WANDSWORTH, PUTNEY, BARNES, AND OTHER
SOUTHERN SUBURBS
A century ago a charming little hamlet, traversed by the limpid stream
of the Wandle, after which it is named, and surrounded on every side by
breezy undulating commons, the thriving, bustling, and, in its poorer
quarters, somewhat squalid town of Wandsworth has now little that is
attractive about it except two or three ancient mills which, with the
tawny-sailed barges, generally grouped at the mouth of the river that
here joins the Thames, present a really picturesque appearance. There
is, moreover, something dignified about the massive eighteenth-century
church of All Saints in the modern High Street, and it contains several
interesting monuments, notably one to Alderman Smith, a native of
Wandsworth, whose memory, though he passed away as long ago as 1627, is
still held dear in the neighbourhood, for he bequeathed large sums of
money for the relief of the poor, and also for giving them work,
proving his recognition of the importance of the problem of the
unemployed, which {173} public-spirited philanthropists had evidently
much at heart even at that early date.
Wandsworth is unfortunately associated with but few important historic
memories, but towards the end of the seventeenth century many French
Protestants, who had fled to England after the massacre of St.
Bartholomew's Eve, took refuge in it, and in the Huguenots' cemetery,
just outside the town on the way to Clapham, are several tombstones
marking their burial-places. Later, the exiled Voltaire was for three
years the guest at Wandsworth, in a mansion now destroyed, of Sir
Everard Fawkener; and the famous novelist, George Eliot, lived for some
time in a house in Southfields, still distinguished by a vine growing
on it planted by her.
In 1792 was founded in the neighbouring hamlet of Garratt, now absorbed
in Wandsworth, the club for checking encroachments on the common, that
for several years enjoyed some little fame through the addresses of the
candidates for election having been written by the witty dramatist,
Samuel Foote, who made the Mayor of Garratt the hero of a popular
comedy, the great actor, David Garrick, and the versatile patriot, John
Wilkes. Through the instrumentality of this gifted trio a purely local
question was turned to account to bring forcibly before the public the
abuses that attended the election of members of Parliament, but
unfortunately the Garratt ceremony degenerated by degrees into an
occasion for mob meetings characterised by riotous behaviour, the
candidates being chosen, not on account of their fitness for the
dignity to be {174} conferred on them, but for some accidental reason,
such as a personal deformity or a caustic wit. The rowdy scenes that
took place at these mock elections were immortalised in a series of
clever etchings by the celebrated mezzotint engraver, Valentine Green,
and the names of Sir John Harper, Sir Jeffrey Dunstan, and Sir Harry
Dunstable, none of whom had any right to the titles they assumed, are
still remembered as 'mayors' who successively held office. In 1796 the
elections were suppressed, and the Garratt Club ceased to exist, but
early in the nineteenth century the work it had inaugurated was
completed by the purchase for the public of all that was still left of
the once vast Wandsworth Common.
[Sidenote: Putney]
Though it has grown during the last fifty years as rapidly as
Wandsworth, the adjacent suburb of Putney, thanks to its fine situation
on the main stream of the Thames, has retained a distinction that is
wanting to its neighbour on the Wandle. It is, moreover, in close
touch with much beautiful scenery, and is associated with the names of
many men who have left their mark in history and in literature. True,
the ancient church, supposed to have been founded early in the
fourteenth century, in which, according to tradition, Cromwell and his
generals several times met to hold council during the Civil War, was,
with the exception of the tower, replaced by a modern building in 1836;
many a noble riverside mansion has been pulled down; and the quaint old
wooden bridge, on which the tolls were long levied by collectors
wearing blue cloth costumes and armed with copper-headed staves, {175}
was improved away in 1886 when the present solid structure was
completed, but the view across the river to Fulham, and up and down
stream, remains full of charm. The grand water highway that has
witnessed so many historic pageants is alive, for the greater part of
the year, with a great variety of picturesque crafts, and the
towing-path on the Surrey side is the scene of constant activity in the
spring and summer, for Putney is still the headquarters of boating men,
and it has for a long spell of years been the starting-point of the
world-famous Oxford and Cambridge boat-race witnessed by thousands of
spectators, whilst in 1906 took place, over the same course, the
contest between the Cambridge and Harvard crews that excited, if
possible, an even greater amount of interest.
