MUNICIPAL PARKS
_Let cities, kirks, and everie noble towne
Be purified, and decked up and downe._
--ALEXANDER HUME (1557–1609).
London is almost completely surrounded by a chain of parks. Luckily,
as the town grew, the necessity for fresh air began to be realised,
and before it was too late, in the thickly-populated districts north,
south, east, and west, any available open space has been converted
into a public garden, or into a more ambitious park. Would that this
laudable spirit had moved people sooner, and then there might have been
a Finsbury Park nearer Finsbury, and the circle of green patches on the
map might have been more evenly dotted about some of the intervening
parishes. Many of the open spaces are heaths, or commons, or Lammas
Lands, which have various rights attached to them, and, in consequence,
have been saved from the encroachments which have threatened them from
time to time, and have thus been preserved, in spite of the growth
of the surrounding districts. Of late years the rights have in many
instances been acquired by public bodies, so as to keep for ever these
priceless boons. It was not until the middle of last century that the
movement in favour of city parks assumed definite form. They were in
contemplation before 1840, but none were completed until several years
later. Victoria was the first, opened in 1845; Battersea, although
begun then, was not ready for planting till 1857; Kennington, Finsbury,
and Southwark had followed before 1870, and, since then, every few
years new open spaces have been added. They have been purchased by
public bodies for the most part, but a large share of the honour of
acquiring these grounds is due to private munificence and individual
enterprise.
Irrespective of the commons which link them together, the principal
parks are the following. Beginning on the extreme north there is
Golder’s Hill, then to the east of Hampstead lies Waterlow, the next
going eastwards is Finsbury, then Clissold and Springfield, and down
towards the east Victoria. In South London, between Woolwich and
Greenwich, lies Maryon Park; then, west of Greenwich, Deptford and
Southwark; then a densely built-over district before Kennington,
Vauxhall, and Battersea are reached; while away to the south lie
Camberwell, Ruskin, Brockwell, and Dulwich; right away into the
country, on the south-east, Avery Hill and Eltham; and back again
west, across the river again, in Hammersmith, is Ravenscourt. These
parks of varying sizes, and smaller recreation grounds between, make
up the actual parks, although some of the commons, with playgrounds,
artificial water, and band-stands, can hardly be distinguished from the
true park.
The oldest of the parks now under the London County Council--Battersea,
Kennington, and Victoria--were for many years under the Office of
Works, and on the same footing as the Royal Parks. Government, and no
municipal authority, has the credit of their formation. Then came
several formed by or transferred to the Metropolitan Board of Works.
To all these, already over 2050 acres, the London County Council
automatically succeeded. After the Bill reorganising the disposal of
the funds of the London Parochial Charities in 1883, a part of their
money was allotted to provide open spaces, and they helped to purchase
many of the parks--Clissold, Vauxhall, Ravenscourt, Brockwell, and so
on. The acquisition of parks has, in many cases, been due to private
individuals, who helped to raise the necessary funds, and themselves
contributed, and were generally assisted by the local vestries,
and, later on, Borough Councils. Miss Octavia Hill, by writing and
trying to influence public opinion, made many efforts to secure open
spaces. At her instance the Kyrle Society was founded for the general
improvement of homes, of disused burial-grounds, and open spaces; and
from this developed the Metropolitan Gardens Association, of which
the Earl of Meath is Chairman. Immense credit is due to this Society,
both for acquiring new sites and beautifying existing ones, and being
instrumental in having countless places opened to the public. And to
private individuals who have given whole parks, or largely contributed
to others, too much gratitude cannot be expressed. Since they came into
office, the London County Council has had added some 2300 acres of open
spaces and parks to those under its care, which have been purchased,
or given in whole or in part, by private individuals or other public
bodies. Some of the last acquisitions of the London County Council lie
quite outside the county boundary, so are beyond the limit set to this
volume. Marble Hill is away at Twickenham, but half the purchase-money
of £72,000 was paid by the London County Council, and the entire cost
of alteration and maintenance is found by it. The place was bought
chiefly to preserve the wooded aspect of the view from Richmond Hill.
The Forest of Hainault is also outside the bounds, near Epping. The
805 acres there are partly fields, and in part the remains of the old
Forest of “Hyneholt,” as it was often written, a section of the Royal
Forest which covered a large tract of Essex.
The most natural division, when dealing with these open spaces, is
the river, and it is a division which strikes a fairly even balance.
Including Royal Parks, which contain some 1266 acres, the northern side
can claim the larger area, as, irrespective of squares and churchyards
and gardens, there are about 3141 acres of green. The south side has
only Greenwich Park of 185 acres of Royal Park, and, exclusive of that,
there are quite 2169 acres, as against 1875 of the municipal areas on
the northern side, when the Crown land is deducted. Besides these,
there are 226 acres maintained by the Borough Councils; so in round
numbers London has about 5721 acres of open space. These figures are
only rough estimates, and do not include all the smaller recreation
grounds or gardens of less than an acre.
These parks scattered around London are enjoyed by hundreds of
thousands annually, and yet, to a comparative handful of people who
live near Hyde Park, they are as much unexplored country as the regions
of Timbuctoo. The bicycling craze of ten years ago suddenly brought
Battersea Park into fashion; but the miles of crowded streets, with
their rushing trams and top-heavy omnibuses, put a considerable bar
between the “West End” and those more distant favoured spots. There
is much variety in these parks, both north and south, and the chief
difference lies in their origin. When a suburban manor-house, standing
in its own grounds, with well-timbered park and a garden of some
design, has been acquired, a much finer effect is produced than when
fields or market-gardens have been bought up and made into a park.
Finsbury Park, for instance, was merely fields, while Waterlow has
always been part of a private demesne. It is the same on the south of
the river. Brockwell is an old park and garden. Battersea was entirely
made. Each park has features which give it an individual character,
while there is and must be a certain repetition in describing every one
separately.
