The poetical philanthropists of the shepherd and shepherdess school,
if any still remain, may find abundant material for their doleful
denunciations of modern civilization on journeying among the house-tops
by any of our over-ground metropolitan and suburban railways, and
contemplating therefrom the panorama presented by a rapid succession of
London back yards. The sandy Sahara, and the saline deserts of Central
Asia, are bright and breezy, rural and cheerful, compared with these
foul, soot-smeared, lumber-strewn areas of desolation.
The object of this paper is to propose a remedy for these metropolitan
measle-spots, by converting them into gardens that shall afford both
pleasure and profit to all concerned.
A very obvious mode of doing this would be to cover them with glass,
and thus convert them into winter gardens or conservatories. The cost
of this at once places it beyond practical reach; but even if the cost
were disregarded, as it might be in some instances, such covering in
would not be permissible on sanitary grounds; for, doleful and dreary
as they are, the back yards of London perform one very important
and necessary function; they act as ventilation-shafts between the
house-backs of the more densely populated neighborhoods.
At one time I thought of proposing the establishment of horticultural
home missions for promoting the dissemination of flower-pot shrubs in
the metropolis, and of showing how much the atmosphere of London would
be improved if every London family had one little sweetbriar bush,
a lavender plant, or a hardy heliotrope to each of its members; so
that a couple of million of such ozone generators should breathe their
sweetness into the dank and dead atmosphere of the denser central
regions of London.
A little practical experience of the difficulty of growing a clean
cabbage, or maintaining alive any sort of shrub in the midst of our
soot-drizzle, satisfied me that the mission would fail, even though the
sweetbriars were given away by the district visitors; for these simple
hardy plants perish in a mid-London atmosphere unless their leaves are
periodically sponged and syringed, to wash away the soot particles that
otherwise close their stomata and suffocate the plant.
It is this deposit that stunts or destroys all our London vegetation,
with the exception of those trees which, like the planes have a
deciduous bark and cuticle.
Some simple and inexpensive means of protecting vegetation from London
soot are, therefore, most desirable.
When the Midland Institute commenced its existence in temporary
buildings in Cannon Street, Birmingham, in 1854, I was compelled to
ventilate my class-rooms by temporary devices, one of which was to
throw open the existing windows, and protect the students from the
heavy blast of entering air by straining it through a strong gauze-like
fabric stretched over the opening.
After a short time the tammy became useless for its intended purpose;
its interstices were choked with a deposit of carbon. On examining
this, I found that the black deposit was all on the outside, showing
that a filtration of the air had occurred. Even when the tammy was
replaced by perforated zinc, puttied into the window frames in the
place of glass panes, it was found necessary to frequently wash the
zinc, in order to keep the perforations open.
The recollection of this experience suggested that if a gauze-like
fabric, cheaper and stronger than the tammy, can be obtained, and a
sort of greenhouse made with this in the place of glass, the problem of
converting London back-yards into gardens might be solved.
After some inquiries and failures in the trial of various cheap
fabrics, I found one that is already to be had, and well adapted to the
purpose. It is called “wall canvas,” or “scrim,” is retailed at 3½_d._
per yard, and is one yard wide. If I am rightly informed, it may be
bought in wholesale quantities at about 2¼_d._ per square yard, _i.e._,
one farthing per square foot. This fabric is made of coarse unbleached
thread yarn, very strong and open in structure. The light passes so
freely through it that when hung before a window the loss of light in
the room is barely perceptible. When a piece is stretched upon a frame,
a printed placard, or even a newspaper, may be read through it.
The yarn being loosely spun, fine fluffy filaments stand out and bar
the interstices against the passage of even very minute carbonaceous
particles. These filaments may be seen by holding it up to the light.
The fabric being one yard wide, and of any length required, all that
is needed for a roof or side walls is a skeleton made of lines or runs
of quartering, at 3 feet distance from each other. The cost of such
quartering, made of pitch pine, the best material for outside work,
is under one penny per foot run; of common white deal, about three
farthings. Thus the cost of material for a roof, say a lean-to from
a wall-top to the side of a house, which would be the most commonly
demanded form of 30 feet by 10 feet, _i.e._, 300 square feet, would be—
_s._ _d._
110 feet of quartering (11 lengths) at 1_d._ 9 2
300 square feet of canvas, at 1¼ 6 3[32]
Nails and tacks, say 1 0
---------
16 5
The size of the quartering proposed is 2½ by 1¼ inch, which, laid
edgewise, would bear the weight of a man on a plank while nailing down
the canvas. The canvas has a stout cord-like edge or selvage, that
holds the nails well.