[Illustration: PUTNEY REACH]
At a very early date Putney was included in the manor of Wimbledon, and
is referred to in the Doomsday Survey as Putenhei, a name supposed to
mean the landing-place, that was changed to Puttenheth before it was
contracted into its present form. A local tradition, however, explains
the word Putney in another and somewhat amusing fashion. The original
parish churches of Fulham and Putney, that greatly resembled each
other, were, it is related, built with their own hands by two sisters
who had but one set of tools between them. They therefore took it in
turns to use them, flinging them across the river to each other, the
Fulham builder crying out, for instance, when she wanted the hammer, to
heave it full home, the Putney one, when her turn came, shouting--'Put
it nigh.' Whatever explanation of {176} its name be adopted it seems
certain that even before the Conquest the hamlet of Putenhei was a
place of some little importance, for the last of the Saxon kings had a
fishery there, and also owned the ferry that existed long before the
erection of the wooden bridge alluded to above, and was valued at 20s.
a year. Harold's immediate successor as holder of the property was
Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury, who paid no toll for crossing the
river, but later it became customary for the lord of the manor to exact
the payment of several salmon from the lessee of the fishery for the
right of landing the spoil of the river on the Putney side, and up to
the middle of the seventeenth century the three best salmon in every
haul taken in March, April, and May were delivered at the manor-house
of Wimbledon. About 1786, however, a money payment was substituted for
value in kind, the amount varying from six to eight pounds per season
until 1786, when for some unexplained reason, probably because of the
decrease in the amount of fish taken, the landlord waived his right to
tolls of any kind. For another thirty years, however, it was
compulsory to present to the Lord Mayor of London all sturgeons or
porpoises caught, the fishermen receiving one guinea for each of the
former and thirteen shillings for each of the latter.
The Putenhei ferry continued to yield what was then considered a
considerable revenue for many centuries, and a fine of 2s. 6d. was
inflicted on any waterman who failed to exact a halfpenny from every
stranger and a farthing from every inhabitant of Putney who availed
himself of his services. In {177} 1611 two delinquents, one hailing
from Fulham, the other from Kingston, were summoned for carrying across
divers persons at and near Kingston and Putney against the custom, and
to the annoyance and prejudice of the owners of the common ferry, 'and
having pleaded guilty and expressed contrition, they were, very much to
their own surprise, let off with a reprimand.'
In 1727 the last owners of the ferry, Dr. Pethward and William Skelton,
sold their rights to the custodians of the new bridge for £7999, 19s.
11d., the latter giving a further sum to the lady of the manor, the
Duchess of Marlborough, for her share in the property, and £23 to the
then Bishop of London, who, in virtue of his office, enjoyed the
privilege of free passage of the river. Long before the eighteenth
century, however, the need of some safer mode of transit was felt, for
as traffic increased many accidents took place, through the upsetting
of the ferry barges, collisions, etc. About 1629, for instance, Bishop
Laud, lately appointed to the see of London, was nearly drowned with
his whole suite when on his way one dark evening from Putney to his
palace at Fulham, and for this reason he strongly advocated the
building of a bridge, but more pressing affairs prevented him from
taking any definite steps in the matter. When in 1642 the twin
villages of Putney and Fulham were for the first time united by the
temporary bridge of boats thrown across the river, after the battle of
Brentford, by the Earl of Essex, Laud had left his palace at Fulham for
the last time, for he was in the Tower awaiting the {178} issue of his
protracted trial. One of the forts that protected the linked lighters
and barges, by means of which the defeated Parliamentary army passed
over from Middlesex to Surrey, eager to retrieve the disaster at
Brentford, is still standing, about five hundred yards below the
present bridge, but the connection between the two banks was of course
destroyed as soon as it had served its purpose, and it was not until
1871 that a bill was brought before Parliament for building a bridge to
