. It appears that with a comparatively small
expenditure and ultimate loss, these plans could be realised, and the
physical and moral conditions of the whole neighbourhood improved.
Every year it is further to get into the country from the centres
of population, and the necessity of improving existing open spaces
becomes all the greater. By improving it is not meant to suggest that
what are sometimes called improvements should be carried out; grander
band-stands, handsome railings, more asphalt paths or stiff concrete
ponds. No, it is only more intelligent planting, grouping for artistic
effect, and arranging to demonstrate the wonders of nature in spaces
already in existence, and to suggest what could be done to cheer and
brighten the dark spots of the city.
The country round London has always been a good district for wild
flowers; the varied soils, aspects, and levels all go to make it
a propitious spot for botanising. Many places now covered with
streets were a few generations ago a mass of wild flowers. The older
herbalists--Gerard, Johnson, and their friends--used to search the
neighbourhood of London for floral treasures, and incidentally in
their works the names of these friends, such as Mr. James Clarke and
Mr. Thomas Smith, “Apothecaries of London,” and their “search for rare
plants” are mentioned. Gerard was constantly on the watch, and records
plants seen in the quaintest places, such as the water-radish, which
he says grew “in the joints or chincks amongst mortar of a stone wall
that bordereth upon the river Thames by the Savoy in London, which yee
cannot finde but when the tide is much spent.” Pennyroyal “was found
on the common near London called Miles ende,” “from whence poore women
bring plentie to sell in London markets.” The rare adders-tongue and
great wild valerian grew in damp meadows, the fields abounded with all
the more common wild flowers, and such choice things as the pretty
little “ladies’ tresses,” grew on the common near Stepney, while
butcher’s broom, cow wheat, golden rod, butterfly orchis, lilies of the
valley and royal fern, wortleberries and bilberries covered the heaths
and woods of Hampstead and Highgate. Many another flower is recorded by
Gerard, who must have had a keen and observant eye which could spot a
rare water-plant in a ditch while attending an execution at Tyburn! yet
he meekly excuses his want of knowledge of where a particular hawkweed
grew, saying, “I meane, God willing, better to observe heerafter, as
oportunitie shall serve me.” That power of observation is a gift to
be fostered and encouraged, and were that achieved by education in
Council Schools, a great success would have been scored, and probably
it would be more fruitful in the child’s after life than the scattered
crumbs from countless subjects with which the brain is bewildered.
The wild flowers could still be enticed within the County of London,
and species, which used to make their homes within its area, might be
induced at least to visit some corners of its parks. The more dingy
the homes of children are, the more necessary it must be to bring what
is simple, pure, and elevating to their minds, and modern systems
of teaching are realising this. If public gardens can be brought to
lend their aid in the actual training, as well as being a playground,
they will serve a twofold purpose. An old writer quaintly puts this
influence of plant life. “Flowers through their beautie, varietie of
colour and exquisite forme, do bring to a liberall and gentle manly
mind, the remembrance of honestie, comelinesse, and all kindes of
vertues. For it would be an unseemly and filthie thing, as a certain
wise man saith, for him that doth looke upon and handle faire and
beautifull things, and who frequenteth and is conversant in faire and
beautifull places, to have his mind not faire but filthie and deformed.”
It is not possible for all London children to get into the country
now that it is further away, so the more of nature, as well as true
artistic gardening, they can be shown in the parks the better. It used
in olden days to be the custom, among other May Day revels, to go out
to the country round London and enjoy the early spring as the Arabs do
at the present time, when they have the fête of “Shem-en-Nazim,” or
“Smelling the Spring.” “On May day in the morning, every man, except
impediment, would walk into the Sweet Meddowes and green woods, there
to rejoyce their spirits with the beauty and Savour of sweet Flowers,
and with the harmonie of Birdes, praising God in their kinde.”[6] It
would surprise many people to learn how many birds still sing their
praises within the parks of London, although the meadows and other
delights have vanished. This serves to encourage the optimist in
believing in the future possibilities of London Parks.
There is no “park system” in England as in the United States of
America, where each town provides, in addition to its regular lines of
streets, and its main thoroughfares leading straight from the centre
to the more suburban parts, a complete system of parks. The more
old-fashioned town of Boston was behind the rest, although it contained
a few charming public gardens in the heart of the town. Of late years
large tracts of low-lying waste grounds have been filled up, and one
piece connected with another, until it, too, rejoices in a complete
“park system.” Chicago, Pittsburgh, and all these modern towns of
rapid growth possess a well-ordered “park system.” The conditions, the
natural aspect of the country, and the climate are so unlike our own
that no comparison is fair. Like everything else in the United States,
they are on a large scale, and while there is much to admire, and
something to learn, there is very little in the points in which they
differ from us that could be imitated. London parks and open spaces,
taken as a whole, are unrivalled. The history and associations which
cluster round each and all of them, would fill volumes if recorded
facts were adhered to; and if the imagination were allowed to run riot
within the range of possibility, there would be no limit. Things which
have grown gradually as circumstances changed can have no system. Their
variety and irregularity is their charm, and no description of either
the parks, gardens, or open spaces of London can be given as a whole.
Each has its own associations, its own history, and to glance at some
of London’s bright spots and tell their stories will be the endeavour
of these pages.