INN FURNITURE
It will not come as any surprise to readers who have so far dipped with us
into the pages of the past, to learn that mediæval inns, and indeed those
of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, have very little to show
in the way of furniture. Our ancestors had far less done for them when
they put up for the night than we are accustomed to to-day in the most
primitive districts. Travellers did not even expect a bed. They were
thankful enough if they could get some sort of rough bedstead on which to
lay their own bed which they brought with them. Of course, these were
people of some means. Whenever Royalty travelled the train of waggons
required to convey furnishing equipment frequently extended to formidable
dimensions. On the other hand, the accumulation of wealth in the sixteenth
century soon began to raise the standard of furnishing at the inn, and a
diary kept by a Dutch physician named Levinus Lemnius, who made an
adventure into England during Elizabeth’s reign, is worth quoting as an
indication of the rapid improvement which was taking place. The good
doctor evidently had not been used to luxuries, for he says: “The neate
cleanliness, the exquisite fineness, the pleasaunte and delightful
furniture in every poynt for the household, wonderfully rejoyced me, their
nosegayes, finely entermingled with sundry sortes of fragreunte flowers in
their bedchambers and privy roomes with comfortable smell cheered mee up
and entirely delyghted all my sences.” He probably stayed at the best
hostelries which could be found, and it would be unwise to conclude that
all inns of the period had so many charms as those to which he refers.
One feature of the furnishing of old inns which adds not a little to the
picturesqueness of the interiors is the high-backed settle, with wings or
arms. This is universal all over England. It varies considerably in
different localities, for the local handicraftsman has worked according to
tradition, and he has also in most cases made the settle for a particular
place and to serve a special purpose. Of course, the original reason for
its design was to keep out draughts from the constantly opening door, and
this purpose is still strong enough to make the settle a very convenient,
not to say necessary, fixture in most inns, in spite of all sorts of
modern draught-excluding devices. It scarcely seems likely that the
high-backed settle will ever be entirely superseded. It is not
particularly comfortable according to present-day ideas of comfort in
seats, which seem to revolve round upholstery. But it is very clean. It
will not harbour dust, and if well made it will stand the assaults of time
for centuries. The old Elizabethan and Jacobean settles were extremely
heavy. It was evident in those days that sturdiness was inseparable from
strength, and considering the possible rough usage to which seats in the
inn might well on occasion be put, the heavy timbers of which they were
constructed seem to have been well advised. They very often had fine
carving, and were constructed with the seat forming a lid to the boxed-in
lower part. It was in the eighteenth century that settles became of little
account, and they were then plainly made by carpenters simply to serve a
useful purpose. There is a good example of a carved settle in the _Union
Inn_, Flyford Flavel, Worcestershire; and in many an old inn in
Berkshire, a county which has retained its ancient character perhaps more
than any other, are heavy old oak settles guarding the warm fireside. In
the tap-room of the _Green Dragon_, Combe St. Nicholas, near Chard, is a
settle finely carved of fifteenth-century origin. Judging by its character
it must at one time have been in some ecclesiastical building. The _Green
Dragon_ was monastic. The settle after a time developed into the fixed
partition, its back stretched up to the ceiling, and a door was placed at
the end, the partition being continued beyond to the opposite wall.
Considerations of light sometimes prevented this being carried out
entirely but a modern compromise was effected by glazing the screen above
the high settle back and putting glass panels in the door. The development
of the ingle-nook came about through chimney-corner and settle being
combined in one feature.
[Illustration: The “Woodman” Inn, Farnborough, Kent]
The settle in some form or other is the best possible seat for the inn,
particularly if space is limited. It might be pleasanter to have small
tables and chairs, but in many an old building there is only enough room
for a couple of long seats and a table. A long bench upon which people can
sit in a row side by side is the best seat in existence for saving
space. Light furniture is utterly unsuitable for inns. For one thing it is
usually nothing like strong enough, and even if it be it commits an
artistic sin in looking too fragile for its purpose. Take the respective
merits of the very many forms in which the old Windsor chair has been
made, and the modern bent-wood chair. Now the latter is without doubt the
strongest seat for its weight which has been invented in modern times. It
is one of the few successes in chair-making which can claim to be the
direct outcome of scientific methods. It has absolutely no ancestors
whatever, and can attach itself to no tradition. It is a bald product of
the application of science to furniture, and when the Austrian inventor
finally made it perfect he had achieved utility, nothing more, nothing
less. The bent-wood chair is in pretty nearly every concert hall in the
world. It has conquered completely the restaurants and cafés of the
Continent, and it is to be seen often in old inns of the English
countryside. Now, the last is a regrettable fact. The Austrian bent-wood
chair or settee looks positively effeminate in the country inn with its
thin polished legs, its slender-looking back, and perforated,
mechanically made seat. Something is called for of a greater weight of
timber, which shall look more in keeping with the building and more in
accordance with the solid unimpassioned, phlegmatic way of life of rural
districts. Let us have the chair or settle made by the village wheelwright
or carpenter, rather than the product of an Austrian factory.