replace the ancient Putenhei ferry. It was, however, rejected by
thirteen votes, and the reasons given for their opposition by the
dissentients throw a singular light on the ignorance and prejudice of
men sufficiently well educated to have secured election to the national
assembly. The member for London, for instance, declared that 'a bridge
so far up stream would not only injure and jeopardise the great and
important city he had the honour to represent, and destroy its
commerce, but would actually annihilate it altogether,' adding 'not
even common wherries would be able to pass the river at low water, and
would not only affect the interests of his majesty's government, but
those of the nation at large.' This remarkable opinion was endorsed by
the Lord Mayor of London, who believed 'that the piles of a bridge
would stop the tide altogether,' and by Sir William Thompson, a truly
typical Conservative, who went so far as to assert that if the bridge
were built quicksands and shelves would be created through the whole
course of the river ... and not a ship would be able to get nearer
London than Woolwich. The limits of {179} London,' he added, 'were set
by the wisdom of our ancestors, and God forbid they should ever be
altered.' This remarkable speech was delivered at a time when the
rebuilding of the metropolis, after the Great Fire, was actively
proceeding, and the most casual observer could not fail to realise how
utterly inadequate to avert a catastrophe had been the wisdom of those
who had set limits respected neither by the powers of nature nor by
man. The city was indeed at that very time in the throes of a new
birth; its old boundaries had been swept away, and out of the ashes of
the picturesque but plague-haunted town of the past was rising up a new
capital that was ere long to send forth outshoots in every direction,
and eventually to absorb not only reluctant Putney, but many hamlets
and villages even further afield than it.
Another fifty years were to pass away before the bridge between Putney
and Fulham was actually built, and according to tradition it was George
II., when Prince of Wales, who brought about what was then considered
an extraordinary innovation, impelled thereto by the inconvenience to
which he was put when hunting in the Surrey forests an incidental
illustration of the great change that has taken place since the sites
of Putney, Wimbledon, Barnes, and Richmond were the haunts of wild
animals that used to go down to the river to drink, and if sorely
pressed in the chase, were able to swim over to the further side. Sir
Robert Walpole, father of the more celebrated Horace, was entrusted
with the onerous task of carrying {180} a bill through Parliament
authorising the construction of the bridge, which was begun in 1727 and
completed in 1729. It very quickly justified the predictions of its
promoters, for in 1731 the revenue yielded by the tolls amounted to
£1500 a year, a sum that was nearly doubled by the beginning of the
nineteenth century. The tolls were not remitted until 1880, by which
time the bridge was already in so lamentable a state of decay that it
had to be pulled down. It was replaced by the present structure,
which, though it cannot be called a work of art, has nothing unsightly
about it, a commendation that cannot, unfortunately, be extended to the
aqueduct of the Chelsea Waterworks that spans the stream a little
higher up, and has done more to spoil the picturesque appearance of
Fulham and Putney than anything else.
Connected with the parish church of Putney, which, as already stated,
was rebuilt in 1836, is a gem of early sixteenth-century architecture,
a little chapel with a beautiful fan tracery roof, built by Bishop West
of Ely, who was the son of a baker of Putney, and greatly loved his
native place. The chapel originally stood on the south of the chancel,
but when the restoration of the main building took place it was
carefully removed to its present position, and is still practically
what it was when first completed, though the ancient window-frames have
been filled in with modern stained glass. Unfortunately, some of the
quaint monuments that were in the old church have been destroyed, but
its {181} successor still retains some interesting tombs with
characteristic laudatory inscriptions, including those of Richard
Lister, some time Lord Mayor of London, and his wife Margaret Diggs,
and of Philadelphia Palmer, whilst in the Bishop's Chapel is a
noteworthy brass to the memory of John Welbeck and his wife.