Many details are of necessity more or less the same in each. The London
County Council is responsible for the greater number, and in every
case they have thought certain things essential. For instance, the
band-stand; no park, large or small, is considered complete without
one. It is hardly necessary to mention each individually, though some
are of the ordinary patterns, others more “rustic” in construction (as
in Brockwell Park), with branching oak supports and thatched or tiled
roofs. Every park, except Waterlow, which is too hilly, furnishes ample
area for games. Cricket pitches by the dozen, and space for numerous
goal-posts is provided for, in each and all of the larger parks.
Gymnasiums, too, are included in the requirements of a fully-equipped
park. Swings for the smaller children, bars, ropes, and higher swings
for older boys and girls, are supplied. Bathing pools of greater
or less dimensions are often added, the one in Victoria Park being
especially large and crowded. Then the larger parks have green-houses,
and a succession of plants are on view all the year round. The
chrysanthemum time is one specially looked forward to in the East End
districts. Iron railings and paths, of course, are the inevitable
beginnings in the creation of a park, and more or less ambitious gates.
It is only in the larger ones, such as Finsbury, Victoria, Dulwich,
and Battersea, that carriages are anticipated. Though there is a drive
through Brockwell, and the steep hill in Waterlow might be climbed, and
the avenue in Ravenscourt is wide enough, it is evidently only foot
passengers who are expected, as a rule. Fancy ducks and geese attract
the small children on all the ponds, and some parks have enclosures for
deer or other animals. Sand gardens, or “seasides” for children to dig
in, are also frequently included.
The larger parks are self-contained--that is to say, the bedding out
and all the plants necessary for the flower-gardens are reared on the
premises. There is a frame-ground with green-houses attached, where the
stock is kept and propagated. Of course, much depends on the soil and
locality. In some parks the things will stand the winter much better
than in others, where fog and smoke and damp work deadly havoc.
A great deal is now done with simple, hardy flowers, which give just as
good an effect as more elaborate and expensive bedding. Roses in the
show beds will do well for two or even three years; with a few annuals
between they make charming effects. In Finsbury Park, the dark red
roses with Canterbury bells, and fuchsias with a ground of alyssum,
were effective and simple. In some parks the spring plants will thrive
all through the winter. Beds of white Arabis with pink tulips between;
forget-me-nots with white tulips; mixed collections of auriculas, that
dear old-fashioned “bear’s ears,” put in about the end of October, make
a little show all the winter, and produce a mass of colour in spring.
There is still room for improvement in the direction of the planting,
but of late years the war waged against the monopoly of calceolarias,
geraniums, and blue lobelias has, fortunately, had its effect in a
marked degree on the London Parks, municipal as well as royal.
There is apt to be a great uniformity in the selection of plants,
more especially among the trees and bushes. The future should always
be borne in mind in planting, and alas! that is not always the case.
Anything that will grow quickly is often put in, whereas a little
patience and a much finer effect would be the result in the end.
Privet grows faster than holly, but can the two results be compared?
There is a very fine old elm avenue in Ravenscourt; trees which the
planter never saw in perfection, but which many generations have since
enjoyed. But will the avenue of poplars in Finsbury Park have such a
future? After thirty-five years’ growth they are considerable trees,
but how long will they last? The plane does grow remarkably well, there
is no denying, but is it necessary for that reason to exclude almost
every other tree? Ash trees thrive surprisingly. Some of the oaks take
kindly to London, yet how few are planted. Richard Jefferies, that most
delightful of writers on nature, bemoans the lack of English trees
in the suburban gardens of London, and the same may be said of the
parks to some extent. “Go round the entire circumference of Greater
London,” he writes, “and find the list ceaselessly repeated. There are
acacias, sumachs, cedar deodaras, araucarias, laurels, planes, beds
of rhododendrons, and so on.” “If, again, search were made in these
enclosures for English trees and English shrubs, it would be found that
none have been introduced.”
It would be even more charming in a London Park than a suburban garden
to plant some of the delights of our English country, such as thorns,
crab apples, elder, and wild roses, with horse-chestnuts, and hazel.
What can be more beautiful than birches at all times of the year? That
they grow readily, their well-washed white stems in Hyde Park testify.
Birds, too, love the native trees, and some of the songsters, which
till lately were plentiful in many parks, might return to build if thus
encouraged.
There is much monotony in the laying out of all these parks. The
undulating green turf with a wavy line of bushes seems the only
recognised form. A narrow strip of herbaceous plants is put between the
smutty bushes and well-mown turf, and the official park flower-border
is produced. Curving lines of uncertain direction, tortuous paths
that carefully avoid the straight line, are all part of the generally
received idea of a correct outline. It is always more easy to criticise
than to suggest, but surely more variety would be achieved if parks
were planted really like wild gardens--the groups of plants more
as they might occur in a natural glade or woodland. Then let the
herbaceous border be a thing apart--a garden, straight and formal,
or curved and round, but not always in bays and promontories jutting
into seas of undulating green. A straight line occasionally is a
great rest to the eye, but it should begin and end at a definite and
tangible point. The small Park in Camberwell has a little avenue of
limes running straight across, with a centre where seats can be put
and paths diverge at right angles. It is quite small, and yet the Park
would be exactly like every other piece of ground, with no particular
design, without this. It gives a point and centre to the meandering
paths, and comes as a distinct relief. In Southwark Park an avenue is
growing up into fairly large trees. It seems stuck on to the Park--it
is not straight, but it is not a definite curve, and it ends somehow by
turning towards the entrance at one end and twisting in the direction
of the pond at the other. So it remains a shady walk, but not an avenue
with any pretension to forming part of a design.
It is not for the formal only this appeal is made, it is for less
formality and more real wildness, also a protest against the monotony
of the green banks, and bunches of bushes, and meaningless curves, too
often the only form of design. The aim in every case must be to have as
much variety as possible without incongruity, and to make the utmost
use of the ground; to give the most pleasure at the least expense.
One of the great difficulties must always be the numbers of people who
enjoy these parks. The grass suffers to such an extent that portions
must be periodically enclosed to recover. Then the children have to
be kept at a certain distance from the flowers, or the temptation to
gather one over-masters the fear of the park-keeper.