I find that what are called “French tacks” are well suited for nailing
it down. They are made of wire, well pointed, have good-sized flat
clout heads, and are very cheap. They are incomparably superior to the
ordinary rubbish sold as “tin tacks” or “cut tacks.” The construction
of such a conservatory is so simple that any industrious artisan or
clerk with any mechanical ingenuity could, with the aid of a boy, do
it all himself. No special skill is required for any part of the work,
and no other tools than a rule, a saw, and a hammer. Side posts and
stronger end rails would in some cases be demanded.
I have not been able to fairly carry out this project, inasmuch as I
reside at Twickenham, beyond the reach of the black showers of London
soot. I have, however, made some investigations relative to the climate
which results from such enclosure.
This was done by covering a small skeleton frame with the canvas,
putting it upon the ground over some cabbage plants, etc., and placing
registering thermometers on the ground inside, and in similar position
outside the frame; also by removing the glass cover of a cucumber
frame, and replacing it by a frame on which the canvas is stretched.
I planted 300 cabbages in November last, in rows on the open ground,
and placed the canvas-covered frame over 18 of them. At the present
date, March 15, only 26 of the 282 outside plants are visible above the
ground. All the rest have been cut off by the severe frost. Under the
frame _all_ are flourishing.
I find that the difference between the maximum and the minimum
temperatures varies with the condition of the sky. In cloudy weather,
the difference between the inside and the outside rarely exceeds 2°
Fahr., and occasionally there is no difference. In clear weather the
difference is considerable. During the day the outside thermometer
registers from four or five to seven or eight degrees above that within
the screen during the sunshine. At night the minimum thermometers show
a difference which in one case reached 14°, _i.e._, between 23d and
24th February, when the lowest temperature I have observed was reached.
The outside thermometer then fell to 8° Fahr., the inside to 22°. On
the night of the 24th and 25th they registered 15½° outside, 25½°
inside. On other, or ordinary clear frosty nights, with E. and N. and
N.E. winds, the difference has ranged between 4° and 6°, usually within
a fraction of the average, 5°.
The uniformity of this during the recent bright frosty nights, followed
by warm sunny days, has been very remarkable, so much so that I think I
may venture to state that 5° may be expected as the general protecting
effect of a covering of such canvas from the mischievous action of our
spring frosts which are due to nocturnal radiation into free space.
Thus we obtain a climate, the mean of which would be about the same
as outside, but subject to far less variation. How will this affect
the growth of plants desirable to cultivate in the proposed canvas
conservatories?
In the first place, we must not expect the results obtainable under
glass, which by freely transmitting the bright solar rays, and
absorbing or resisting the passage of the obscure rays from the
heated soil, produces, during sunshine, a tropical climate here in
our latitudes. We may therefore at once set aside any expectation of
rearing exotic plants of any kind; even our native and acclimatized
plants, which require the maximum heat of English sunshine, are not
likely to flourish.
On the other hand, all those which demand moderate protection from
sudden frosts, especially from spring frosts, and which flourish when
we have a long mild spring and summer, are likely to be reared with
especial success.
This includes nearly all our table vegetables, our salads, kitchen
herbs, and British fruits, all our British and many exotic ferns, and,
I believe, most of our out-of-door plants, both wild and cultivated.
As the subject of ornamental flowers is a very large one, and one with
the cultivation of which I have very little practical acquaintance, I
will pass it over; but must simply indicate that, in respect to ferns,
the canvas enclosure offers a combination of most desirable conditions.
The slight shade, the comparatively uniform temperature, and the
moderated exhalation, are just those of a luxuriant fern dingle.
Respecting the useful or economic products I can speak with more
confidence, that being my special department in our family or home
gardening, which, as physical discipline, I have always conducted
myself, with a minimum of professional aid.
