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201 | diameter, and a good tulip
tree. Queen Caroline, as Princess of Wales, was Ranger in 1806, and
lived in Montague House, since pulled down, and the “Queen’s House” was
appropriated to the Royal Naval School. At the same time the “Ranger’s”
was inhabited by the Duchess of Brunswick, her mother, and it was on
her death that it was purchased by the Crown, and Princess Sophia,
daughter of the Duke of Gloucester, came to live there as Ranger. The
last royal personage to stay in the house was the Duke of Connaught,
when studying at Woolwich; and now it serves as refreshment rooms for
the numberless trippers who enjoy Greenwich Park in the summer.
The most recent changes in the Park have all been improvements, and
now it is beautifully kept. There is much that is still wild, and the
flora and fauna of the Park would astonish many. Among the wild flowers
butcher’s broom, spindle, and the parasites on the heather and the
broom, dodder and broom-rape are to be found, and hart’s-tongue, wall
rue |
202 | , polypody and male and lady ferns. The list of birds that breed
there still is a long one:--
Barndoor owl.
Spotted fly-catcher.
Missel and the song thrush.
Blackbird.
Hedge sparrow.
Robin.
Sedge and reed warblers.
Black-cap.
White-throat.
The great, blue, and cole tits.
Pied wagtail.
Common bunting.
House sparrow.
Greenfinch.
Linnet.
Bullfinch.
Starling.
Carrion crow.
Jackdaw.
Green woodpecker.
Tree creeper.
Wren.
Nuthatch.
Swallow.
Ring, turtle, and stock doves.
Pigeon.
Moorhen.
Lesser grebe.
The part of the Park fenced off and known as the Wilderness is quiet
and undisturbed; there under the big trees, among long grass and
bracken, the young fawns are reared every year. They are most confiding
and tame--those in the Park too much so; for they are only too ready to
eat what is given them, and tragic deaths from a surfeit of orange-peel
or such-like delights are the result.
The lake is prettily planted, and red marliac varieti |
203 | es of water-lilies
now float on the surface in the summer. The dell, planted with a
large collection of flowering shrubs, is well arranged, and many
choice varieties, _Solanum crispum_, gum cistus, magnolias, _Buddlea
intermedia_, _Indigofera gerardiana floribunda_, and such-like are
doing well. The frame-ground is most unostentatious, and it is
satisfactory to see how much can be produced. The climate allows of the
spring bedding plants and hardy chrysanthemums for autumn being raised
out of doors; and the small amount of glass shelters the standard
heliotropes, _Streptosolens Jamesoni_, and the like for bedding. Lilies
do well in the open; _superbum_, tiger, _thunbergium_, _Henryii_,
&c., and pots of _longifolium_ flower strongly after doing duty for
three years. There is now a fair-sized garden, where these plants are
displayed, near the Wilderness, adjoining Blackheath; while the rest
of the Park, with the deer wandering under the chestnuts, is still
left delightfully wild. Under t |
204 | he shady trees on a summer’s day it
would still be possible to dream of Romans and Danes, of pageants and
tournaments, and to people the scene with the heroes and heroines of
yore.
CHAPTER VI
MUNICIPAL PARKS
_Let cities, kirks, and everie noble towne
Be purified, and decked up and downe._
--ALEXANDER HUME (1557–1609).
London is almost completely surrounded by a chain of parks. Luckily,
as the town grew, the necessity for fresh air began to be realised,
and before it was too late, in the thickly-populated districts north,
south, east, and west, any available open space has been converted
into a public garden, or into a more ambitious park. Would that this
laudable spirit had moved people sooner, and then there might have been
a Finsbury Park nearer Finsbury, and the circle of green patches on the
map might have been more evenly dotted about some of the intervening
parishes. Many of the open spaces are heaths, or commons, or Lammas
Lands, whic |
205 | h have various rights attached to them, and, in consequence,
have been saved from the encroachments which have threatened them from
time to time, and have thus been preserved, in spite of the growth
of the surrounding districts. Of late years the rights have in many
instances been acquired by public bodies, so as to keep for ever these
priceless boons. It was not until the middle of last century that the
movement in favour of city parks assumed definite form. They were in
contemplation before 1840, but none were completed until several years
later. Victoria was the first, opened in 1845; Battersea, although
begun then, was not ready for planting till 1857; Kennington, Finsbury,
and Southwark had followed before 1870, and, since then, every few
years new open spaces have been added. They have been purchased by
public bodies for the most part, but a large share of the honour of
acquiring these grounds is due to private munificence and individual
enterprise.