A green walk between trees would be a pleasing change from gravel and
asphalt in a less-frequented part of some park, but it would doubtless
have to be closed in sections, or there would soon be no turf left;
but such an experiment might well be tried. The attempts in Brockwell,
Golder’s Hill, and Ravenscourt at “old English gardens” are most
successful, and a welcome change in the monotony, and one has only to
look at the crowded seats to see how much they are appreciated.
The effort to make use of the parks to supplement nature-teaching in
the schools is also an advance in the right direction, and one that
could be followed up with advantage.
The trials of the climate of London, and the hurtful fogs, must not
be forgotten when criticising. They are no new thing, and gardeners
for two hundred years have had to contend with the smoke, and wage
war against its effects. But the evil has, of course, become greatly
intensified during the last fifty years. Fairchild, the author of the
“City Gardener,” in 1722, regrets that plants will not prosper because
of the “Sea Coal.” Mirabeau, writing from London in 1784, deplores
the fogs in England, and especially “those of London. The prodigious
quantity of coal that is consumed, adds to their consistence, prolongs
their duration, and eminently contributes to render these vapours more
black, and more suffocating--you feel this when rising in the morning.
To breathe the fresh morning air is a sort of happiness you cannot
enjoy in this immense Capital.” Yet in spite of this gloomy picture
there are trees now within the London area, which were getting black
when Mirabeau wrote. Smuts are by no means solely responsible for trees
dying. There are many other contributory causes. The drainage and want
of water is often a serious danger, and bad pruning in the case of the
younger trees is another. When branches begin to die, it is a very
safe and salutary precaution to lop them off, as has lately been done
to such a noticeable extent in Kensington Gardens. But the cutting and
pruning of trees by those employed by various municipal bodies is often
lamentably performed. The branches are not cut off clean, or to a
joint, where fresh twigs will soon sprout and fill in and make good the
gaps. Often they are cut leaving a piece of wood, which decays back to
the young growth, and rots into the sound part of the tree.
Some of the worst enemies of the gardener are the electric
power-stations. The trees suffer terribly from the smoke they emit.
Even healthy young shrubs and bushes, such as laurels, are destroyed
by it. In a very short time they become completely dried up, brown,
and shrivelled. In a memorandum on the Electric Power and Supply Bill
of 1906, the First Commissioner of Works pointed out these disastrous
effects. He says, “The case is not entirely one of the emission or
consumption of black or sooty or tarry matters. The other products of
combustion, such as sulphurous and sulphuric acid, with solid particles
of mineral matter or ash, are very deleterious to vegetation.” It
appears from the report of Dr. Thorpe, of the Government Laboratory,
that the production of sulphuric acid could be “much diminished, if not
entirely prevented, by pouring lime-water on the coal before it goes
into the furnaces, but from the look of trees in some neighbourhoods
this precaution does not appear to be taken.” These hindrances are
often very disheartening, and the many and serious difficulties that
have to be contended with, must never be lost sight of in any review of
the parks.
In every case the park is thoroughly appreciated by the inhabitants,
and no one can overestimate the health-giving properties of these
lungs of the city. It would be vain repetition to point out the fact
in each case, or to picture the crowds who enjoy them on Sundays--who
walk about, or lounge, or listen to the bands, or to what appears
still more stimulating, to the impassioned harangue of some would-be
reformer or earnest preacher. The densely-packed audiences, the
gesticulations and heated and declamatory arguments, are not confined
to Hyde Park. Victoria Park gathers just such assemblies, and every
park could make more or less the same boast. The seats are equally full
in each and all, and the grass as thickly strewn with prostrate forms.
Perambulators are as numerous and children as conspicuous in the north,
south, and eastern parks as in those of the west.
In looking round the parks it will be well to take a glance at the
smaller ones, then to consider each of the larger ones more in detail,
in every case missing out some of the obvious appendages which are
characteristic of all.
How pathetic some of these little parks are, and what a part they play
in the lives of those who live in the dingy streets near. Take, for
instance, one with a high-sounding name, Avondale Park. It is little
more than ten minutes’ walk from Shepherd’s Bush Station or Notting
Hill Gate. Yet, on inquiry for the most direct road, nobody can give
a satisfactory answer. One man will say, “I have lived here for years
and never heard of it”; another, “I don’t think it can be in this
district.” The same would be the result even nearer to it; but ask
for the recreation ground, and any child will tell you. “Down the
first narrow turning and to the right again, by the pawnbroker at the
corner.” It is a melancholy shop, with the plain necessaries of life
and tiny babies’ boots for sale on the trays outside the door--what
a volume of wretchedness and poverty those poor things bespeak. A
few yards further, and the iron railings of the “Park” come in view.
The happy shrill voices of children resound, the swings are in full
motion, the seats well filled, and up and down the asphalt walk, old
and young are enjoying themselves. When the band plays the place is
packed. “I’ve calculated as many as nine hundred at one time,” says
the old guardian, who is proud of the place, “and as for the children,
you often can’t see the ground for them.” Yes, this open space of four
and a quarter acres is really appreciated. It is difficult for those
in easier circumstances to realise what a difference that little patch
of green, those few bright flowers, make to the neighbourhood, or the
social effect of the summer evenings, when the band and the pleasant
trees offer a counter-attraction to the public-house. For some twelve
years this little Park has been enjoyed. Formed by the vestry, and kept
up by the Royal Borough of Kensington, it greatly pleases, although
it scarce can be called beautiful. The centre is given over to the
children, and the boys have ample room, and the girls and infants keep
their twenty-four swings in constant motion. A path twists round the
irregular plot, and most of the way is bordered by those London-loving
plants, the iris, and the usual groups of smutty bushes. Along the
front runs a wide asphalt walk, well furnished with seats, a band-stand
half way, and a fountain at one end. Some bedding out with gay flowers
is the attraction here. A gardener and a boy keep it in order,
while for about £20 a year a nurseryman supplies all the necessary
bedding-out plants. The old guardian sweeps the scraps of paper up and
sees the children are not too riotous at the swings. Thus, for no great
expense, widespread pleasure is conferred.
The Embankment Gardens, between Westminster and Blackfriars, are much
frequented. At all seasons of the year the seats are crowded, and now,
with the statues, bands playing in summer, refreshment buffet, and
newspaper kiosk, they look more like a foreign garden than the usual
solemn squares of London. During the dinner-hour they are filled with
the printers from the many newspaper offices near, and the band was in
the first instance paid for by the Press.