My experience of a small garden leads me to give first place to salads.
A yard square of rich soil, well managed, will yield a handsome
and delicious weekly dish of salad nearly all the year round; and,
at the same rate, seven or eight square yards will supply a daily
dish—including lettuces, endives, radishes, spring onions, mustard,
and various kinds of cress, and fancy salads, all in a state of
freshness otherwise unattainable by the Londoner. My only difficulty
has arisen from irregularity of supply. From the small area allowed
for salads, I have been over-supplied in July, August, and September,
and reduced to in-door or frame-grown mustard and cress during the
winter. With the equable insular climate obtainable under the canvas,
this difficulty will be greatly diminished; and besides this, most of
the salads are improved by partial shade, lettuces and endives more
blanched and delicate than when exposed to scorching sun, radishes less
fibrous, mustard, cress, etc., milder in flavor and more succulent.
The multitude of savory kitchen herbs that are so sadly neglected
in English cookery (especially in the food of the town artisan and
clerk), all, with scarcely an exception, demand an equable climate and
protection from our destructive spring frosts. These occupy very little
space, less even than salads, and are wanted in such small quantities
at a time, and so frequently, that the hard-worked housewife commonly
neglects them altogether, rather than fetch them from the greengrocer’s
in their exorbitantly small pennyworths. If she could step into the
back yard, and gather her parsley, sage, thyme, winter savory, mint,
marjoram, bay leaf, rosemary, etc., the dinner would become far more
savory, and the demand for the alcoholic substitutes for relishing food
proportionably diminished.
My strongest anticipations, however, lie in the direction of common
fruits—apples, pears, cherries, plums of all kinds, peaches,
nectarines, gooseberries, currants, raspberries, strawberries, etc.
The most luxuriant growth of cherries, currants, gooseberries, and
raspberries I have ever seen in any part of the world that I have
visited, is where they might be least expected, viz., Norway; not the
South of Norway merely, but more particularly in the valleys that
slope from the 500 square miles of the perpetual ice desert of the
Justedal down to the Sognefjord, latitude 61° to 61½°, considerably to
the north of the northernmost of the Shetland Islands. The cherry and
currant trees are marvelous there.
In the garden of one of the farm stations (Sande) I counted 70 fine
bunches of red currants growing on six inches of one of the overladen
down-hanging stems of a currant bush. Cherries are served for dessert
by simply breaking off a small branch of the tree and bringing it to
the table—the fruit almost as many as the leaves.
This luxuriance I attribute to two causes. First, that in that part
of Norway the winter breaks up suddenly at about the beginning of
June, and not until then, when night frosts are no longer possible,
do the blossoms appear. It was on the 24th August that I counted
the 70 bunches of ripe currants. The second cause is the absence of
sparrows and other destructive small birds that devour our currants
for the seeds’ sake before they ripen, and our cherries immediately
on ripening. These are preceded by the bullfinches that feed on the
tender hearts of the buds of most of our fruit trees. Those who believe
the newspaper myths which represent such thick-billed birds eating
caterpillars, should make observations and experiments for themselves
as I have done.
In our canvas conservatories neither sparrows nor caterpillars, nor
wasps, or other fruit-stealers will penetrate, nor will the spring
frosts nip the blossoms that open out in April. All the conditions
for full bearing are there fulfilled, and the ripening season, though
not so intense, will be prolonged. We shall have an insular Jersey
climate in London, where the mean temperature is higher than in the
country around, and, if I am not quite deluded, we shall be able to
grow the choicest Jersey pears, those that best ripen by hanging on the
tree until the end of December, and fine peaches, which are commonly
destroyed by putting forth their blossoms so early. All the hundred and
one varieties of plums and damsons, greengages, etc., that can grow in
temperate climates will be similarly protected from the frosts that
kill their early blossoms, and the birds and the wasps that will not
give them time to ripen slowly.
I have little doubt that if my project is carried out, any London
householder, whether rich or poor, may indulge in delicious desserts of
rich fruit all grown on the sites of their own now dirty and desolate
back-yards; that if prizes be given for the most prolific branches of
cherry and plum trees, gooseberry and currant bushes, the gardens of
the Seven-dials and of classic St. Giles’s may carry off some of the
gold medals; and that, by judicious economy of space and proper pruning
of the trees, the canvas conservatories may be made not only to serve
as orchard houses, but also to grow the salads, kitchen herbs, and
green vegetables for cookery, under the fruit trees or close around
their stems.