Less than a century ago Putney still owned many an historic mansion
standing in its own grounds, including the so-called Palace, Fairfax
House, Essex House, Windsor Lodge, and Putney House, but they have all,
alas, been demolished, as has also the no less interesting gabled
cottage by the riverside in which Henry VIII.'s hated minister Thomas
Cromwell was born, and the more important Lime Grove House, standing
well back from the village on the road to Wimbledon, in which the great
historian Edward Gibbon first saw the light. Fortunately, however,
their sites can still be identified, and are even now, to some extent,
haunted by the memory of the great names associated with them. The
palace, built about the end of the fifteenth century, and now
represented by River Street and River Terrace, was a place of no little
note, and was connected with the one occupied by the Bishop of London
by a subterranean passage. Long the seat of the Waldeck family, the
palace was owned in the reign of Elizabeth by Mr. John Lacy, a wealthy
cloth-merchant, who several times entertained the maiden queen in it.
Her first visit took place in 1579, and her last in 1603, when she was
on her way to her beloved palace at Richmond, where she {182} died two
months later. To the Putney Palace came also her successor James I.,
just before his coronation, and thirty-nine years later it was for a
time the headquarters of one of his son's most bitter enemies, General
Lord Fairfax, who had succeeded the Earl of Essex in command of the
Parliamentary army that was encamped at Putney during the three months
of 1647 when Charles I. was a prisoner at Hampton Court. The mansion
was then the property of the High Sheriff, Mr. Wymonsold, and after the
Restoration it changed hands many times. Early in the nineteenth
century the property was thrown into Chancery, and sold to a gentleman
whose name, fortunately perhaps for his memory, has not been preserved,
for he showed no appreciation for the associations connected with the
beautiful old house, but had it pulled down to make room for totally
uninteresting buildings. The only still existing relics of the palace
are the iron entrance-gates, that were often flung open to admit Queen
Elizabeth and her retinue, which were bought by a brush manufacturer of
Putney, by whose descendants they are prized as heirlooms.
Fairfax House, named, not as is generally taken for granted, after the
Parliamentarian leader, but a private gentleman, was until quite
recently one of the most noteworthy features of the High Street, and
the lawn overshadowed by trees, said to have been planted by Bishop
Juxon in the happy days before his royal master's troubles began, is
still in existence. Essex House, that stood not far from Fairfax
House, is generally supposed to have been {183} built by Queen
Elizabeth's ill-fated favourite, and he may probably have been living
in it when his royal mistress was the guest of Mr. Lacy at Putney
Palace. It, too, was destroyed in the iconoclastic nineteenth century,
but in a humble shop occupying part of its site is preserved a very
significant relic of it--a ceiling bearing the coat of arms of Queen
Elizabeth, set in a circlet representing the Prince of Wales's feathers
and the Harp of Ireland, and with the initials of Essex and the queen
worked into a true-lovers' knot.
Of Windsor Lodge, once, it is said, part of a convent, some remains
were dug up a short time ago proving it to have been a fine building in
the Gothic style; but of Putney House, in which George III. was often
entertained by its owner, Mr. Gerard Van Neck, the memory alone
survives, for after serving from 1839 to 1857 as a college for civil
engineers, it was pulled down and is now replaced by a row of
commonplace villas.