But in the Windsor chair we have a type which can certainly compete with
bent-wood in strength if not in lightness. The Windsor chair, besides, is
capable of much greater variety of form than the Austrian production. It
has a tradition of its own and has as great a celebrity as its more modern
competitor. It is heavier and sturdier. It savours somewhat of the
kitchen, but although it cannot be regarded as the last word on art
craftsmanship, it is not altogether unpleasant to look upon, and is much
more comfortable in use than many a chair with greater pretensions to
artistic appearance. It is still made by hand and costs very little. In
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the smaller inns contained many
chairs, a few of which are still to be met with, simply made by the
village joiner on the lathe. They had plain wooden seats, and there was
very great diversity of “members” in the turned rails. They called for
comparatively little skill to make, and beyond their bare proportions
showed small ingenuity in making the form comfortable for the body.
Frequently they had rush seats. Within recent years chairs of this kind
have been sought for and made the base of many extremely interesting
seats, designed and constructed by modern craftsmen.
The oldest form of inn table is the trestle. It dates back to the Middle
Ages, and although nothing like so much used to-day, it still survives in
many an old tap-room. It was originally even a simpler affair than it is
now, being merely a board with movable trestles underneath. It could
readily be moved and pushed away if space were required on special
occasion. At the _Plough Inn_, Birdbrook, Essex, an old thatched house, is
a red brick floored tap-room which contains several fine trestle tables
and settles of simple design and perfect utility.
But the simple table, chair and settle, beyond which the public part of
the inns of the Middle Ages and the smaller alehouses for centuries were
unfurnished, except, perhaps, for a stool or backless bench, are nothing
compared with the splendid legacy of sixteenth and seventeenth-century
carved oak furniture still left to us in many of the historic hostelries
in the shires. Later enthusiasm in collecting has no doubt been
responsible for the fine specimens of furniture such as those to be seen
at the _Lygon Arms_, Broadway, Worcestershire, and it is extremely
difficult to say with certainty how many of the genuinely old pieces to be
found in other famous inns originally belonged to the building. There is
the _Feathers_, Ludlow, where in the beautiful old dining-room is a fine
collection of furniture, hardly in accord with the period of the ceiling,
the carved oak overmantel, and other permanent features of the room. The
Jacobean and Chippendale chairs are the result of enlightened purchase in
later days. One of the finest Jacobean staircases in an inn is that at the
_Red Lion_, Truro.
Very little furniture of the Renaissance period, from the Elizabethan
carved oak to the mahogany of the later eighteenth century, is peculiar to
inns. An exception is the bar, which, of course, was a fixture and part of
the inn structure. Our modern bar with its almost invariable ugliness, its
row of vertical handles for drawing beer, and its aggressive cash
register, is a poor survival of the Jacobean bar, an example of which is
still in existence at the _Maid’s Head_, Norwich. It is worthy of
recollection that the high stools which enable one to sit at a bar are
quite of modern origin. Bar lounging evidently did not become a habit
until the nineteenth century. People sat down and had their refreshments
at ease.
A table which was sometimes found in Jacobean inns of the larger and more
important kind was the one upon which the game of “shovel-board” was
played. “Shovel-board” tables were very long, sometimes even as much as
ten yards. They were about three feet or three feet six inches wide, and
the game played resembles in principle our own deck billiards. Indeed the
“shovel-board” table is thought to be the direct ancestor of the modern
billiard table, without which, of course, no inn of any size nowadays is
complete. The extreme vagueness of the early history of the game of
billiards, however, scarcely justifies any dogmatic statement as to its
relationship with “shovel-board.” A Charles II billiard table with a
wooden bed, cork cushions, and corkscrew legs is in the possession of Mr.
Robert Rushbrooke, of Rushbrooke, which seems to show that “shovel-board”
tables and billiard tables existed at the same time. This, however, does
not do away with the contention of those who assert that the modern game
was elaborated from the simpler pastime beloved of Henry VIII and Charles
II. The last long “shovel-board” table in an inn was definitely stated by
Strutt, in his “Sports and Pastimes of the People of England,” to be at “a
low public-house in Benjamin Street, Clerkenwell Green.” It was three feet
broad and thirty-nine feet long.