They are divided into three sections, and measure ten acres in all,
not including the garden beyond the Victoria Tower. The peace has been
utterly destroyed by the din of trams, which are for ever passing and
re-passing, and it is much to be feared that the trees next the river,
which were growing so well, will not withstand the ill-treatment they
have received--the cutting of roots and depriving them of moisture.
The Gardens are entirely on the ground made up when the Embankment was
formed, between 1864 and 1870.
The Gardens were opened in 1870, but many improvements have since been
made in the design, and various statues put up to famous men. One
is to John Stuart Mill, and at the Westminster end, one of William
Tyndall, the translator of the New Testament and Pentateuch, to which
translation is due much of the beautiful language of the Authorised
Version of the Bible.
Of the old gardens and entrances to the great houses which stretched
the whole length of the river bank, from Westminster and Whitehall to
the City, only one trace remains. It is the Water Gate of York House.
The low level on which it stands, below the terrace end of Buckingham
Street, shows to what point the river rose. York House was so called
as it was the town house of the Archbishops of York, but none of them
ever lived there except Heath, in Queen Mary’s time, who was the first
to possess it. It was let, as a rule, to the Keepers of the Great Seal,
and Bacon lived there. George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, pulled
down most of the old house, and commenced rebuilding. Nothing now
remains but the Water Gate, supposed to be by Inigo Jones, although the
design is also attributed to Nicholas Stone, who built it. The house
and gardens were sold and divided in 1672. Buckingham Street and the
streets adjoining are built on the site, and all that is left is the
fine old gateway, with most modern-looking gardens between it and the
river, which once flowed up to its arches.
Another Embankment recreation ground is the Island Garden, Poplar, and
it is one that is also much appreciated. It was made on some ground
not required for ship-building or docks on the river front of the Isle
of Dogs, and opened to the public in 1895. The idea of making a garden
of it had for some few years been in contemplation, and as soon as the
necessary funds were found, this space, somewhat less than three acres,
was saved from being built over, and a wide walk of about 700 feet made
along the river embankment. The view from the seats, with which it is
plentifully supplied, over towards Greenwich Hospital and Park makes
it a really charming promenade. The quaint name of this part of London
is said to be derived from the fact that the kennels of the sporting
dogs of the royal residents of Greenwich Palace were kept there, “which
usually making a great noise, the seamen and others thereupon called
the place the Isle of Dogs.” This seems the most plausible of the
various definitions of the name of this peninsula--for it is only an
island by means of the dock canal, made in 1800. A quotation from a
play of Middleton and Dekker, in 1611, shows that then, at any rate, it
was associated with actual dogs.
“_Moll Cutpurse_: O Sir, he hath been brought up in the Isle of Dogs,
and can both fawn like a spaniel and bite like a mastiff, as he finds
occasion.”
The ground in those days and until much later times was a fertile
marsh, subject to frequent inundations, but affording very rich
pasture. Breaches in the embankment occurred at intervals until a solid
pile and brick wall was made in the last century, above which the
“Island Gardens” were laid.
Further along the north bank of the river there is another and a larger
garden, kept up by the London County Council, although it is in East
Ham and not within the County of London. This was made on the site of
the North Woolwich Tea Gardens, which enjoyed a kind of popularity
for some fifty years. Having been started in 1851, they kept up their
reputation for “Baby Shows,” “Beard Shows,” and such-like attractions,
until the ground became too valuable for building, and too heavily
rated for them to exist, and, but for timely interference, this open
space would have been converted into wharves.
The story of the Bethnal Green Gardens is very different. Although
it was only in 1891 that the present arrangements with regard to
keeping up the Gardens were established, the 15½ acres of which
they form part has a long history. As far back as 1667 the land was
purchased by a group of residents, who collectively subscribed £200,
and by a trust-deed dated 1690 conveyed the land to trustees, to be
administered for the benefit of the poor. It had been purchased and
enclosed, the deed specified, “for the prevention of any new building
thereon.” Of this ground 9 acres form the present Garden; on part of
the remainder St. John’s Church was built, and in 1872 the Bethnal
Green Museum, an offshoot from South Kensington, was opened on another
section. The most exhaustive work on Municipal Parks says that when
the land “came into the possession of the London County Council” it
“consisted of orchard, paddock, kitchen garden, and pleasure grounds,
all in a rough and neglected condition.” Under the levelling hand of
the London County Council it has been made to look exactly like every
other public garden, with “ornamental wrought-iron enclosing fences,
broad walks, shrubberies,” and so on, at a cost of over £5000, and was
opened in 1895. There is no trace of its former condition, nothing to
point to its antiquity or any difference in its appearance from the
most modern acquisition. Perhaps after all it is as well, for among
the thousands of that poor and crowded district that use and enjoy it,
there is not one to whom a passing thought of the old weavers who were
settled there when the land was given, or to whom the legend of pretty
Bessee the Blind Beggar’s daughter of Bethnal Green would occur. Though
the design is prosaic, the gardens are made cheerful and gay, and if
they add a gleam of brightness to the lives of toil of those living
near them, they must be said to fulfil their purpose.
VICTORIA PARK
Victoria Park was the first of the modern Parks to be laid out, and it
is the largest. When the advantage of an East End Park was admitted,
the work of forming one was carried out by the Commissioners of Woods
and Forests. An Act passed in 1840 enabled them to sell York House to
the Duke of Sutherland (hence it became Stafford House), for £72,000,
and to purchase about 290 acres of land in the East End in the parishes
of Hackney, Bethnal Green, and Bow. Part of this was reserved for
building improved dwellings, and 193 acres formed Victoria Park, the
laying out of which began in 1842. Thirty years later, when some of
the land adjoining was about to be built on, the Metropolitan Board
of Works bought some 24 acres to add to the Park, the whole of which,
including the new part, was under the Office of Works. Other additions
have been made from time to time, chiefly with a view to opening
entrances to the Park, so as to make it as easy of access as possible
from the crowded districts in the direction of Limehouse and the docks,
and round Mile End Road.