It is difficult to determine exactly where the cottage stood in which
Thomas Cromwell was born, but it is well known that his father, who
held a good position in Putney as a blacksmith, brewer, wool-merchant,
and inn-keeper, owned a considerable amount of property under the lord
of the manor of Wimbledon. Part of his land was by the Thames, and was
known as the 'Homestall,' the probability being that the homestead in
which the family lived, the brewery, and hostelry were three separate
buildings grouped together not far from the parish church. In any
case, the young Thomas must have {184} been very familiar with
riverside Putney; he often helped to load his father's barges with
wool, to be taken down to the ships awaiting them below London Bridge,
and he attended a day-school close to his home. At the age of fourteen
he was apprenticed to his uncle John Williams, who was then overseer of
Wimbledon Manor and lived in a homestead at Mortlake, on the site of
which is a house still named after him. On the death of his master in
1502, Thomas Cromwell collected the Wimbledon rents till the
appointment was given to his father, under whom he worked until 1504,
when he fell into disgrace and ran away from home. What his crime was
is not known, but his father never forgave him, and for many years his
native place knew him no more. Walter Cromwell, too, seems to have
lost the good position he had long held in Putney, and he would have
died in absolute want but for the generosity of his son-in-law Morgan
Williams, who gave him a little cottage on Wimbledon Green, near to his
own brewery and inn, called the Crooked Billet, the site of which is
now occupied by a group of small houses. In this cottage the elder
Cromwell died in 1516, without having seen his son again. By this
time, however, Thomas had returned to England and was already in the
service of Wolsey, the Crooked Billet had passed into the hands of his
sister and her husband, and all connection between him and the
neighbourhood seemed to be finally severed. Strange to say, however,
some twenty-three years later he became lord of the manor of the very
estate on which he was born, and owner of the {185} princely income it
yielded which he had himself once helped to collect for another. No
doubt he had sometimes in the interval landed at the steps near his old
home when in attendance as secretary on Cardinal Wolsey, who often
halted at Putney on his way up the river to Richmond or Hampton Court
before the memorable occasion in 1529--ten years before his _protégé_
became lord of the manor of Wimbledon, when in his sad journey to Esher
after the Great Seal had been taken from him, he eluded the malice of
his enemies by going by land, attended only by two or three faithful
servants, riding up the then gorse and heather-clad Putney Hill towards
the heath, which he intended to cross in a westerly direction. The
story goes that the disgraced favourite was stopped before he reached
the summit of the ascent by a messenger from the king, no less a
personage than the Lord Chamberlain, Sir John Norris, who gave him a
ring in token that he was once more forgiven. In his gratitude and
surprise he is said to have hurriedly dismounted, to fall on his knees
in the road, and give earnest thanks to God for this unexpected mercy.
Sir John followed his example, their escorts looking on in amazement;
and when the two great men rose up again, a deeply interesting
conversation took place between them, Wolsey declaring that the tidings
were worth half a kingdom, and bitterly regretting that he had nothing
to send to his master to prove his deep appreciation of his goodness,
adding, on second thoughts, 'but here is my fool that rides beside me,
take him, I beseech thee, to court, and give him to his majesty; I
{186} assure you he is worth a thousand pounds for any nobleman's
pleasure.'
If there be any truth in this graphic tale, it must have been with a
light heart that the cardinal proceeded on his way; but, as is well
known, the end was already close at hand: he was shortly afterwards
charged with high treason, and died of a broken heart at Leicester
Abbey on his way to London to stand his trial. Never again did he use
the long familiar landing-stage at Putney, or make a stately progress
up the river to his palace at Hampton Court. As the star of Wolsey
set, however, another man, whose name is also closely associated with
Putney, rose into prominence, for Edmund Bonner, who owed much to him,
and lived in a house now destroyed at the foot of the hill, had by that
time won the king's confidence, and in 1540 was rewarded for his
tactful zeal by being made Bishop of London. His end, though not quite
so dramatic as that of his first patron, but for whom he would probably
have remained an obscure lawyer all his life, was sad enough, for he
died in poverty and disgrace in the Marshalsea Prison, after his Putney
home had passed into the hands of strangers.
