THE LONDONER'S ZONE
[Illustration]
As far as Hampton the river may be said to lie within the zone of the
Londoner. By means of the District Railway and the London and South
Western Railway he can get at any part of it, and trams are yearly
stretching out further and further, so that he can go above ground, if
he wishes, all the way to Hampton. At Hampton itself, at Richmond and
Kew, there are large open spaces once the gardens or parks belonging
to kings, but now open as public pleasure grounds, ideal places for
the man who has a small family to take with him, and whose holiday is
limited to a day. For those who are free from encumbrances, there are
always boats to be had in abundance, at a much cheaper rate than one
would have to pay for them at, say, Maidenhead; and the scenery itself,
though not so fine as some higher up, is pleasant and attractive. If
the day be wet or uncertain there is the palace at Hampton to explore;
and accommodation for eating and drinking is amply supplied by numerous
inns and hotels clustering round its gates.
The gateway to the Palace is imposing, with its brick piers and stone
heraldic animals, and the long low range of buildings on the left side
makes a strip of bright colour.
[Illustration: HAMPTON COURT FROM THE RIVER]
The older part of the palace was built by Wolsey, but by far the
greater part of it, as it now stands, is due to William III. Some
parts of the entrance gateway and the great hall are all that remain
to speak of Wolsey's inconceivable boldness in attempting to build a
palace which should outshine that of a jealous monarch like Henry VIII.
Skelton's satire, beginning:
Why come ye not to courte?
To which courte?
To the kinge's courte,
Or to Hampton Courte?
showed what everyone thought, and doubtless served to concentrate
attention upon Wolsey's temerity. The irony of the matter lay in the
fact that the palace was not seized, but that the unfortunate owner was
forced to make a present of it to the King:
With turrettes and with toures,
With halls and with boures
Stretching to the starres,
With glass windows and barres;
Hanginge about their walles
Clothes of gold and palles
Fresh as floures in Maye.
Whether he gave the palace as it stood, with its "two hundred and four
score beds, the furniture of most being of silk," is not recorded; but
it is probable that when he had been wrought up to the pitch of terror
necessary for overcoming his reluctance to part with his beautiful new
possession, he would give all--everything--feeling that so long as his
life was safe it was all he cared about. As a mark of royal favour,
Henry allowed him to occupy apartments at Richmond, where he was not
too far off to observe the doings of the monarch in his palace. The
king was so pleased with his new establishment that he formed a mighty
park, embracing all the land for miles around, including East and West
Molesey, Cobham, Esher, Byfleet, and Thames Ditton, and was sorely
aggrieved because his loving subjects, whose land and rights had thus
been confiscated, dared to make an outcry.
Edward VI. was born at Hampton. After his death Queen Mary came here
with her husband Philip, and the unhappy couple, one full of sullen
hate, the other sore and bitter in her loneliness, must have strolled
in the grounds many a time.
For three months King Charles I. was held prisoner here while his fate
was undecided, and when he was removed it was to go up the river to
Maidenhead, where he said his last farewell to his children. Oliver
Cromwell, who, though he dared not take the name of king, had no
dislike to the royal privileges, lived at Hampton, and one of his
daughters was married from the palace. But by the time of William
III., much of the building had fallen into decay. The situation was
pleasant, and though Henry's park had in great part reverted to its
rightful owners, there was still much open ground around which made
the place desirable. William had a passion for building, and loved the
prim Dutch style, as was natural. The maze and the canal, and the long
avenues of trees in Bushey, are all evidences of his taste. But in the
palace he attempted to copy Versailles, as he had already copied it
at Kensington. Poor Wren must have been as much perplexed as ever he
was in his life when told to remodel a Tudor building into the copy of
one of the Renaissance, and that he succeeded at all is greatly to his
credit. Two out of the five courts which remained of the old palace
were pulled down, and the state rooms, as we now see them, are the
work of Wren under William's directions. Since then the interest and
beauty of the interior has been much added to by the famous collection
of pictures, which attracts at least as many visitors as the building
does.