The ground which the Park covers was chiefly brick-fields and
market-gardens, and Bishop’s Hall Farm. The latter place is the only
part with any historical association. The farm was in the manor of
Stepney, which was held by the Bishops of London, and Bishop’s or
Bonner’s Hall was the Manor House. Many of the Bishops of London
resided here in early days. Stowe, in 1598, referring to Bishop Richard
de Gravesend in 1280, writes: “It appeareth by the Charter [of free]
warren granted to this Bishop, that (in his time) there were two
Woods in the Parish of Stebunheth [Stepney], pertaining to the said
Bishop: I have (since I kept house for my selfe) knowne the one of
them by _Bishops Hall_, but now they are both made plaine of wood,
and not to be discerned from other grounds.” These woods were on the
ground covered by the Park. Stowe notices in his short accounts of the
Bishops of London that Ralph Stratford, who was Bishop from 1339 to
1354, “deceased at Stebunhith.” The name Bonner’s Hall somehow became
attached to the Manor House. The same chronicler also records that
Bishop Ridley gave the manors of Stepney and Hackney to the King in the
fourth year of Edward VI., who granted them to Lord Wentworth. Bonner,
therefore, would be the last Bishop who could have resided there. The
old Manor House was not destroyed till 1800, when part of the material
was taken to build a farm-house, which was cleared away when the Park
was formed.
The first laying out of the Park does not seem to have been altogether
satisfactory. A writer in 1851 criticises it very severely. The
roads and paths, he says, were so badly laid as to require almost
reconstruction. The “banks of the lake must be reduced to something
like shape to resist the wash of the water,” and the remodelling of
the plantations will be “a work of time.” Just then Mr. Gibson assumed
the charge of the Park, and even this captious critic seems to have
been well satisfied that he had “begun in real earnest” to carry out
the necessary improvements. Modern gardeners might not applaud all his
planting quite so enthusiastically as his contemporaries. For instance,
the rage for araucarias--monkey puzzles--has somewhat subsided, though
the planting of a number met with great praise in the Fifties. Most
of the Park was planted with discrimination. In a line with the canal
which forms one boundary, an avenue was put, now a charming shady
road with well-grown trees. The artificial water with fancy ducks, in
which is a wooded island with a Chinese pagoda, is a great delight for
boating. The bathing-lake has still greater attraction, and thousands
bathe there daily all through the summer months. It is said, as many
as 25,000 have been counted on a summer’s morning. Bedding out was
at its height when Victoria Park was laid out, so the flower-garden
included some elaborate scroll designs which were suited to the style
of carpet-bedding then in vogue. Now, though less stiff, the formal
bedding is well done, and attracts great attention. Those in the East
End have just as keen an appreciation as the frequenters of Hyde Park,
of the display of flowers. The green-house in winter is much enjoyed,
and a succession of bright flowers is kept there during the dark months
of the year. The children’s sand garden is also a delight.
[Illustration: PAGODA ON THE ISLAND, VICTORIA PARK.]
In spite of its situation in a densely-populated district, the
feathered tribes have not quite deserted the Park. The moor-hen builds
by the lake and the ringdove nests in the trees. Though the greenfinch
and the wren have vanished, some songsters still gladden the world.
Blackbirds, thrushes, and chaffinches are by no means uncommon. Some
of these latter get caught, and take part in the popular amusement of
singing-matches. Many men in the district keep chaffinches in cages,
and bring them to the Park on a Sunday morning that they may practise
their notes in chorus with their wild associates, and so beat the caged
bird of some rival. Sometimes the temptation is too great, and the wild
birds are kidnapped to join the competition.
FINSBURY PARK
Finsbury is second in size, and second in date of construction, of
the Parks of North London. It is far from Finsbury, being really in
Hornsey, but as the idea, first expressed about 1850, was to make a
Park for the borough of Finsbury, the name was retained although the
land acquired some years later was somewhat remote.
The movement was first set on foot when building began to destroy
all the open spaces near Finsbury Fields. Some of these, like Spa
Fields, had been popular places of resort as Tea Gardens, but were
being rapidly covered with houses, and separating Finsbury altogether
from the country. Many delays, owing to changes of Government,
occurred before the necessary legislation was accomplished. When the
Metropolitan Board of Works came into being, it took up the scheme, and
it was finally under its auspices that the land was purchased, and the
Park, 115 acres in extent, was opened in 1869.
On the highest point of the ground there is a lake, which was in
existence before it became a public park. Near there stood Hornsey Wood
House, a Tea Garden of some reputation in the eighteenth century. About
the year 1800 the old house was pulled down, and the new proprietor
built another tavern, and converted part of the remains of Hornsey
Wood into an artificial lake for boating and angling. This second
house existed until it was pulled down in 1866, when the Park was in
progress. Hornsey Wood was part of the forest which bounded London on
the north, and the site of the Park was in the manor of Brownswood,
which was held by the See of London.
Accounts of various incidents which are connected with this spot are
given in histories of Hornsey. The most picturesque is that in which
the ill-fated little King Edward V. is the central figure, overshadowed
by his perfidious uncle. “The King on his way to London [from Ludlow]
was on the fourth of May met at Hornsey Park (now [1756] Highgate)
by Edmund Shaw, the Mayor, accompanied by the Aldermen, Sheriffs and
five hundred Citizens on Horseback, richly accoutered in purple Gowns;
whence they conducted him to the City; where he was received by the
Citizens with a joy inexpressible.... In this solemn Cavalcade, the
Duke of Gloucester’s Deportment was very remarkable; for riding before
the King, uncovered, he frequently called to the Citizens, with an
audible voice, to behold their Prince and Sovereign.” What a scene
must the site of Finsbury Park have presented that May morning. The
Londoners, incensed at Gloucester’s having taken possession of the
young King, no doubt meet him with distrust and anger, and while the
procession moves on towards the City he allays their suspicions, acting
a part to deceive them.
The trees in Finsbury are beginning to grow up, and the Park is losing
the new, bare look which made it unattractive in its early years.