As “shovel-board” tables were very expensive pieces of furniture, it is
doubtful whether any but the most important inns ever had them. The game
was played frequently on tables of much smaller dimensions, and the name
of “shovel-board” is usually used nowadays to designate a particular form
of extending table with hidden leaves. The long Elizabethan and Jacobean
tables--rather mistakenly known as refectory tables--which stood on stout
turned legs connected by thick rails, were ideal boards for the old game.
At Penshurst are, at the present time, two of the finest specimens of long
trestle tables in the country. They date from the early fifteenth century
and measure twenty-seven feet long by three feet wide.
Innkeepers, of course, had to keep abreast of the times in the matter of
furnishing, and in the coaching era the old hostelries were furnished in
the latest and most approved fashion. Hence it is that the Georgian inns,
where they have not been denuded of their treasures by enterprising
collectors, or turned inside out by some unfortunately advised landlord
who preferred Victorian horsehair and mahogany, still contain many
interesting pieces of the time of Chippendale, Heppelwhite, and Sheraton.
A warning may not be out of place to those who imagine that these famous
names applied to furniture really indicate that the cabinet-making was
done by the craftsmen themselves. Without unimpeachable documentary
evidence, it is utterly impossible to ascribe any fine piece of mahogany
to any one of the three great cabinet-makers of the eighteenth century.
The names indicate nowadays certain periods which are fairly definitely
fixed, and certain easily recognizable styles of work. In many an old inn
you will see in the coffee-room or commercial room side tables, dining
tables, card tables, chairs, settees, mirrors, long-case clocks, bureaux,
and corner cupboards which may typify any or all of the great periods of
the eighteenth century, and it is quite likely that down in the hall or in
the corridors and kitchen you will discover specimens of Jacobean chests,
gate-leg tables, dressers, a “bread-and-cheese” cupboard, perhaps, and
other relics of even an earlier age. The fact was, of course, that pieces
of furniture were bought as they were required, and when an inn had a
history running well into two centuries it would have been remarkable
indeed if a heterogeneous collection had not been got together. It is only
the modern craze for collecting which has robbed the inn of so many of its
treasures. The experts will tell you that the fact of a piece of furniture
being old is no guarantee whatever of its worth, excepting whatever value
may be attached to mere length of years. A joiner in the country, say in
Shropshire or Yorkshire, might not make a piece of furniture for mine host
of the _Chequers_ or _Blue Lion_ as well or in such good taste as would
the first-class cabinet-makers of London. It is quite likely that he would
invest it with some local character, and if this is well preserved in the
piece it has its worth on this account alone. But country made
Chippendale, Heppelwhite, or Sheraton furniture, although charming enough,
has rarely any exceptional value. Wherever the contents of a large country
house was offered for sale, the innkeeper as a man of some substance would
buy, and it is this fact which explains in some cases the finds of really
valuable furniture which have been made at old inns.
[Illustration: The “Wheatsheaf” Inn, Loughton, Essex]
The sort of advertisement--common enough then as now--which attracted
local competition can be realised by the following, from the _Kentish
Gazette_ of September 21st, 1790, which announced the sale in the Isle of
Thanet of:
“All the genuine _Household Furniture_, comprising bedsteads with
marine and other furniture, fine goose feather beds, blankets, etc.,
mahogany wardrobes, chest of drawers, ditto dressing tables, mahogany
press, bedsteads, with green check furniture; mahogany escritoire;
ditto writing table with drawers; ditto dining and Pembroke tables;
library table with steps; mahogany and other chairs; pier glasses and
girandoles, in carved and gilt frames; a neat sofa; an exceeding good
eight-day clock; Wilton and other carpets; register and Bath stoves;
kitchen range; smoke-jack and other useful kitchen furniture; two
large brewing-coppers, exceedingly good brewing utensils, and other
effects.”
This was the sale of the property of a man of quality. It is probable from
the description that the furniture was comparatively new at that time.
The Pembroke table, the mahogany escritoire, the pier glasses and
girandoles and other items were plainly eighteenth century. The enumerated
articles would no doubt be the most attractive pieces in the sale. Whether
there was any old oak or not cannot be ascertained from the advertisement,
but it is quite likely, for it would never be quoted, being thought at
that time of no value. The catalogues of such sales were always left with
the chief innkeepers of the neighbourhood, and to the innkeeper came any
likely buyers who would discuss the mansion and its contents. Foreign
competition in the way of dealers from London, was not to be feared in
those days, and the “neat sofa” and “exceeding good eight-day clock” were
quite as likely to find their way to the coaching inn as to any of the
prosperous farmhouses in the neighbourhood.