Irrespective of the commons w |
206 | hich link them together, the principal
parks are the following. Beginning on the extreme north there is
Golder’s Hill, then to the east of Hampstead lies Waterlow, the next
going eastwards is Finsbury, then Clissold and Springfield, and down
towards the east Victoria. In South London, between Woolwich and
Greenwich, lies Maryon Park; then, west of Greenwich, Deptford and
Southwark; then a densely built-over district before Kennington,
Vauxhall, and Battersea are reached; while away to the south lie
Camberwell, Ruskin, Brockwell, and Dulwich; right away into the
country, on the south-east, Avery Hill and Eltham; and back again
west, across the river again, in Hammersmith, is Ravenscourt. These
parks of varying sizes, and smaller recreation grounds between, make
up the actual parks, although some of the commons, with playgrounds,
artificial water, and band-stands, can hardly be distinguished from the
true park.
The oldest of the parks now under the London County Council--Battersea,
Kenn |
207 | ington, and Victoria--were for many years under the Office of
Works, and on the same footing as the Royal Parks. Government, and no
municipal authority, has the credit of their formation. Then came
several formed by or transferred to the Metropolitan Board of Works.
To all these, already over 2050 acres, the London County Council
automatically succeeded. After the Bill reorganising the disposal of
the funds of the London Parochial Charities in 1883, a part of their
money was allotted to provide open spaces, and they helped to purchase
many of the parks--Clissold, Vauxhall, Ravenscourt, Brockwell, and so
on. The acquisition of parks has, in many cases, been due to private
individuals, who helped to raise the necessary funds, and themselves
contributed, and were generally assisted by the local vestries,
and, later on, Borough Councils. Miss Octavia Hill, by writing and
trying to influence public opinion, made many efforts to secure open
spaces. At her instance the Kyrle Society was found |
208 | ed for the general
improvement of homes, of disused burial-grounds, and open spaces; and
from this developed the Metropolitan Gardens Association, of which
the Earl of Meath is Chairman. Immense credit is due to this Society,
both for acquiring new sites and beautifying existing ones, and being
instrumental in having countless places opened to the public. And to
private individuals who have given whole parks, or largely contributed
to others, too much gratitude cannot be expressed. Since they came into
office, the London County Council has had added some 2300 acres of open
spaces and parks to those under its care, which have been purchased,
or given in whole or in part, by private individuals or other public
bodies. Some of the last acquisitions of the London County Council lie
quite outside the county boundary, so are beyond the limit set to this
volume. Marble Hill is away at Twickenham, but half the purchase-money
of £72,000 was paid by the London County Council, and the entire cost |
209 |
of alteration and maintenance is found by it. The place was bought
chiefly to preserve the wooded aspect of the view from Richmond Hill.
The Forest of Hainault is also outside the bounds, near Epping. The
805 acres there are partly fields, and in part the remains of the old
Forest of “Hyneholt,” as it was often written, a section of the Royal
Forest which covered a large tract of Essex.
The most natural division, when dealing with these open spaces, is
the river, and it is a division which strikes a fairly even balance.
Including Royal Parks, which contain some 1266 acres, the northern side
can claim the larger area, as, irrespective of squares and churchyards
and gardens, there are about 3141 acres of green. The south side has
only Greenwich Park of 185 acres of Royal Park, and, exclusive of that,
there are quite 2169 acres, as against 1875 of the municipal areas on
the northern side, when the Crown land is deducted. Besides these,
there are 226 acres maintained by the Borough Counc |
210 | ils; so in round
numbers London has about 5721 acres of open space. These figures are
only rough estimates, and do not include all the smaller recreation
grounds or gardens of less than an acre.
These parks scattered around London are enjoyed by hundreds of
thousands annually, and yet, to a comparative handful of people who
live near Hyde Park, they are as much unexplored country as the regions
of Timbuctoo. The bicycling craze of ten years ago suddenly brought
Battersea Park into fashion; but the miles of crowded streets, with
their rushing trams and top-heavy omnibuses, put a considerable bar
between the “West End” and those more distant favoured spots. There
is much variety in these parks, both north and south, and the chief
difference lies in their origin. When a suburban manor-house, standing
in its own grounds, with well-timbered park and a garden of some
design, has been acquired, a much finer effect is produced than when
fields or market-gardens have been bought up and made in |
211 | to a park.