Among the suitable vegetables, I may name a sort of perennial spinach
which yields a wonderful amount of produce on a small area. Four years
ago I took the house in which I now reside, and found the garden
overgrown with a weed that appeared like beet, the leaves being much
larger than ordinary spinach. I tried in vain to eradicate it, then
gave some leaves to my fowls. They ate them greedily. After this I
had some boiled, and found that the supposed weed is an excellent
spinach, which may be sown broadcast in thick patches, without any
interspaces, and cut down again and again all the year round, fresh
leaves springing up from the roots until the autumn, when it throws
up tall flowering stems, and yields an abundant crop of seeds. I have
some now, self-sown, that have survived the whole of the late severe
winter, while turnip-tops, cabbages, and everything else have perished.
I have sown the ordinary spinach seed in the usual manner in rows, and
comparing it with the self-sown dense patches of this intruder, find
the latter produces, square yard against square yard, six or eight
times as much of available eatable crop.
None of my friends who are amateur gardeners know this variety; but
a few days since, I called on Messrs. James Carter and Co., the
wholesale seedsmen of Holborn, and described it. They gave me a packet
of what they call “Perpetual spinach beet,” which, as may be seen by
comparison with the seeds of those I have here of my own growing, is
probably the same. Messrs. Carter and Co. tell me that the plant is
very little known, and the seed scarce from want of cultivation and
demand. I therefore step so far aside to describe and recommend it as
specially suited for obtaining large crops on small areas.[33]
I also recommend a mode of growing cabbages that I have found very
profitable, viz., to sow the seed broadcast in richly manured beds
or patches and leave the plants crowding together; cut them down
while very young, without destroying the centre bud; let them sprout
again and again. They thus yield a succession of crops, every leaf of
which is eatable. This, instead of transplanting and growing large
plants, which, however desirable for sale in the market, are far less
profitable for home use. Celery may be grown in like manner, and cut
down young and green for boiling.
Some collateral advantages may be fairly anticipated in cases where the
back-yard is fully enclosed by the canvas.
In the first place, the air coming into the house from the back will
be more or less filtered from the grimy irritant particles with which
our London atmosphere is loaded, besides obtaining the oxygen given off
by the growing plants, and the ozone which recent investigations have
shown to be produced where aromatic plants—such as kitchen herbs—are
growing. Lavender, which is very hardy, and spreads spontaneously,
might be grown for this purpose.
Back-doors might be left open for ventilation, without danger of
intrusion or of slamming by gusts of wind. The air thus admitted would
be tempered both in summer and winter. By wetting the canvas, which may
easily be done by means of a small garden engine, or hand syringe, the
exceptionally hot summer days that are so severely felt in London might
be moderated to a considerable extent. The air under the canvas being
cooler than that in front would enter from below, while the warmer air
would be pushed upwards and outwards to the front.
Although such conservatories may be erected, as already stated,
by artisans or other tenants of small houses, I do not advocate
dependence on this; but, on the contrary, regard them as more properly
constituting landlord’s fixtures, and recommend their erection by
owners of small house property in London and other large towns. A
workman who will pay a trifle extra for such a garden, is likely to be
a better and more permanent tenant than one who is content with the
slovenly squallor of ordinary back premises.
I base this opinion on some experience of holding small houses in the
outskirts of Birmingham (Talbot Street, Winson Green.) These have
small gardens, while most of those around have none. They are held by
weekly tenure, and, during eighteen years, I have not lost a week’s
rent from voids; the men who would otherwise shift their dwelling
when they change workshops, prefer to remain and walk some distance
rather than lose their little garden crops; and when obliged to leave,
have usually found me another tenant, a friend who has paid them a
small tenant-right premium for what is left in the garden, or for the
privilege of getting a house with such a garden.