Bushey Park adjoins Hampton, and lies so close to the river that it
forms part of the river scenery. Its glory is in its great double line
of chestnuts, with the broad sweep of green grass lining the avenues
formed by them. Chestnut Sunday, when the trees are in bloom, is a
well-known date in the Londoner's calendar, and every description of
conveyance is hired, chartered, or borrowed, to see the great sight.
Hundreds of people, to whom it is one of the great days in the year,
walk about or eat refreshments beneath the sombre green masses which
are lightened by a thousand pyramidal candles. The central avenue is
one mile and forty yards in length, and the width of it is fifty-six
yards. A noble conception, worthy of the little man with the wise head.
On Hampton Green, outside the gates of the palace, Sir Christopher
Wren passed the last five years of his life, in sight of his greatest
architectural problem.
Molesey Lock, just above the bridge, is a popular place in summer. All
those who have come down to enjoy the fresh air, and who want an excuse
for doing nothing, stand and watch the boats passing through; there
is always as great a crowd on the tow-path as on the water. A number
of islands lie above the lock, the largest of which is Tagg's, as well
known as any island on the river, and much patronised by holiday-makers
at lunch and tea time. In summer a band plays on the lawn twice a week.
It is opposite the end of the Hurst Park Racecourse, patronised by
altogether a different type of people from those who come to Hampton
Court, and who can only be said to belong to the river accidentally,
by reason of the position of the course. A wonderful club boat-house
of polished wood has sprung up of recent years on the Hampton side,
and above it is Garrick's Villa with portico and columns. This the
great actor bought in 1754, and kept until his death, after which his
widow lived in it for another forty years. He was visited here by all
the celebrated men of his time, including Horace Walpole, Dr. Johnson
and Hogarth, and here he gave a splendid series of river fêtes. The
little temple on the bank was built by him as a shrine for a statue of
Shakespeare, which has now been removed. A small public garden on the
edge of the water makes this a favourite lounging place for the people
of the neighbourhood. The scenery is rather tame, but has that charm
always to be found in flowing water and green grass, in the absence of
chimneys and other horrors of man's making.
The church of Hampton village stands up fairly high above the water.
It is in a most unlovely style, but ivy has done something to smooth
down its defects, which are further toned by distance. There is a
ferry close by, and as this is the nearest point to the station, many
of those who arrive by train on race-days cross at this point, and the
ferrymen reap rich harvests.
Not far beyond this loom up the great earthworks and reservoirs of
the West Middlesex and Grand Junction Water Company, and with that the
influence of Hampton may be said to cease.
Returning again to the bridge at Hampton, we have the river Mole
flowing in on the right bank. Molesey Regatta takes place every year
in July. The trees and red brickwork of the palace are on the left,
and only a short way down is the pretty little oasis of Thames Ditton,
which somehow seems as if it ought to belong to the river much higher
up, and had fallen here by mistake. The Swan Inn is right on the edge
of the water. It is proud of the fact that Theodore Hook wrote a verse
on a pane of glass at a time when such things were quite legitimate,
because the tourist, as we know him, had not then come into existence
to vulgarise the practice. The pane has been broken, but the verse is
remembered, and the following lines are a sample:
The Swan, snug inn, good fare affords
As table e'er was put on,
And worthier quite of loftier boards,
Its poultry, fish and mutton.
And while sound wine mine host supplies,
With ale of Meux and Tritton,
Mine hostess with her bright blue eyes
Invites to stay at Ditton.
We wonder how many hostesses since have wished the lines had never been
written. An old inn near by, with overhanging gable end and clinging
wistaria, makes a pretty corner, and in the High Street itself there
are bits so different from the Kingston and Surbiton ideal, that one
cannot understand how they can be in the same zone with them at all.
The green lawns of Ditton House and Boyle Farm are quite close, and the
fine island with its willows hides the flatness of the further bank.
About the end of the eighteenth century this part of the river was
celebrated for its magnificent fêtes.
One of these, given at Boyle Farm, inspired Moore to write a poem which
was not published until long after:
Lamps of all hues, from walks and bowers,
Broke on the eye like kindling flowers
Till budding into light each tree
Bore its full fruit of brilliancy.