Poplars (fast-growing trees) have been largely used. That is very
well for a beginning, but others of a slower growth, but making finer
timber, are the trees for the future. There is nothing very special to
notice in the general laying out of the grounds, as beyond the avenue
of black poplars and the lake, there are no striking features. The
view from the high ground, towards Epping, adds to the attractions of
this useful open space but not very interesting Park. One of the most
pleasing corners is the rock garden, not far from the lake. The plants
seem well established and very much at home. The green-houses, too, are
well kept up, and in the gloomy seasons of the year especially are much
frequented.
CLISSOLD PARK
Clissold, or Stoke Newington Park, is one of the parks which has
the advantage of having been the grounds of a private house, and
enjoys all the benefits of a well-planted suburban demesne. The old
trees at once give it a certain _cachet_ that even County Council
railings, notice-boards, and bird-cages cannot destroy. It has the
additional charm of the New River passing through the heart of it, and,
furthermore, the ground is undulating.
One of the approaches to the Park still has a semi-rural aspect and
associations attached to it. This is Queen Elizabeth’s Walk, with
a row of fine elm trees, under which the Queen may have passed as
a girl while staying in seclusion at the manor-house, then in the
possession of the Dudley family, relations to the Earl of Leicester.
Stoke Newington, until lately, was not so overrun with small houses
as most of the suburbs. In 1855 it was described as “one of the few
rural villages in the immediate environs [of London]. Though, as the
crow flies, but three miles from the General Post Office, it is still
rich in parks, gardens, and old trees.” The last fifty years have quite
transformed its appearance. “Green Lanes,” which skirts the west of the
Park, though with such a rural-sounding name, is a busy thoroughfare,
with rushing trams; and, but for Clissold Park and Abney Park Cemetery,
but little of its former attractions would remain. The Cemetery is
on the grounds of the old Manor House, where Sir Thomas Abney lived,
and “the late excellent Dr. Isaac Watts was treated for thirty-six
years with all the kindness that friendship could prompt, and all
the attention that respect could dictate.” The manor was sold by
direction of Sir Thomas’s daughter’s will, and the proceeds devoted to
charitable purposes. The old church, with its thin spire, and the new
large, handsome Gothic church, built to meet the needs of the growing
population, stand close together at one corner of the Park, at the
end of Queen Elizabeth’s Walk, and on all sides the towers among the
trees form pretty and conspicuous objects. The house in the Park, for
the most part disused, stands above the bend of the New River, which
makes a loop through the grounds. It is a white Georgian house with
columns, and looks well with wide steps and slope to the water’s edge,
now alas! disfigured by high iron railings. The place belonged to the
Crawshay family, by whom it was sold. The daughter of one of the owners
had a romantic attachment to a curate, the Rev. Augustus Clissold, but
the father would not allow the marriage, and kept his daughter more
or less a prisoner. After her father’s death, however, she married
her lover, and succeeded to the estate, and changed its name from
Crawshay Farm to Clissold Place. This title has stuck to it, although
it reverted to the Crawshays, and in 1886 was sold by them.
[Illustration: STOKE NEWINGTON CHURCH FROM CLISSOLD PARK]
The Park measures 53 acres. There is a small enclosure with fallow
deer and guinea-pigs, some artificial water, and wide green spaces for
games; but the special beauty of the Park consists in the canal-like
New River, with walks beside it, and in places foliage arching over it,
and the fine large specimen trees round the house. There are some good
cedars, deciduous cypress, ilex, thorns, and laburnums; a good specimen
of one of the American varieties of oak, _Quercus palustris_; also
acacias and chestnuts--all looking quite healthy.
SPRINGFIELD PARK
Not very far from Clissold lies Springfield Park, in Upper Clapton,
opened to the public in 1905. It also has the advantage of being made
out of well laid out private grounds. The area, 32½ acres, embraced
three residences, two of which have been pulled down, while the third,
Springfield House, which gives its name to the Park, has been retained,
and serves as refreshment rooms. The view from the front of the house
over Walthamstow Marshes is very extensive. The ground slopes steeply
to the river Lea, and beyond on the plain, like a lake, the reservoirs
of the “East London Works,” now part of the Metropolitan Water Board,
make a striking picture. Springfield House was, until lately, one of
those pleasant old-fashioned residences of which there were many in
this neighbourhood, standing in well-planted gardens overlooking
the marshes and fertile flats below. These delightful houses are
becoming more rare every year, and it is fortunate that the grounds
of one of the most attractive should have been preserved as a public
park. The place was well cared for in old days, as the good specimen
trees testify. A flourishing purple beech is growing up, also a sweet
chestnut and several birches. A very old black mulberry still survives,
although showing signs of age. There are other nice timber trees on the
hillside, and among the shrubs an _Arbutus unedo_, the strawberry tree,
is one of the most unusual. This Park, though small, is quite unlike
any other, and has much to recommend it to the general public, while in
the more immediate neighbourhood it is greatly appreciated.
WATERLOW PARK
Undoubtedly the most beautiful of all the parks is Waterlow, the
munificent gift of Sir Sydney Waterlow. Its situation near Highgate,
above all City smoke; its steep slopes and fine trees; its old garden
and historic associations, combine to give it a character and a charm
of its own. It is small in comparison with such parks as Victoria,
Battersea, or Finsbury, being only 29 acres, but it has a fascination
quite out of proportion to its size. There are few pleasanter spots on
a summer’s day, and at any season of the year it would well repay a
visit. It is especially attractive when the great city with its domes
and towers is seen clearly at the foot of the hill. London from a
distance never looks hard and sharp and clear, like some foreign towns.
The buildings do not stand up in definite outline like the churches
of Paris looked down upon from the Eiffel Tower: the soft curtain of
smoke, the mysterious blue light, a gentle reminder of orange and black
fog, shrouds and beautifies everything it touches. On a June day, when
the grass is vivid and the trees a bright pale green, Waterlow Park is
at its best. The dome of St. Paul’s, the countless towers of Wren’s
city churches, the pinnacles of the Law Courts, the wonderful Tower
Bridge, dwarfing the old Norman White Tower, all appear in softened
beauty behind the fresh verdure, through well-contrived peeps and gaps
in the trees.