A small garden is one of the best rivals to the fascinations of the
tap-room; the strongest argument in favor of my canvas conservatories,
and that which I reserve as the last, is that they are likely to become
the poor man’s drawing-room, where he may spend his summer evenings,
smoke his pipe, contemplate his growing plants, and show them in
rivalry to his friends, rather than slink away from an unattractive
home to seek the sensual excitements that ruin so many of our
industrious fellow-countrymen.
As above stated, I have not been able practically to test the filtering
capabilities of the canvas, owing to my residence out of town, but
since the above was written, _i.e._, on last Wednesday evening, I
visited the Houses of Parliament, where, as I had been told, the
ventilation arrangements include some devices for filtering the air by
cotton, wool or otherwise.
I was much interested on finding that the long experience and many
trials of Dr. Percy and his assistant engineer, Mr. Prim, have resulted
in the selection of the identical material which I have chosen, and
with which the above-described experiments have been made. A wall of
such canvas surrounds a lower region of the Houses, and all the air
that is destined to have the privilege of being breathed by British
legislators is passed through this vertical screen, for the purpose of
separating from it the sooty impurities that constitute the special
abomination of our metropolitan atmosphere, and that of our great
manufacturing towns. The quantity of sooty matter thus arrested is
shown by the fact that it is found necessary to take the screens down
once a week and wash them, the wash water coming away in a semi-inky
condition.
I anticipate that the conservatory filters will rapidly clog, and,
therefore, require washing. This may easily be done by means of a
jet from a hand-syringe directed from within outwards, especially if
the slope of the roof is considerable, which is to be recommended.
The filtering screen of the Houses of Parliament is made by sewing
the canvas edges together, to form a large continuous area, then
edging the borders of this with tape, and stretching it bodily on to
a stout frame. This method may be found preferable to that which I
proposed above, and cheaper than I have estimated, as only very light
intermediate cross-pieces would thus be required, merely to prevent
bagging, the parliamentary quartering above described being nine feet
apart instead of three. This would reduce the cost of timber to about
one half of the above estimate.[34] The perpendicular walls of a
conservatory, where such are required, may certainly be made thus, and
I think the roof also, if the slope is considerable. Or, if in demand,
the material may be made of greater width than the three feet.
So far, I have only mentioned back-yards; but, besides these, there
are many very melancholy front areas, called “gardens,” attached to
good houses in some of the once suburban, but now internal regions of
London, where the houses stand some distance back from the formerly
rural highway. These spaces might be cheaply enclosed with canvas,
and cultivated as kitchen gardens, orchard houses, flower gardens, or
ferneries, thus forming elegant, refreshing, and profitable vestibules
between the highway and the house-door, and also serve as luxurious
summer drawing-rooms. The only objection I foresee to these bright
enclosures will be their tendency to encourage the consumption of
tobacco.
_The Discussion which followed the reading of the preceding paper at
the Society of Arts._
A member asked if Mr. Williams had observed the effect of wind and rain
on this material?
Mr. W. P. B. Shepheard said he was interested in a large square in
London, and he had hoped to hear something about the cultivation of
flowers in such places. Last year, they tried the experiment with
several varieties of flower seeds, and they came up and bloomed well
in the open ground without any protection whatever. In most London
squares, the difficulty was to find anyone bold enough to try the
experiment at all, and nothing but experience would prove what flowers
would succeed and what would not. They were so successful last year
that several fine bouquets were gathered in July and August, and sent
to some of the gardening magazines, who expressed their astonishment
that such good results were possible in the circumstances. If flowers
would answer, there would, of course, be more encouragement to try
vegetables. One of the practical difficulties which occurred to him,
with regard to this plan, was that the screens would be somewhat
unsightly, and then again they might shrink, from alteration in the
temperature and getting wet and dry. He would repeat, however, that,
for a very small expense in seeds, a very good show of hardy annuals
and perennials might be obtained in July and August even in London.
Mr. C. Cooke said a flower-garden had recently been opened in Drury
Lane, on the site of an old churchyard, to which children were
admitted; and he wished a similar arrangement might be made in some
of the squares in crowded neighborhoods, such as Golden Square, and
especially in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. There were lots of children playing
about in the streets, and he wished the good example set by the
Templars might be followed.