* * * * *
And now along the waters fly
Swift gondoles of Venetian breed,
With knights, and dames, who calm reclined,
Lisp out love sonnets as they glide,
Astonishing old Thames to find
Such doings on his moral tide.
The reach is a favourite one for sailing boats. Below Long Ditton are
the large waterworks of the Lambeth Company. On fine Saturdays and
Sundays the Hampton tow-path on the other side is generally alive with
people. On Raven's Ait is the club-house of the Kingston Rowing Club,
and beside the water runs a well laid out strip of ground with bushes
and seats, and a good stout hedge to keep off the dust from the motor
cars which race by on the road--a section of the Ripley Road beloved of
scorchers. In summer this little public garden is bright with flowers,
and it is a great favourite with the inhabitants of Kingston and
Surbiton. Before arriving at the bridge there are the backs of untidy
houses, and generally a great medley of barges, laden with hay and
bricks and coal, lying about by the wharves.
Kingston, as we have said elsewhere, can boast of one of the oldest
bridges over the river. A bridge of wood stood here in 1225, when
there was no other in the whole sweep downward as far as London Bridge.
The present one is very narrow, and its convenience is not increased
since a double line of tramways has been laid across it. The general
similarity of position between it and Richmond Bridge may be remarked.
Both have large boat-building establishments near, and both are about
the same distance from the railway bridges which cross below them.
As this is not a guide-book, no attempt is made to describe other
than picturesque effects and ancient survivals such as are likely to
attract the notice of anyone actually on the river, but an exception
must be made in favour of Kingston Stone, which anyone ought to land
to see. It is in the market-place, not five minutes from the river,
and from it--the King's Stone--the name of the place is derived. It
is a shapeless block, mounted on a granite base, and round it are
inscribed the names of seven Saxon kings who were crowned here, and
a silver penny of each of their reigns has been inserted. There seems
to be no authentic history of this interesting relic, and no definite
explanation as to why these kings should have been here crowned; but
a suggestion there is that at the date of the first of the coronations
Mercia and Wessex were joined under one king, and while the boundaries
of Mercia reached to the Thames on the north side, those of Wessex
marched with them on the south. Kingston was equally accessible to
both, and as London was at that time in the hands of the Danes, and the
ford at Kingston the only one above London by which the river could be
safely crossed, the place was chosen accordingly.
Teddington Lock was for a long time the lowest on the river, but has
been supplanted by a Benjamin in the shape of a half-tide lock at
Richmond. The reach about Teddington is in the summer very pretty. The
banks are dotted with little bungalows, bright with blue and white
paint and gay with flowers. The long smooth lawns of the riverside
houses stretch down to the water, and the Crimson Rambler climbs over
many a rustic bridge and iron trellis. It is a well-cared for part, and
holds its own against rivals of greater grandeur. There are several
islands forming cover where one can ship oars and rest, and though
landing is in most places forbidden, there is no law against a boat's
drawing inshore beneath the shelter of the overhanging trees, amongst
which may be noted several weeping willows. This bit recalls Moore's:
... where Thames is seen
Gliding between his banks of green,
While rival villas on each side
Peep from their bowers to win his tide.
Beyond Teddington we are in Twickenham Reach:
Where silver Thames round Twit'nam meads
His winding current sweetly leads.
--_Walpole._
There is a great bend at Twickenham, and in it the chimneys of
Strawberry Hill may be seen overtopping the high evergreen hedge that
surrounds it. The house has been altered considerably since Walpole's
date, but in its essence it is the house he built. He himself describes
his view thus:
Directly before it is an open grove through which you see a
field, which is bounded by a serpentine wood of all kind of
trees, and flowering shrubs, and flowers. The lawn before
the house is situated on the top of a small hill from whence
to the left you see the town and church of Twickenham,
encircling a turn of the river, that looks exactly like a
seaport in miniature. The opposite shore is a most delicious
meadow, bounded by Richmond Hill, which loses itself in the
noble woods of the park to the end of the prospect on the
right, where is another turn of the river, and the suburbs
of Kingston as luckily placed as Kingston is on the left....