Finsbury Park, for instance, was merely fields, while Waterlow has
always been part of a private demesne. It is the same on the south of
the river. Brockwell is an old park and garden. Battersea was entirely
made. Each park has features which give it an individual character,
while there is and must be a certain repetition in describing every one
separately.
Many details are of necessity more or less the same in each. The London
County Council is responsible for the greater number, and in every
case they have thought certain things essential. For instance, the
band-stand; no park, large or small, is considered complete without
one. It is hardly necessary to mention each individually, though some
are of the ordinary patterns, others more “rustic” in construction (as
in Brockwell Park), with branching oak supports and thatched or tiled
roofs. Every park, except Waterlow, which is too hilly, furnishes ample
area for games. Cricket pitches by the dozen, and space for numerous
g |
212 | oal-posts is provided for, in each and all of the larger parks.
Gymnasiums, too, are included in the requirements of a fully-equipped
park. Swings for the smaller children, bars, ropes, and higher swings
for older boys and girls, are supplied. Bathing pools of greater
or less dimensions are often added, the one in Victoria Park being
especially large and crowded. Then the larger parks have green-houses,
and a succession of plants are on view all the year round. The
chrysanthemum time is one specially looked forward to in the East End
districts. Iron railings and paths, of course, are the inevitable
beginnings in the creation of a park, and more or less ambitious gates.
It is only in the larger ones, such as Finsbury, Victoria, Dulwich,
and Battersea, that carriages are anticipated. Though there is a drive
through Brockwell, and the steep hill in Waterlow might be climbed, and
the avenue in Ravenscourt is wide enough, it is evidently only foot
passengers who are expected, as a rule. Fan |
213 | cy ducks and geese attract
the small children on all the ponds, and some parks have enclosures for
deer or other animals. Sand gardens, or “seasides” for children to dig
in, are also frequently included.
The larger parks are self-contained--that is to say, the bedding out
and all the plants necessary for the flower-gardens are reared on the
premises. There is a frame-ground with green-houses attached, where the
stock is kept and propagated. Of course, much depends on the soil and
locality. In some parks the things will stand the winter much better
than in others, where fog and smoke and damp work deadly havoc.
A great deal is now done with simple, hardy flowers, which give just as
good an effect as more elaborate and expensive bedding. Roses in the
show beds will do well for two or even three years; with a few annuals
between they make charming effects. In Finsbury Park, the dark red
roses with Canterbury bells, and fuchsias with a ground of alyssum,
were effective and simple. In som |
214 | e parks the spring plants will thrive
all through the winter. Beds of white Arabis with pink tulips between;
forget-me-nots with white tulips; mixed collections of auriculas, that
dear old-fashioned “bear’s ears,” put in about the end of October, make
a little show all the winter, and produce a mass of colour in spring.
There is still room for improvement in the direction of the planting,
but of late years the war waged against the monopoly of calceolarias,
geraniums, and blue lobelias has, fortunately, had its effect in a
marked degree on the London Parks, municipal as well as royal.
There is apt to be a great uniformity in the selection of plants,
more especially among the trees and bushes. The future should always
be borne in mind in planting, and alas! that is not always the case.
Anything that will grow quickly is often put in, whereas a little
patience and a much finer effect would be the result in the end.
Privet grows faster than holly, but can the two results be compared?
The |
215 | re is a very fine old elm avenue in Ravenscourt; trees which the
planter never saw in perfection, but which many generations have since
enjoyed. But will the avenue of poplars in Finsbury Park have such a
future? After thirty-five years’ growth they are considerable trees,
but how long will they last? The plane does grow remarkably well, there
is no denying, but is it necessary for that reason to exclude almost
every other tree? Ash trees thrive surprisingly. Some of the oaks take
kindly to London, yet how few are planted. Richard Jefferies, that most
delightful of writers on nature, bemoans the lack of English trees
in the suburban gardens of London, and the same may be said of the
parks to some extent. “Go round the entire circumference of Greater
London,” he writes, “and find the list ceaselessly repeated. There are
acacias, sumachs, cedar deodaras, araucarias, laurels, planes, beds
of rhododendrons, and so on.” “If, again, search were made in these
enclosures for English trees and |
216 | English shrubs, it would be found that
none have been introduced.”