Mr. Liggins, as an old member of the Royal Horticultural Society,
felt a great interest in this subject. Among his poorer neighbors in
the district of Kensington, cottage and window gardening had been
encouraged for some years past, prizes having been awarded to those
who were most successful, much to their gratification. This was a
novel idea, but he felt quite sure that it would enable those who
adopted it to obtain the crops which had been described. There were
many collateral advantages which it would bestow on the working classes
if largely followed by them, especially the one mentioned by Mr.
Williams, that those who devoted their spare time to the cultivation
of fruit and flowers would not be so open to the attractions of the
public-house. When traveling through the United States some years ago,
he was much struck with the difference in appearance of the houses in
districts where the Maine liquor law was in force, and soon learned to
distinguish where it was adopted by the clean, cheerful look of the
workmen’s dwellings, the neatness of the gardens, and the presence of
trees and flowers which, in other districts, were wanting. He was not
a teetotaler himself, and was not advocating such restrictions, but he
could not help noticing the contrast; and he felt sure that in all our
large towns great progress in civilization and morals would be effected
if such an attraction were offered to the working classes. He believed
there was so much intelligence and good sense among them, that if they
only knew what could be done in this way they would attempt it; and
when an Englishman attempted anything, he generally succeeded.
Mr. William Botly said they were much indebted to Mr. Williams for
having called attention to this important subject. He quite agreed
with the observations of the last speaker, for his own experience in
building cottages showed him that the addition of a piece of garden
ground had an excellent effect on the social, moral, and religious
welfare of the inmates. It kept them from the public-house, and the
children who were brought up to hoe and weed their parents’ gardens
turned out the most industrious laborers on his property. He had known
of instances where houses had been built with flat concrete roofs,
and covered in with glass, so as to form a conservatory, in which
vegetables and salads grow very well, and he believed the cost was
little, if any, more than ordinary slating.
The Chairman (Lord Alfred Churchill) in moving a vote of thanks to
Mr. Williams, said there could be no doubt that if his suggestion
were adopted it would lead to great economy, and have many other
attractions for the working classes. During the last few years they
had heard a good deal about floriculture in windows, and no doubt it
was an excellent proposal, but if they could add to this the growth
of vegetables it would have economical advantages also. The proposal
to erect temporary conservatories on the roofs of some of these small
houses was an admirable one. He saw no reason why you should not have
a peach tree growing against many a tall chimney; you would only
want a metal-lined tub filled with a good mold; the warmth of the
chimney would aid in promoting the growth of the tree, and it could
be protected from the smoke and frost by this canvas. One point he
should like to know was, whether the fabric would not become rotted
by the weather, and perhaps it might be protected by tanning, or some
chemical preparation. The effect of the canvas in maintaining an
equable temperature was a great consideration; the difference stated by
Mr. Williams, of about five degrees in winter, in many cases would be
just enough to save the life of a plant. Practical gardeners knew the
value of placing a covering over a peach tree in early spring to keep
off the frosts, and also to protect it from the attacks of birds. It
was also a curious fact that even a slip of wood or slate a few inches
wide, put on the top of a wall to which a fruit tree was nailed, acted
as a protection from frost. He trusted that Mr. Williams’ idea would
find favor among the working classes, and thought it was a subject
the Royal Horticultural Society might well take up and offer prizes
for. He hoped in a short time, when that Society had passed through a
crisis which was impending, it might emerge in a condition to devote
attention to this matter. It already offered prizes for small suburban
flower-shows, but had not yet turned its attention to the larger class
aimed at by Mr. Williams.
Mr. Botly said he had forgotten to mention that he had a friend, a very
excellent gardener, who always loosened his fruit trees from the wall
for about three weeks before the time of blooming. The consequence was,
they did not get so much heat from the wall, and the bloom was two or
three weeks later in forming. After the spring frosts, the trees were
again nailed up close, and he never failed in getting an excellent
crop, when his neighbors often had none.
Mr. Trewby wished to caution those who read the paper against using
what was commonly known as paperhangers’ canvas, because it was made
of two materials, hemp and jute, and if a piece of it were put into
water it would soon be nothing but a lot of strings, the jute being
all dissolved. It did very well for paper-hanging, but would be quite
unsuitable for this purpose.[35]