[Sidenote: Putney Heath]
Fortunately, in spite of all the encroachments of the builder in and
near the once secluded hamlet of Putney, the heath, named after it,
that is divided only by a road from the scarcely less beautiful
Wimbledon Common, and extends on the other side to the charming park of
Richmond, has been permanently secured to the public, and will probably
ever remain one of the most popular of the open-air {187} resorts near
London. Its loftier portions command extensive views, and although
until quite recently it had a somewhat sinister reputation as a
favourite haunt of highwaymen, it is also associated with many
interesting historic memories. On it, for instance, in 1648, when the
doom of Charles I. was already practically sealed, the people of Surrey
met to draw up a petition for the re-establishment of Episcopacy, and
there soon after the Restoration Charles II. held a grand review of his
army. In 1652 a duel took place on the heath between Lord Chandos and
Colonel Henry Compton, in which the latter was killed; in 1798 William
Pitt, then Prime Minister, met William Tierney, M.P. for Southwark, one
of his most determined political opponents, and rendered the encounter
abortive by firing in the air; and in 1809 occurred the meeting between
the two great statesmen, George Canning and Lord Castlereagh, the
result of a temporary estrangement only, in which the former was
slightly wounded in the thigh, whilst the future Foreign Secretary, who
was to do so much to promote the coalition against Napoleon, escaped
unhurt. It is unfortunately impossible to identify exactly the scenes
of these various duels, but the last is known to have occurred on what
is now the garden of the private residence, Wildcroft, near an obelisk
that was set up a century after the breaking out of the Great Fire of
London to commemorate the discovery by David Hartley of a means for
rendering buildings fireproof.
[Sidenote: Bowling-Green House]
On the outskirts of Putney Heath are several houses that have been at
one time or another {188} occupied by persons of note, of which the
most interesting is perhaps that in which William Pitt lived for some
years and died. It occupies the site and retains the name of
Bowling-Green House, a noted place of entertainment to which the
fashionable world of London used to flock in the early eighteenth
century to meet their friends at breakfast or at supper, and to take
part in or watch the bowling matches that took place on the fine green
belonging to the inn that is constantly referred to in the contemporary
press, and was long considered the finest in England. The ancient
hostelry was pulled down about 1760 and replaced a little later by the
present Bowling-Green House, that was occupied for some little time by
Admiral Cornwallis before the more famous William Pitt took possession
of it, hoping to find in its quiet seclusion exemption from the many
cares that harassed the closing years of his brief but chequered
career. Already, before he took up his abode in his new home, the
storm had broken that led to his resignation in 1801, and even after
his return to office in 1804 nothing but disappointment, aggravated by
physical suffering, awaited him. The disgrace of his trusted friend
Lord Melville, who was often his guest at Putney, and with whom he
there discussed, after the death of Nelson, the difficult question of
what should be done for Lady Hamilton, was a bitter blow to him, and
even the victory of Trafalgar failed to restore to him confidence in
the future of the country he had loved and served so well. To the very
last, however, Pitt retained an outward cheerfulness, and many
anecdotes are told {189} of the interviews that took place between him
and his distinguished visitors in Bowling-Green House. Lord Brougham,
for instance, relates how he and Lord Wellesley, the latter fresh from
his triumphs in India, went together early in January 1806 to see the
great peace minister, who though he was to pass away but a few days
later, welcomed them gaily, declaring he would soon be well again, and
showing the greatest interest in all the news they brought him.
Strange to say, in spite of the devoted attachment of many friends, and
the deep love of his gifted niece Lady Hester Stanhope, who lived with
him for three years at Putney, Pitt is said to have died absolutely
alone. The story has again and again been repeated that a messenger
who called to inquire for him on the day of his death, after waiting a
long time at the door, which stood open, went into Bowling-Green House
unannounced, and found his way to the minister's bedroom, where the man
who, a short time before, had been so popular, lay dead, unwatched by a
single attendant. Whatever truth there may be in this report, there is
no doubt that Pitt was deeply mourned throughout the length and breadth
of England; a public funeral, and a grave in Westminster Abbey, were
voted for him by an immense majority in the House of Commons, and his
memory was long held dear in the neighbourhood in which he breathed his
last. Lady Hester Stanhope is said never to have fully recovered from
his loss; she indignantly refused the increase in the annuity granted
to her by the king because that increase was suggested by Fox, her
beloved uncle's {190} political opponent, and a few years after Pitt's
death she left England, to which she never returned, to embark on her
extraordinary career in the East.