It would be even more charming in a London Park than a suburban garden
to plant some of the delights of our English country, such as thorns,
crab apples, elder, and wild roses, with horse-chestnuts, and hazel.
What can be more beautiful than birches at all times of the year? That
they grow readily, their well-washed white stems in Hyde Park testify.
Birds, too, love the native trees, and some of the songsters, which
till lately were plentiful in many parks, might return to build if thus
encouraged.
There is much monotony in the laying out of all these parks. The
undulating green turf with a wavy line of bushes seems the only
recognised form. A narrow strip of herbaceous plants is put between the
smutty bushes and well-mown turf, and the official park flower-border
is produced. Curving lines of uncertain direction, tortuous paths
that carefully avoid the straight line, are all part of the generally
received idea of a c |
217 | orrect outline. It is always more easy to criticise
than to suggest, but surely more variety would be achieved if parks
were planted really like wild gardens--the groups of plants more
as they might occur in a natural glade or woodland. Then let the
herbaceous border be a thing apart--a garden, straight and formal,
or curved and round, but not always in bays and promontories jutting
into seas of undulating green. A straight line occasionally is a
great rest to the eye, but it should begin and end at a definite and
tangible point. The small Park in Camberwell has a little avenue of
limes running straight across, with a centre where seats can be put
and paths diverge at right angles. It is quite small, and yet the Park
would be exactly like every other piece of ground, with no particular
design, without this. It gives a point and centre to the meandering
paths, and comes as a distinct relief. In Southwark Park an avenue is
growing up into fairly large trees. It seems stuck on to the Park |
218 | --it
is not straight, but it is not a definite curve, and it ends somehow by
turning towards the entrance at one end and twisting in the direction
of the pond at the other. So it remains a shady walk, but not an avenue
with any pretension to forming part of a design.
It is not for the formal only this appeal is made, it is for less
formality and more real wildness, also a protest against the monotony
of the green banks, and bunches of bushes, and meaningless curves, too
often the only form of design. The aim in every case must be to have as
much variety as possible without incongruity, and to make the utmost
use of the ground; to give the most pleasure at the least expense.
One of the great difficulties must always be the numbers of people who
enjoy these parks. The grass suffers to such an extent that portions
must be periodically enclosed to recover. Then the children have to
be kept at a certain distance from the flowers, or the temptation to
gather one over-masters the fear of th |
219 | e park-keeper.
A green walk between trees would be a pleasing change from gravel and
asphalt in a less-frequented part of some park, but it would doubtless
have to be closed in sections, or there would soon be no turf left;
but such an experiment might well be tried. The attempts in Brockwell,
Golder’s Hill, and Ravenscourt at “old English gardens” are most
successful, and a welcome change in the monotony, and one has only to
look at the crowded seats to see how much they are appreciated.
The effort to make use of the parks to supplement nature-teaching in
the schools is also an advance in the right direction, and one that
could be followed up with advantage.
The trials of the climate of London, and the hurtful fogs, must not
be forgotten when criticising. They are no new thing, and gardeners
for two hundred years have had to contend with the smoke, and wage
war against its effects. But the evil has, of course, become greatly
intensified during the last fifty years. Fairchild, the a |
220 | uthor of the
“City Gardener,” in 1722, regrets that plants will not prosper because
of the “Sea Coal.” Mirabeau, writing from London in 1784, deplores
the fogs in England, and especially “those of London. The prodigious
quantity of coal that is consumed, adds to their consistence, prolongs
their duration, and eminently contributes to render these vapours more
black, and more suffocating--you feel this when rising in the morning.
To breathe the fresh morning air is a sort of happiness you cannot
enjoy in this immense Capital.” Yet in spite of this gloomy picture
there are trees now within the London area, which were getting black
when Mirabeau wrote. Smuts are by no means solely responsible for trees
dying. There are many other contributory causes. The drainage and want
of water is often a serious danger, and bad pruning in the case of the
younger trees is another. When branches begin to die, it is a very
safe and salutary precaution to lop them off, as has lately been done
to such a no |
221 | ticeable extent in Kensington Gardens. But the cutting and
pruning of trees by those employed by various municipal bodies is often
lamentably performed. The branches are not cut off clean, or to a
joint, where fresh twigs will soon sprout and fill in and make good the
gaps. Often they are cut leaving a piece of wood, which decays back to
the young growth, and rots into the sound part of the tree.