You must figure that all this is perpetually enlivened by a
navigation of boats and barges.
His architecture was a medley of everything that could by any
possibility be included under the heading Gothic, and the result was
more curious than beautiful, though it became the fashion to visit
the house. Walpole bemoaned the crowds aloud, but secretly delighted
in them. He published a description of the house, in the beginning of
which he says he trusts it will be a lesson in taste to all who see
it! An example of the suave self-belief of an egotist. At Twickenham
there is another fantastic building called Pope's Villa. This can be
seen much better from the river than Strawberry Hill can, and it is an
affected piece of architecture. It has been described as "a combination
of an Elizabethan half-timber house and a Stuart Renaissance, with the
addition of Dutch and Swiss, Italian and Chinese features." This is not
the house occupied by Pope, nor is it even exactly on the same site
as his. In front of it is a group of weeping willows, a kind of tree
which shows to particular advantage by the water-side. Pope himself is
said to have been the first to introduce it into England, having found
some sticks of it in a bundle sent to him from Spain by the Countess of
Suffolk.
Pope lived at Twickenham from 1719 to 1744, and produced here most of
his important works, including the last books of his _Odyssey_, the
_Dunciad_ and the famous _Essay on Man_. He was here visited by Gay
and Swift, and many another contemporary whose name is still held in
estimation. He laid out his grounds in a decorative way, and made a
curious underground grotto, which lies away from the water, on the
other side of the road. Among the celebrated men who have, at one time
or another, lived at Twickenham are numbered Henry Fielding, Dr. Donne,
Sir Godfrey Kneller, Tennyson, and Turner. The last-named was very fond
of fishing, and used to fish a good deal in this part of the river.
There is a little esplanade at Twickenham, shaded by small
horse-chestnuts, and in front lies the famous Eel-pie Island, which
vies with Tagg's in summer popularity. The hotel has a pleasant garden,
but the rest of the island is, it must be confessed, rather untidy,
with several places for building motor launches and many boat-houses.
At the small wharf opposite the church there are nearly always barges
unloading bricks or sand and gravel. Yet the place has an air of
dignity, perhaps given to it by the old Perpendicular stone tower
of the church, so incongruously welded on to a red-brick pedimented
Georgian building. The architect was the same who built St. George's,
Hanover Square; but, as Sir Godfrey Kneller was churchwarden, one
might have expected something in better taste. Pope is buried inside,
and a flat slab with his initial letter on it now serves as a base for
several pews. Not far from the church is York House, and with Orleans
and Ham House on the other side of the river this is a notable group.
In the great gardens of Orleans House grow splendid cedars, stone
pines, and other evergreens. The little Duke of Gloucester, the only
child who survived babyhood out of Queen Anne's enormous family, was
brought here for his health in 1694. Six years later this quaint child,
with a rickety body and an enormous head, died of small-pox at the age
of eleven. The house was afterwards rebuilt. To it in 1800 came Louis
Philippe, then Duc d'Orleans, and his two brothers. After his brief
summer of prosperity in France, he returned to England as an exile in
1848; that he had a warm remembrance of the house is shown by his then
purchasing it. He did not, however, live here himself, but placed his
son, the Duc d'Aumale, in it, and a colony of royal refugees settled
round. At Mount Lebanon, not far off, was the Prince de Joinville; and
the Duc d'Aumale, having bought York House, gave it to his nephew the
Comte de Paris, who lived there for six or seven years. Queen Anne was
born in York House--it had been given to her mother's father, Lord
Clarendon--and with her elder sister she spent her earliest years
at Twickenham. All these notable houses and dignified memories are
enough to account for the air of sober gravity never wholly absent
from the river at Twickenham even on the brightest days; and the rows
of Lombardy poplars, the magnificent cedars, and the fine foliage of
the other trees enhance the impression. Ham House, on the other side,
was built in 1611, it is said for Prince Henry, James I.'s eldest son.