Most of the ground is too steep for the cricket and football to which
the greater part of other parks are given over. Only lawn tennis and
bowls can be provided for, on the green lawns at the top of the Park.
A delightful old pond, with steep banks overshadowed by limes and
chestnuts, has a feeling of the real country about it. The concrete
edges, the little patches of aquatic plants and neat turf, are missing.
The banks show signs of last year’s leaves, fallen sticks, and
blackened chestnuts, and any green near it, is only natural wild plants
that enjoy shade and moisture. It is the sort of place a water-hen
would feel at home in, and not expect to meet intruding Mandarin
ducks or Canadian geese. Let us hope this quiet spot may long remain
untouched. There are two newer lakes lower down, laid out in approved
County Council style, trim and neat, with water-fowl, water-lilies, and
judicious planting round the banks of weeping willows and rhododendron
clumps. Probably many visitors find them more attractive than the upper
pool. There is no fault to find with them, and they are perhaps more
suited to a public park, but they are devoid of the poetry which raises
the other out of the commonplace. As the slopes towards the lower
lakes are the playground of multitudes of babies, it is necessary to
protect them from the water’s edge by substantial railings, but most of
the Park is singularly free from these unsightly but often necessary
safeguards. The trees all through the grounds are unusually fine. Four
hickories are particularly worthy of note. They are indeed grand and
graceful trees, and it is astonishing they should be so little planted.
These are noble specimens, and look extremely healthy.
The most characteristic feature in the Park is the house it contains
and the garden immediately round it. This was built for Lauderdale,
the “L” in the Cabal of Charles II., probably about 1660. When
this unattractive character was not living there himself, he not
unfrequently lent it to Nell Gwynn. The ground floor of the house is
open to the public as refreshment rooms, and one empty parlour with
seats has much good old carving, of the date of the house, over the
mantelpiece, also in a recess which encloses a marble bath known
as “Nell Gwynn’s bath.” It is said to have been from a window in
Lauderdale House that she held out her son when Charles was walking
below, threatening to let him drop if the King did not promise to
confer some title upon him. In response Charles exclaimed, “Save the
Earl of Burford,” which title (and later, that of Duke of St. Albans)
was formally conferred upon him.
The terrace along which the King was walking is still there. A little
inscription has been inserted on a sun-dial near the wall, to record
the fact that the dial-plate is level with the top of St. Paul’s
Cathedral. A flight of steps leads to a lower terrace. This is planted
in a formal design consisting of three circles, the centre one having
a fountain. Two more flights of steps descend, in a line from the
fountain, to a broad walk bordered with flowers leading to one of the
entrances to the Park. At right angles to the other steps a walk leads
from the fountain to another part of the garden, which is planted
with old fruit-trees on the grassy slope. It is at the foot of these
steps that the water-colour sketch is taken. The “eagles with wings
expanded” are the supporters of the Lauderdale arms. The whole garden
is delightful, and so much in keeping with the house that it is easy to
picture the much-disliked Lauderdale, the genial King, and fascinating
“Nell,” living and moving on its terraces. Pepys gives a glimpse of one
of these characters at home. He drove up alone with Lord Brouncker, in
a coach and six. No doubt the hill made the six very necessary, as in
another place Pepys talks of the bad road to Highgate. They joined Lord
Lauderdale “and his lady, and some Scotch people,” at supper. Scotch
airs were played by one of the servants on the violin; “the best of
their country, as they seemed to esteem them, by their praising and
admiring them: but, Lord! the strangest ayre that ever I heard in my
life, and all of one cast. But strange to hear my Lord Lauderdale say
himself that he had rather hear a cat mew, than the best musique in
the world; and the better the musique, the more sick it makes him; and
that of all instruments, he hates the lute most, and next to that the
baggpipe.” These sentiments may not prove that Lauderdale was “a man of
mighty good reason and judgement,” as Lord Brouncker assured Pepys when
he said he thought it “odd company,” but at least it shows him honest!
How many people who sit patiently through a performance of the “Ring”
would have as much courage of their opinions?
[Illustration: WATERLOW PARK]
Within the grounds of the present Park, near Lauderdale House, stood a
small cottage in which Andrew Marvel lived, which was only pulled down
in 1869. It was considered unsafe, and no National Trust Society was
then in existence to make efforts for its preservation. In a “History
of Highgate” in 1842 the connection between the place and this curious
personage, political writer, poet, Member of Parliament, and friend
of Milton is barely commented on. “Andrew Marvel, a writer of the
seventeenth century, resided on the Bank at Highgate in the cottage now
occupied by Mrs. Walker.” The reader of these lines is penetrated with
a feeling that he ought to know all about Mrs. Walker, rather than the
obscure writer!
The kitchen-garden is large, with charming herbaceous borders, and
a long row of glass-houses and vineries, and the grapes produced
have hitherto been given to hospitals. Let us hope that the same
complaint will not arise here as in another Park, where out-door fruit
was distributed, and caused such jealousies that the practice was
discontinued.
With such a high standard set by the existing gardens, it is curious
that the new bedding should be as much out of harmony as possible. The
beds which call forth this remark are those round the band-stand. The
shape of them it is impossible to describe, for they are of uncertain
form and indistinct meaning. The flowers are in bold groups, and yet
they look thoroughly out of place.
Wandering one summer’s day near the statue, erected to Sir Sydney
Waterlow, the writer overheard some girls, who looked like shop-girls
out for a holiday, discussing who it was. The most enterprising went
up and read the inscription. “To Sir Sydney H. Waterlow, Bart., donor
of the Park 1889, Lord Mayor of London 1872–73. Erected by public
subscription 1900.” “Why, it’s to some chap that was once Lord Mayor,”
was the remark to her friend, following a close scrutiny of this bald
inscription. The impulse to explain the meaning of the word “donor”
was irresistible; it was evidently quite Greek to these two Cockney
young ladies. On learning the meaning they were very ready to join in a
tribute of gratitude to the giver of such a princely present. Surely a
few words expressing such a feeling would have been appropriate on the
statue so rightly erected in memory of the gift! Profound feelings of
thanks to the giver must indeed be experienced by every one who has the
privilege of enjoying this lovely Park, one of the most charming spots
within easy reach of the heart of the City.