Some of the worst enemies of the gardener are the electric
power-stations. The trees suffer terribly from the smoke they emit.
Even healthy young shrubs and bushes, such as laurels, are destroyed
by it. In a very short time they become completely dried up, brown,
and shrivelled. In a memorandum on the Electric Power and Supply Bill
of 1906, the First Commissioner of Works pointed out these disastrous
effects. He says, “The case is not entirely one of the emission or
consumption of black or sooty or tarry matters. The other products of
combustion, such as sulphurous and sulphuric acid, with so |
222 | lid particles
of mineral matter or ash, are very deleterious to vegetation.” It
appears from the report of Dr. Thorpe, of the Government Laboratory,
that the production of sulphuric acid could be “much diminished, if not
entirely prevented, by pouring lime-water on the coal before it goes
into the furnaces, but from the look of trees in some neighbourhoods
this precaution does not appear to be taken.” These hindrances are
often very disheartening, and the many and serious difficulties that
have to be contended with, must never be lost sight of in any review of
the parks.
In every case the park is thoroughly appreciated by the inhabitants,
and no one can overestimate the health-giving properties of these
lungs of the city. It would be vain repetition to point out the fact
in each case, or to picture the crowds who enjoy them on Sundays--who
walk about, or lounge, or listen to the bands, or to what appears
still more stimulating, to the impassioned harangue of some would-be
reformer or |
223 | earnest preacher. The densely-packed audiences, the
gesticulations and heated and declamatory arguments, are not confined
to Hyde Park. Victoria Park gathers just such assemblies, and every
park could make more or less the same boast. The seats are equally full
in each and all, and the grass as thickly strewn with prostrate forms.
Perambulators are as numerous and children as conspicuous in the north,
south, and eastern parks as in those of the west.
In looking round the parks it will be well to take a glance at the
smaller ones, then to consider each of the larger ones more in detail,
in every case missing out some of the obvious appendages which are
characteristic of all.
How pathetic some of these little parks are, and what a part they play
in the lives of those who live in the dingy streets near. Take, for
instance, one with a high-sounding name, Avondale Park. It is little
more than ten minutes’ walk from Shepherd’s Bush Station or Notting
Hill Gate. Yet, on inquiry for the most |
224 | direct road, nobody can give
a satisfactory answer. One man will say, “I have lived here for years
and never heard of it”; another, “I don’t think it can be in this
district.” The same would be the result even nearer to it; but ask
for the recreation ground, and any child will tell you. “Down the
first narrow turning and to the right again, by the pawnbroker at the
corner.” It is a melancholy shop, with the plain necessaries of life
and tiny babies’ boots for sale on the trays outside the door--what
a volume of wretchedness and poverty those poor things bespeak. A
few yards further, and the iron railings of the “Park” come in view.
The happy shrill voices of children resound, the swings are in full
motion, the seats well filled, and up and down the asphalt walk, old
and young are enjoying themselves. When the band plays the place is
packed. “I’ve calculated as many as nine hundred at one time,” says
the old guardian, who is proud of the place, “and as for the children,
you often can’t |
225 | see the ground for them.” Yes, this open space of four
and a quarter acres is really appreciated. It is difficult for those
in easier circumstances to realise what a difference that little patch
of green, those few bright flowers, make to the neighbourhood, or the
social effect of the summer evenings, when the band and the pleasant
trees offer a counter-attraction to the public-house. For some twelve
years this little Park has been enjoyed. Formed by the vestry, and kept
up by the Royal Borough of Kensington, it greatly pleases, although
it scarce can be called beautiful. The centre is given over to the
children, and the boys have ample room, and the girls and infants keep
their twenty-four swings in constant motion. A path twists round the
irregular plot, and most of the way is bordered by those London-loving
plants, the iris, and the usual groups of smutty bushes. Along the
front runs a wide asphalt walk, well furnished with seats, a band-stand
half way, and a fountain at one end. S |
226 | ome bedding out with gay flowers
is the attraction here. A gardener and a boy keep it in order,
while for about £20 a year a nurseryman supplies all the necessary
bedding-out plants. The old guardian sweeps the scraps of paper up and
sees the children are not too riotous at the swings. Thus, for no great
expense, widespread pleasure is conferred.