Not far from Bowling-Green House is a villa in which Mrs. Siddons and
her daughters lived for two years; on the hill is a house in which Pitt
resided before his removal to his last home; in another the
portrait-painter, Henry Fuseli, died in 1825; in West Lodge, facing the
common, some of Douglas Jerrold's essays were written; and in the Pines
still lives the famous poet Algernon Charles Swinburne. The
neighbouring hamlet of Roehampton, too, has many interesting
associations, for before the beautiful park that belonged to the manor
was sold for building, there were many fine old mansions in it that
were the homes of distinguished men. The estate was long the property
of the Crown, but it was given by Charles I. to Sir Richard Weston, who
added to the manor-house a chapel (the site of which is occupied by the
present church) that was consecrated by Bishop Laud in 1632. Three
years later the new owner, who had then become Earl of Portland, added
many acres to his property, but his son and successor was compelled, in
consequence of his losses during the Civil War, to sell his noble
inheritance. It was bought in 1640 by Sir Thomas Lloyd, from whom it
passed to the famous beauty, Christina, Duchess of Devonshire, who kept
up a cipher correspondence with Charles II. during his exile. After
the Restoration, Roehampton Park House was the scene of many a
brilliant gathering, the king and queen {191} having often been the
guests of the duchess, but its memories did not save it from being
again sold in 1698, and after changing hands several times it became
the property of Lord Huntingfield, who pulled it down to replace it by
a still standing villa known as Roehampton Grove. On part of the park
was erected the Convent of the Sacred Heart, and the remainder was
divided amongst different purchasers, but some few fine old mansions
still remain to bear witness to the time when Roehampton was an
aristocratic suburb, including the seat of the Earl of Leven and
Melville, and Manresa House, now a Jesuit College, that was built for
the Earl of Bessborough, and long bore his name.
[Sidenote: Barnes]
Another village in intimate touch with Putney is Barnes, that some
fifty years ago was a pretty riverside hamlet, but is now rapidly
growing into a densely populated suburb, the pond on the green fed by
the Beverley Brook, and the still unenclosed common alone preserving to
it something of its rural character. The ancient church has been so
often restored that, with the exception of the fifteenth-century tower,
it retains little of the original structure, and most of the ancestral
homesteads, that were once a distinctive feature of the neighbourhood,
have been pulled down. Within the church, however, are preserved a few
interesting memorials of the long ago, such as a brass in memory of
William Millebourne, who died in 1415, and a tablet bearing an
inscription to Edward Rose of London, who just before his death, in
1653, bequeathed £20 for the purchase of an acre of land, {192} the
proceeds of the cultivation of which were to be given to the poor of
Barnes after the deduction of enough to keep his own tomb in repair,
for the planting of more trees about his grave, and the preservation
from injury by the erection of a wooden paling, instructions that were
literally obeyed for a long spell of years. The eighteenth-century
mural monument to Sir Richard Hoare is also noteworthy, and in the
churchyard, which with its venerable trees has an old-world appearance,
are several ancient tombs with quaint inscriptions, besides the one in
which rests Richard Rose.
[Sidenote: Barn Elms]
The history of Barnes can be traced back to Saxon times, its manor
having been given by King Athelstan to the Dean and Chapter of St.
Paul's, who have held it ever since, though it has been leased to many
different tenants. The village is probably named after some early
occupant of the ancient homestead that occupied the site of the modern
mansion known as Barn Elms, now the headquarters of the popular
Ranelagh Club, that with a smaller house connected with it stands in
well-cultivated grounds sloping down to the river. In the predecessor
of the present Barn Elms Sir Francis Walsingham, who rented it on a
long lease from 1579, often received his exacting mistress Queen
Elizabeth, and there possibly he may have submitted to her some of the
correspondence between the Queen of Scots and her adherents that had
been intercepted by his spies. Elizabeth was at Barn Elms in 1588, the
year after Mary's execution, when Walsingham had already retired from
office, and {193} was a comparatively poor man, but in spite of this
the queen was attended by her whole court, who were entertained at her
host's expense. In fact, as was the case with many other favourites,
the sovereign's partiality nearly ruined the ex-minister, who when he
died in 1590 left his widow scarcely enough money to keep up Barn Elms.