It is screened from the water by a row of tall trees. Around it grow
Scotch firs and holm oaks.
We have not long left Twickenham before we see the little oblong island
about which there was so much contention because it formed an item in
the famous Marble Hill view, seen from the heights of Richmond Park.
The London County Council are now owners of the Marble Hill estate,
and have made it into a public park. It lies on the Twickenham side.
The house was built by George II. for the Countess of Suffolk. Gay,
Pope, and Swift all took an interest in the building, and voiced their
opinions as to the style and the laying out of the grounds. A suite of
rooms in the house was afterwards set aside for Gay, who was a great
favourite with the countess.
The other side of the river is open, and it must be admitted that on
a sunny day this bit is a stiff pull if one is unfortunate enough to
be going against the current. It is often to be described by the word
"glaring," yet the fine scimitar-like sweep of the tree-crowned heights
above, capped by the huge mass of the Star and Garter Hotel, toned to
unoffending mediocrity of colour, is worth seeing.
Richmond, like nearly all the other places on the river, has an
atmosphere of its own, difficult to put into words. It is less flippant
than Kingston, and has not a tinge of the gravity of Twickenham. The
houses rise high and are irregular; those in the main street recede
from the water as they leave the bridge, and between them and the
stream are innumerable others, some with gardens, some overshadowed by
trees. Weeping willows, Scotch firs, and ivy-covered trunks abound,
and the place is the perfection of a residential quarter. There is
enough oldness and irregularity to avoid stiffness, enough modernity
to ensure cleanliness. The bridge has a peculiarly individual curve--a
real humpback--and its stone balustrade is very fine. At the southern
end, far too many new red-brick flats are springing up, alas! but on
the north or east, where lies old Richmond, they are not visible to any
appreciable extent. The scene below the bridge is distinctly pretty.
Large boat-building yards, as at Kingston, occupy the foreground, and
the warm cinnamons and ochres of newly-varnished boats are generally
to be seen, as well as the more crude and garishly painted craft. The
islands are tree-covered, and are well placed in the stream. Yet one
may note that, popular as Richmond is, it is not flooded in the summer
time with such crowds of boating visitors as Hampton. There are more
large craft about, and boating people do not care for that.
What remains of Richmond Palace must be sought below the bridge, for it
will not be seen without a little effort. The old palace stood right
on the margin of the water, and an engraving of it is still extant,
showing a pinnacled and many chimneyed building. The angular towers
are capped by turrets like those of the old palace at Greenwich. Henry
I. was the first English king to live here, but until Edward III.'s
time it was hardly a recognised royal palace. It fell before the hand
of Richard II., who in a fit of frenzy at the death of his wife, which
occurred here, ordered its destruction. Henry V. restored it, but it
was burnt down in the end of the fifteenth century, and afterwards
rebuilt by Henry VII., who changed its name from Sheen to Richmond,
and who himself died there. The old Tudor gateway of his time remains
still. It is said, but with doubtful accuracy, that the Countess of
Nottingham died in the room over the gateway, after having confessed
to Elizabeth her duplicity about the Earl of Essex and the ring he had
confided to her charge. We have many records of Richmond from the time
of the miserable Katherine of Arragon--widow of one boy prince, but
not yet affianced to the other, a foreigner in a strange land, bitterly
hating her surroundings--to the time of Charles I., who made the great
park and hunted in it. A large Carthusian monastery stood near the
palace. Perkin Warbeck found an asylum in the monastery, and in 1550
Robert Dudley was here married to Amy Robsart.
There is a half-tide lock at Richmond, with a footbridge. This is
at present the lowest lock on the river, though there is some talk
of making a similar one at Wandsworth. It is quite different in
construction from the usual kind. It has three great sluices, each
weighing thirty-two tons, and when the tide brings up the water, so
that it is equal with that above--that is to say, at half-tide--the
sluices are raised by the addition of a small weight to the massive
pendules by which they are exactly balanced, and the water is allowed
free way.