The Embankment Gardens, between Westminster and Blackfriars, are much
frequented. At all seasons of the year the seats are crowded, and now,
with the statues, bands playing in summer, refreshment buffet, and
newspaper kiosk, they look more like a foreign garden than the usual
solemn squares of London. During the dinner-hour they are filled with
the printers from the many newspaper offices near, and the band was in
the first instance paid for by the Press.
They are divided into three sections, and measure ten acres in all,
not including the garden beyond the Victoria Tower. The peace has been
utterly destroyed by the din of trams, which are f |
227 | or ever passing and
re-passing, and it is much to be feared that the trees next the river,
which were growing so well, will not withstand the ill-treatment they
have received--the cutting of roots and depriving them of moisture.
The Gardens are entirely on the ground made up when the Embankment was
formed, between 1864 and 1870.
The Gardens were opened in 1870, but many improvements have since been
made in the design, and various statues put up to famous men. One
is to John Stuart Mill, and at the Westminster end, one of William
Tyndall, the translator of the New Testament and Pentateuch, to which
translation is due much of the beautiful language of the Authorised
Version of the Bible.
Of the old gardens and entrances to the great houses which stretched
the whole length of the river bank, from Westminster and Whitehall to
the City, only one trace remains. It is the Water Gate of York House.
The low level on which it stands, below the terrace end of Buckingham
Street, shows to what po |
228 | int the river rose. York House was so called
as it was the town house of the Archbishops of York, but none of them
ever lived there except Heath, in Queen Mary’s time, who was the first
to possess it. It was let, as a rule, to the Keepers of the Great Seal,
and Bacon lived there. George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, pulled
down most of the old house, and commenced rebuilding. Nothing now
remains but the Water Gate, supposed to be by Inigo Jones, although the
design is also attributed to Nicholas Stone, who built it. The house
and gardens were sold and divided in 1672. Buckingham Street and the
streets adjoining are built on the site, and all that is left is the
fine old gateway, with most modern-looking gardens between it and the
river, which once flowed up to its arches.
Another Embankment recreation ground is the Island Garden, Poplar, and
it is one that is also much appreciated. It was made on some ground
not required for ship-building or docks on the river front of the Isle
of Dog |
229 | s, and opened to the public in 1895. The idea of making a garden
of it had for some few years been in contemplation, and as soon as the
necessary funds were found, this space, somewhat less than three acres,
was saved from being built over, and a wide walk of about 700 feet made
along the river embankment. The view from the seats, with which it is
plentifully supplied, over towards Greenwich Hospital and Park makes
it a really charming promenade. The quaint name of this part of London
is said to be derived from the fact that the kennels of the sporting
dogs of the royal residents of Greenwich Palace were kept there, “which
usually making a great noise, the seamen and others thereupon called
the place the Isle of Dogs.” This seems the most plausible of the
various definitions of the name of this peninsula--for it is only an
island by means of the dock canal, made in 1800. A quotation from a
play of Middleton and Dekker, in 1611, shows that then, at any rate, it
was associated with actua |
230 | l dogs.
“_Moll Cutpurse_: O Sir, he hath been brought up in the Isle of Dogs,
and can both fawn like a spaniel and bite like a mastiff, as he finds
occasion.”
The ground in those days and until much later times was a fertile
marsh, subject to frequent inundations, but affording very rich
pasture. Breaches in the embankment occurred at intervals until a solid
pile and brick wall was made in the last century, above which the
“Island Gardens” were laid.
Further along the north bank of the river there is another and a larger
garden, kept up by the London County Council, although it is in East
Ham and not within the County of London. This was made on the site of
the North Woolwich Tea Gardens, which enjoyed a kind of popularity
for some fifty years. Having been started in 1851, they kept up their
reputation for “Baby Shows,” “Beard Shows,” and such-like attractions,
until the ground became too valuable for building, and too heavily
rated for them to exist, and, but for timely interferenc |
231 | e, this open
space would have been converted into wharves.