She was, however, able to leave the lease to her daughter, one of the
famous beauties of the day, who was three times married, first to Sir
Philip Sidney, then to the Earl of Essex, and lastly to the Earl of
Clanricarde. As Countess of Essex she resided for some time in her old
home, but the house was deserted after her third wedding, and there is
a gap in its history till 1663, when it or the smaller house connected
with it was occupied by the then popular poet Samuel Cowley, who was
there visited, it is said, by Milton and other contemporary literary
celebrities. John Evelyn, and later Samuel Pepys, had both a great
affection for Barn Elms, but the latter took a dislike to it after the
tragedy that occurred in its grounds in 1678, when the Earl of
Shrewsbury was mortally wounded in a duel with Charles II.'s infamous
favourite George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. The wife of the former
had left him to become the mistress of the latter, and the story goes
that she was present at the encounter disguised as a page holding her
lover's horse.
During the reign of George II. Barn Elms was the scene of many a merry
entertainment, in which the great musician Handel sometimes took part,
for it was tenanted by the famous Master of Revels at the {194} English
court, Count Heidegger, who was noted for his skill in improvising
startling effects. He was succeeded on his death by the wealthy banker
Sir Richard Hoare, and in the early nineteenth century it was the home
of the editor of the _Weekly Political Register_, William Cobbett, who
was aptly called the Ishmael of politics, for his hand was often
against every other member of his own party. Somewhat later Barn Elms
was rented by Sir Lancelot Shadwell, Vice-Chancellor of England, who
was a noted swimmer and keenly interested in river sports. At his
hospitable table were several times entertained the crews of the Oxford
and Cambridge boats on the evenings of the annual race, that was rowed
for the first time from Putney to Mortlake in 1848, the earlier
contests having taken place on another course.
The historic Barn Elms house has long since ceased to be, but the
smaller residence attached to it, which was known in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries as Queen Elizabeth's Dairy, is still standing.
In it lived for many years, and died in 1735, the eminent bookseller
Jacob Tonson, founder of the famous Kit Cat Club, to which belonged all
the chief literary men of the day, including Sir Robert Walpole,
Congreve, Dryden, Steele, and Addison, for whose accommodation Tonson
added a gallery to his house which was hung with their portraits,
painted by Sir Godfrey Kneller, who was then court painter. On the
death of the owner the gallery was pulled down, and the portraits were
{195} removed to the seat of his family at Bayfordbury, but the
surroundings of the meeting-place of the Club are even now much what
they were in the eighteenth century.
[Sidenote: Barnes]
The river at Barnes, that here makes a sudden bend to the north, is
spanned by several bridges, and its banks are lined with good houses,
some of which are associated with famous names. In one of those on the
Terrace, for instance, resided the French political refugees the Count
and Countess d'Antraigues, who were assassinated in 1812 by an Italian
in their service; and in the mansion known as St. Anne's lived the
famous eighteenth-century beauty Lady Archer. In an old house
overlooking the common Henry Fielding wrote some of his novels, Monk
Lewis composed his _Crazy Jane_ in a cottage not far off that cannot
now be identified; and amongst the rectors of the parish were the Latin
scholar Dr. Hare, the eloquent preacher Henry Melvill, and the
well-known hymn-writer, the Rev. John Ellerton. At Barnes, too, in a
house now destroyed, lived and died the brother-in-law of Sir Francis
Walsingham, Robert Beale, who was perhaps introduced to Queen Elizabeth
at Barn Elms, and who was chosen by her for the painful mission of
taking to Mary, Queen of Scots, the warrant for her execution, and in
the same river-side village the zealous anabaptist Abrezer Coppe took
refuge on his release from Newgate in 1651, where he had been
imprisoned for a year for issuing his extraordinary pamphlet _The Fiery
Flying Roll_. Disguised as a doctor, and calling himself Hiam, {196}
he divided his time between preaching and prescribing for patients, and
managed to escape further persecution, dying a natural death in 1692,
when he was buried under his assumed name in Barnes churchyard.
{197}