GOLDER’S HILL PARK
Golder’s Hill Park joins the western end of Hampstead Heath, but its
park-like appearance and house and garden are quite a contrast to the
wilder scenery of the Heath, although Golder’s Hill seems more in the
country than Hampstead, as the houses near are so well hidden from it.
The mansion has a modern exterior, although parts of it are very old,
and the fine trees in the grounds show that it has been a pleasant
residence for some hundreds of years. The estate of 36 acres was
bought in 1898 from the executors of Sir Spencer Wells, the money in
the first instance being advanced by three public-spirited gentlemen,
anxious to save the charming spot from the hands of the builder. The
view from the terrace of the house, which now serves as a refreshment
room, is very pretty, with a gently sloping lawn in front, park-like
meadows, and fine trees beyond the dividing sunk fence, and distant
peeps of the country towards Harrow. The approach from the Finchley
Road is by an avenue of chestnuts, and a flat paddock on one side is
a hockey and cricket-ground for ladies. There are some really fine
oaks, good beeches, ash, sycamore, Spanish chestnuts, and Scotch firs;
but the most remarkable tree is a very fine tulip, which flowers
profusely nearly every year. At the bottom of the Park an undisturbed
pond, with reedy margin, is much frequented by moor-hens. The valley
above is railed off for some red deer, peacocks, and an emu, while
three storks are to be seen prancing about under the oak trees in the
open Park. The most attractive corner is the kitchen-garden, which,
like the one in Brockwell, has been turned into an extremely pretty
flower-garden. On one side is a range of hothouses, where plants are
produced for bedding out, and a good supply of fruit is raised and sold
to the refreshment-room contractor on the spot. Two sides have old red
walls covered with pear trees, which produce but little fruit, and
the fourth has a good holly hedge. The vines from one of the vineries
have been planted out, and they cover a large rustic shelter, and have
picturesque though not edible bunches of grapes every year. The way
the planting of roses, herbaceous and rock plants, and spring bulbs
is arranged is very good; but the same misleadingly-worded notice
with regard to the plants of Shakespeare is placed here as in the
Brockwell “old English garden.”[7] There is a nice old quince and other
fruit-tree standards in this really charming garden. In another part of
the grounds there is an orchard, not “improved” in any way, but left
as it might be in Herefordshire, with grass and wild flowers under the
trees, which bear bushels of ruddy apples every year.
Part of the Park is actually outside London, but it is all kept up by
the London County Council. The parish boundary of Hampstead and Hendon,
which is also the limit of the County of London, is seen in the middle
among the oak trees.
RAVENSCOURT PARK
Ravenscourt is another of those parks the nucleus of which was an old
Manor House, hence the existence of fine old trees, which at once lift
from it the crudeness which is invariably associated with a brand-new
Municipal Park. A bird’s-eye view of the ground is familiar to many who
pass over the viaduct in the London and South-Western trains. These
arches intersect one end of the Park, and cut across the beginning of
the fine old elm avenue, one of its most beautiful features. A bright
piece of garden, typical of every London Park, with raised borders in
bays and promontories, jutting into grass and backed by bushes, lies to
the south of the viaduct. Where two paths diverge there is a pleasing
variation to the usual type--a sun-dial--erected by Sir William Bull to
“a sunny memory.” The arches have been utilised so as to compensate for
the intrusion of the railway. Asphalted underneath, they form shelters
in wet weather--one is given over to an aviary, two to bars for the
elder children to climb on, and one is fitted with swings for the
babies. This arch is by far the most popular, and it requires all the
vigilance of the park-keeper to see that only the really small children
use the swings, or the bigger girls would monopolise them. Perhaps the
indulgent and fatherly London County Council will provide swings for
the elders, too, some day, and so remove the small jealousies.
To the west of the long avenue lies the orchard. A stretch of grass,
devoted to tennis-courts and bowling-greens, separates the pear trees
from the walk. These pears and the solitary apple tree are delightful
in spring, and a temptation in autumn. Round the house, which is not
by any means as picturesque as the date of its building (about 1649)
would lead one to expect, are some good trees--planes that are really
old, with massive stems, horse-chestnuts and limes, acacias that have
seen their best days, cedars suffering from age and smoke, and a good
catalpa. The Manor House which preceded the present building was of
ancient origin. In early times it was known as the Manor House of
Paddenswick, or Pallenswick, under the Manor of Fulham, and was the
residence of Alice Perrers, the favourite of Edward III. It was seized
in 1378, when she was banished by Richard II.; but after the reversion
of her sentence, she returned to England as the wife of Lord Windsor,
and the King, in 1380, granted the manor to him. It is not heard of
again till Elizabeth’s time, when it belonged to the Payne family,
and was sold by them in 1631 to Sir Richard Gurney, the Royalist Lord
Mayor, who perished in the Tower. After his death it was bought by
Maximilian Bard, who probably pulled down the old house and built the
present one, which is now used as the Hammersmith Public Library. In
the eighteenth century the name was changed from Paddenswick (a title
preserved by a road of that name running near the Park) to Ravenscourt,
an enduring recollection of the device of a black raven, the arms of
Thomas Corbett, Secretary to the Admiralty, who owned the place for
a few short years. Nearly every vestige of the surroundings of the
old manor was obliterated and improved away by Humphrey Repton, the
celebrated landscape gardener. He filled up most of the old moat,
except a small piece, which was transformed into a lake, more in
harmony with the landscape school to which he belonged. This piece of
water is a pretty feature in the Park, and an attempt has been made to
recall the older style, by introducing a little formal garden in an
angle of the enclosing wall of the Park. The square has been completed
with two hedges, one of them of holly, and good iron gates afford an
entrance. The “old English garden,” from which dogs and young children,
unless under proper supervision, are excluded, is laid out in good
taste--a simple, suitable design, with appropriate masses of roses and
herbaceous plants, arches with climbers, and an abundance of seats. It
has the same misleading notice with regard to Shakespearian plants, as
in Golder’s Hill and Brockwell, one of the South London Parks, which
must now be looked at.