The story of the Bethnal Green Gardens is very different. Although
it was only in 1891 that the present arrangements with regard to
keeping up the Gardens were established, the 15½ acres of which
they form part has a long history. As far back as 1667 the land was
purchased by a group of residents, who collectively subscribed £200,
and by a trust-deed dated 1690 conveyed the land to trustees, to be
administered for the benefit of the poor. It had been purchased and
enclosed, the deed specified, “for the prevention of any new building
thereon.” Of this ground 9 acres form the present Garden; on part of
the remainder St. John’s Church was built, and in 1872 the Bethnal
Green Museum, an offshoot from South Kensington, was opened on another
section. The most exhaustive work on Municipal Parks says that when
the land “came into the possession of the London County Council” it
“consisted of orchard, paddock, kitchen garden, and pleasu |
232 | re grounds,
all in a rough and neglected condition.” Under the levelling hand of
the London County Council it has been made to look exactly like every
other public garden, with “ornamental wrought-iron enclosing fences,
broad walks, shrubberies,” and so on, at a cost of over £5000, and was
opened in 1895. There is no trace of its former condition, nothing to
point to its antiquity or any difference in its appearance from the
most modern acquisition. Perhaps after all it is as well, for among
the thousands of that poor and crowded district that use and enjoy it,
there is not one to whom a passing thought of the old weavers who were
settled there when the land was given, or to whom the legend of pretty
Bessee the Blind Beggar’s daughter of Bethnal Green would occur. Though
the design is prosaic, the gardens are made cheerful and gay, and if
they add a gleam of brightness to the lives of toil of those living
near them, they must be said to fulfil their purpose.
VICTORIA PARK
Victoria P |
233 | ark was the first of the modern Parks to be laid out, and it
is the largest. When the advantage of an East End Park was admitted,
the work of forming one was carried out by the Commissioners of Woods
and Forests. An Act passed in 1840 enabled them to sell York House to
the Duke of Sutherland (hence it became Stafford House), for £72,000,
and to purchase about 290 acres of land in the East End in the parishes
of Hackney, Bethnal Green, and Bow. Part of this was reserved for
building improved dwellings, and 193 acres formed Victoria Park, the
laying out of which began in 1842. Thirty years later, when some of
the land adjoining was about to be built on, the Metropolitan Board
of Works bought some 24 acres to add to the Park, the whole of which,
including the new part, was under the Office of Works. Other additions
have been made from time to time, chiefly with a view to opening
entrances to the Park, so as to make it as easy of access as possible
from the crowded districts in the directi |
234 | on of Limehouse and the docks,
and round Mile End Road.
The ground which the Park covers was chiefly brick-fields and
market-gardens, and Bishop’s Hall Farm. The latter place is the only
part with any historical association. The farm was in the manor of
Stepney, which was held by the Bishops of London, and Bishop’s or
Bonner’s Hall was the Manor House. Many of the Bishops of London
resided here in early days. Stowe, in 1598, referring to Bishop Richard
de Gravesend in 1280, writes: “It appeareth by the Charter [of free]
warren granted to this Bishop, that (in his time) there were two
Woods in the Parish of Stebunheth [Stepney], pertaining to the said
Bishop: I have (since I kept house for my selfe) knowne the one of
them by _Bishops Hall_, but now they are both made plaine of wood,
and not to be discerned from other grounds.” These woods were on the
ground covered by the Park. Stowe notices in his short accounts of the
Bishops of London that Ralph Stratford, who was Bishop from 1339 t |
235 | o
1354, “deceased at Stebunhith.” The name Bonner’s Hall somehow became
attached to the Manor House. The same chronicler also records that
Bishop Ridley gave the manors of Stepney and Hackney to the King in the
fourth year of Edward VI., who granted them to Lord Wentworth. Bonner,
therefore, would be the last Bishop who could have resided there. The
old Manor House was not destroyed till 1800, when part of the material
was taken to build a farm-house, which was cleared away when the Park
was formed.