All along this stretch of the river there is on one side a fine row
of shady trees growing to a great height. Beyond the raised footpath
is the old Deer Forest, on which stands Kew Observatory, and a minor
stream, which afterwards forms a moat to Kew Gardens, runs along
merrily. Isleworth is finely placed at a bend of the river, and though
it is a manufacturing place, it is not so bad as Brentford. The large
willow-covered ait in front affords occupation to the osier gatherers.
The church is ugly; it is placed very like that at Hampton, and, like
Hampton also, its ugliness is mitigated by a covering of ivy. The
tower, as so frequently happens, is much older than the rest. Was it
that church towers were built more solidly than the naves, or that the
naves would have stood equally well had they been allowed to remain?
Then we come to the great park surrounding Syon House (Duke of
Northumberland), a park fringed with marshy ground, where reeds and
rushes flourish, and which is overflowed at every flood. Crows consider
it a delightful place, if their perpetual presence may be taken to
indicate opinion. A great clump of cedars stands between the house
and the river, but we have to go considerably further on before the
severe line of frontage, with its ground floor arcade and battlemented
parapet, can be seen at full length. The astonished lion stands clear
up against the sky, as he did of old at Northumberland House, over the
site of which now flows a ceaseless stream of traffic. Long years ago
there stood here at Isleworth a convent for nuns. This was suppressed
at the Dissolution. Katherine Howard was imprisoned in Syon House
until three days before her execution, and only five years later the
corpse of her murderer, the tyrant Henry, stopped here on its way to
Windsor. Edward VI. granted the place to Lord-Protector Somerset, who,
with his usual mania for building, began to reconstruct it on a much
larger scale; but before he had got farther than the mere shell of
his design, he suffered disgrace, and Syon House passed to the Duke
of Northumberland. Here came Lady Jane Grey, timid and doubting, to
receive the offer of the crown, and from here she started on her last
sad journey to the Tower.
Queen Mary naturally tried to re-establish the nuns, but found it
difficult, as some had died and others had married! Fuller's comment is
worth quoting:
It was some difficulty to stock it with such as had
been veiled before, it being now thirty years since the
Dissolution, in which time most of the elder nuns were in
their graves, and the younger in the arms of their husbands,
as afterwards embracing a married life.
In James I.'s reign Syon House was in the hands of the Earl of
Northumberland, who also fell under his sovereign's displeasure, but
was allowed to return here to die. Under his successor, the tenth earl,
Inigo Jones was employed to alter the house; but the architect of the
present building was Adam (1728-92).
The place is often very quiet, and the hovering crows, and perhaps
a few men in boats grubbing for sand and gravel from the river-bed
with long-handled scoops, have it all to themselves. It is not much
frequented because just below comes Brentford, with all its ugliness,
a sore blot on the river. Nevertheless, on the Surrey side, to
counterbalance it, we have the famous Kew Gardens. The very varied
trees that grow here can be well seen, for the parapet of the wall is
low, the Gardens being sufficiently protected by the moat. Further on,
when this comes to an end, the wall is heightened, and only the tops
of the elms and ashes and horse-chestnuts peep over. Presently a new
object comes into view--a "palace," in that it was the dwelling-place
of royalty; but anything less like a palace surely never was seen.
A stiff, square red-brick house, where Miss Burney served her "sweet
queen," and the old king cried "What, what, what?" a hundred times a
day, and the overflowing quiverful of their Royal Highnesses quarrelled
and played and grew up.
Very few people realise what a large basin there is on the river
Brent, and what an amount of business is carried on here. From the
river, one's chief reflection is thankfulness that the trees on the
large islands have grown so well that they form a screen for the soap
factories, the cement works, the breweries, etc., which constitute the
industries of Brentford.
Brentford, tedious town,
For dirty streets and white-legged chickens known,
says Gay. The dirty streets are still there, with the confusion in
their narrow limits worse confounded by the passing of tramcars, which,
over the mile along which Brentford spreads itself, take double the
time spent on any other bit of equal distance on their route. Most
people have a hazy notion about two kings at Brentford; this is one
of those curious examples of the persistence of an unimportant detail.