A fairly common fixture in old inns was the angle cupboard. It was usually
not a separate piece of furniture, but was fitted into the angle of the
wall. It takes up little space, and was convenient for the storage of
crockery.
There is a famous angle cupboard at the _New Inn_, New Romney.
The bedchambers of the old coaching inns had as an inevitable feature the
four-posters, now, by the way, again coming into fashion. These bedsteads
were not always fine in design by any means. The turning of the posts was
often quite clumsy enough, but they were never so hideous as the tester
beds of the nineteenth century. The prettiest bed-posts were those of the
latter half of the Georgian period, and Heppelwhite in particular is
credited with the design of some of the most charming. As to drapery,
which all good chambermaids kept spotless and clean, the following
suggestion from Heppelwhite’s own book may be quoted.
“It may be executed of almost any stuff which the loom produces. White
dimity, plain or corded, is peculiarly applicable for the furniture,
which, with a fringe with a gymp head, produces an effect of elegance and
neatness truly agreeable.” He goes on to say: “The Manchester stuffs have
been wrought into bed furniture with good success. Printed cottons and
linens are also very suitable, the elegance and variety of patterns of
which afford as much scope for taste, elegance and simplicity as the most
lively fancy can wish. In general the lining to these kinds of furniture
is a plain white cotton. To furniture of a dark pattern a green silk
lining may be used with good effect.”
This description gives a very fair idea of the way in which beds were
draped about a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago. Of course, the
word “furniture” in the above quotation is an old name for the hangings.
It is used in the sense that hangings furnished the bed.
Tall-boys were found in the old inn bedroom, the corner washstand with its
blue and white crockery, and one of those small loose mirrors (far too
small for the modern beauty) with three little drawers underneath. It is
quite common in any country inn nowadays to meet with these simple
furnishings, though the four-poster has given way in many instances to
cheap “black and brass” or “all-black” bedsteads of the age of mechanical
ingenuity, and instead of a bed of goose-down you shall lie on wool over
that really very comfortable rascal the wire mattress. The immortal
Jingle, who surely puts into four words more philosophy on the subject of
a good inn than anyone else in fiction, summed up everything when he
remarked, “Good house; nice beds.”
The day should not be far distant when the new inn, not large fashionable
hotels, will seek to furnish in some better way than by the purchase of
heavy and ornate cast-iron tables with marble tops for the saloon bar,
with utterly unsuitable saddle-bag suites for the parlour, with flashing
mirrors everywhere, and ornamental crockery, palm stands of dubious
origin, and gilt leather papers as decorative enrichments.
However much influence the Arts and Crafts movement has had in the
furnishing of the domestic dwelling, it has left practically untouched the
house which belongs of right to the public. There are craftsmen, however,
many of them, whose furniture seems as if it were designed specially for
the country inn, yet it is doubtful whether one was ever commissioned to
supply the equipment which would give such character and charm to the
modern licensed house. Some of the pieces of furniture, such as plain
straightforward oaken drawers, benches, chairs, sturdy tables, cupboards
and the like which have for many years been exhibited by members of the
Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society, would be infinitely more suitable in
the inn than anywhere else. It is not apparently lack of money which
makes those who furnish inns anew look to the modern and often hideous
productions of commerce for their furniture. It would seem to be rather
lack of knowledge or taste. No publican exists but wants to make his house
attractive; but, except occasional advice about the preservation of the
character of old inns by the retention of what old furniture there may be
and the purchase of other pieces in a style suitable to the building,
there would appear to be no influence whatever to prevent refurnishing in
a manner which suggests too often an attempt to reproduce a railway hotel
in miniature. At the moment the most accessible good furniture for the new
inns is to be found in the modern reproductions of well-known styles which
are to be purchased through the ordinary commercial channels and at
commercial prices. It is the commonest experience to go into a country inn
of undeniable architectural charm, even if the attraction be merely that
it seems a simple homely looking building and nothing else, and to find
inside furnishing as bad or worse than that of the cheap lodging-house.
Now the inn should be a cut above that. It should not be too much to
expect a little simplicity in furnishing. It is the attempt to
elaborate which usually results in such artistic disaster. We have in
memory many a little public-house, whose parlour is so small as to
prohibit the slightest effort at decorative detail, and others--obscure
alehouses some of them--where obviously there is not the wherewithal to
provide up-to-date splendours, and in these instances the plain, honest
benches, the trestle tables, the Windsor chairs and homely dresser
constitute an interior which could scarcely be improved. There being no
chance to elaborate, well has fortunately been left alone.
[Illustration: The “Skittles” Inn, Letchworth, Herts]