The allusion was first made in a play called _The Rehearsal_, written
by the Duke of Buckingham, and Thackeray's ballad on the same subject
carried it a step further. That there was a battle at Brentford one
learns in the history books. It was when the Parliamentarians, who had
rested in the town all night, were surprised by Prince Rupert, under
the cover of a thick mist, and completely routed.
All along the Kew side, up to the bridge, are tea-gardens sandwiched
between boat-houses; and the new bridge made of granite, with its
branching lamps and royal arms, is really an imposing object. Above and
below the bridge the character of the river is singularly different.
Above, as we have seen, are the mudflats, and wharves, and chimneys,
not to omit water towers and gasometers; and below is a bit of
Chiswick, built along by the waterside, a queer little irregular row of
red-brick houses and cottages, near which are fastened the boats of men
who live by fishing; it is a little riverside place of the old sort.
There are meadows, called Duke's Meadows, opposite Mortlake; these
afford a fine vantage-ground for spectators who come to see the great
Boat Race.
The hour of the Boat Race varies according to the tide, for the race
is rowed at the "top of the tide"--when it is at its fullest. If the
hour be an easy one--about mid-day--and the weather is promising, and
especially if the reports of the prowess of the crews give reason to
believe the race will be a close one, then the crowd is very large
indeed. Some prefer to watch the start; some enthusiasts keep up with
the boats on water the whole way; but a great majority there are who
want to see the last effort between Hammersmith and Barnes Bridges, for
it is almost a certainty that the crew leading at Barnes Bridge will be
the winner. Almost, but not quite; for there was an occasion when, by a
sudden spurt, the positions of the boats were reversed, and Cambridge,
which had been behind, won the race. The road along by Mortlake is
lined with crowds; every window is filled, and all available roofs.
On the railway bridge are closely-packed ranks of people, brought
there and deposited by trains, which afterwards decorously withdraw
and wait to pick them up again. The price of this first-rate position
is included in the fares. Chiswick meadows afford space for many more
persons, who usually pay a shilling a head to the land-holders. This
is a very favourite position, because the grassy slopes form such a
pleasant seat while the inevitable waiting is gone through.
In the river itself lie several steamers packed with passengers,
and also various small boats. Then down comes the launch of the
Thames Conservators to clear the course. The long strings of barges,
which have been taking advantage of the flowing tide to make their
way up-stream, are seen no more. A gun goes off, and then, an
extraordinarily short time after, a murmur begins among the crowds on
the Mortlake side. It grows and grows and swells along the Chiswick
shore, as first one boat creeps round the corner, and then the other.
"Cambridge wins; Cambridge, Cambridge!" "Row up, Oxford!"
Then, perhaps--usually--it is seen that one boat is leading by so many
lengths as to make it impossible for the other to catch up. The leading
boat goes ahead with a straight, splendid swing into clear water. The
losing one, getting into its opponent's wash, rocks as it labours on,
its crew lose heart, and the distance widens.
Close behind are the umpire's launch and a dozen others gliding along,
keeping just behind the backward crew. And when all have passed, the
river, so calm before, is churned up into miniature waves that wash and
beat on the banks. Presently the umpire's boat is seen coming swiftly
back, bearing the winning flag at the bows over the other.
The trains move slowly forward to pick up the passengers; bicycles,
motors, and carriages begin to move off; streams of people pour down
every road; and all is over for another year.
The chief memory of Chiswick is that of Hogarth, who is buried in the
churchyard close by the water. The house in which he lived is still
standing, and is a few minutes' walk from the church. Hogarth was
here for about three years, though when he left to go to Leicester
Square he did not sell the house, and his widow lived in it after
his death. For two years Pope also lived in Chiswick; and in Chiswick
House, which lies away from the river on the other side of the fields,
two great men, Charles James Fox and George Canning, died in the
same room, in 1806 and 1827 respectively. And in the Roman Catholic
Cemetery at Mortlake is the massive sarcophagus--in the form of an Arab
tent--beneath which lies the dust of the great traveller, Sir Richard
Burton, and his wife.