The first laying out of the Park does not seem to have been altogether
satisfactory. A writer in 1851 criticises it very severely. The
roads and paths, he says, were so badly laid as to require almost
reconstruction. The “banks of the lake must be reduced to something
like shape to resist the wash of the water,” and the remodelling of
the plantations will be “a work of time.” Just then Mr. Gibson assumed
the charge of the Park, and even this captious critic seems to have
been well satisfie |
236 | d that he had “begun in real earnest” to carry out
the necessary improvements. Modern gardeners might not applaud all his
planting quite so enthusiastically as his contemporaries. For instance,
the rage for araucarias--monkey puzzles--has somewhat subsided, though
the planting of a number met with great praise in the Fifties. Most
of the Park was planted with discrimination. In a line with the canal
which forms one boundary, an avenue was put, now a charming shady
road with well-grown trees. The artificial water with fancy ducks, in
which is a wooded island with a Chinese pagoda, is a great delight for
boating. The bathing-lake has still greater attraction, and thousands
bathe there daily all through the summer months. It is said, as many
as 25,000 have been counted on a summer’s morning. Bedding out was
at its height when Victoria Park was laid out, so the flower-garden
included some elaborate scroll designs which were suited to the style
of carpet-bedding then in vogue. Now, though l |
237 | ess stiff, the formal
bedding is well done, and attracts great attention. Those in the East
End have just as keen an appreciation as the frequenters of Hyde Park,
of the display of flowers. The green-house in winter is much enjoyed,
and a succession of bright flowers is kept there during the dark months
of the year. The children’s sand garden is also a delight.
[Illustration: PAGODA ON THE ISLAND, VICTORIA PARK.]
In spite of its situation in a densely-populated district, the
feathered tribes have not quite deserted the Park. The moor-hen builds
by the lake and the ringdove nests in the trees. Though the greenfinch
and the wren have vanished, some songsters still gladden the world.
Blackbirds, thrushes, and chaffinches are by no means uncommon. Some
of these latter get caught, and take part in the popular amusement of
singing-matches. Many men in the district keep chaffinches in cages,
and bring them to the Park on a Sunday morning that they may practise
their notes in chorus with the |
238 | ir wild associates, and so beat the caged
bird of some rival. Sometimes the temptation is too great, and the wild
birds are kidnapped to join the competition.
FINSBURY PARK
Finsbury is second in size, and second in date of construction, of
the Parks of North London. It is far from Finsbury, being really in
Hornsey, but as the idea, first expressed about 1850, was to make a
Park for the borough of Finsbury, the name was retained although the
land acquired some years later was somewhat remote.
The movement was first set on foot when building began to destroy
all the open spaces near Finsbury Fields. Some of these, like Spa
Fields, had been popular places of resort as Tea Gardens, but were
being rapidly covered with houses, and separating Finsbury altogether
from the country. Many delays, owing to changes of Government,
occurred before the necessary legislation was accomplished. When the
Metropolitan Board of Works came into being, it took up the scheme, and
it was finally under its a |
239 | uspices that the land was purchased, and the
Park, 115 acres in extent, was opened in 1869.
On the highest point of the ground there is a lake, which was in
existence before it became a public park. Near there stood Hornsey Wood
House, a Tea Garden of some reputation in the eighteenth century. About
the year 1800 the old house was pulled down, and the new proprietor
built another tavern, and converted part of the remains of Hornsey
Wood into an artificial lake for boating and angling. This second
house existed until it was pulled down in 1866, when the Park was in
progress. Hornsey Wood was part of the forest which bounded London on
the north, and the site of the Park was in the manor of Brownswood,
which was held by the See of London.
Accounts of various incidents which are connected with this spot are
given in histories of Hornsey. The most picturesque is that in which
the ill-fated little King Edward V. is the central figure, overshadowed
by his perfidious uncle. “The King on his |
240 | way to London [from Ludlow]
was on the fourth of May met at Hornsey Park (now [1756] Highgate)
by Edmund Shaw, the Mayor, accompanied by the Aldermen, Sheriffs and
five hundred Citizens on Horseback, richly accoutered in purple Gowns;
whence they conducted him to the City; where he was received by the
Citizens with a joy inexpressible.... In this solemn Cavalcade, the
Duke of Gloucester’s Deportment was very remarkable; for riding before
the King, uncovered, he frequently called to the Citizens, with an
audible voice, to behold their Prince and Sovereign.” What a scene
must the site of Finsbury Park have presented that May morning. The
Londoners, incensed at Gloucester’s having taken possession of the
young King, no doubt meet him with distrust and anger, and while the
procession moves on towards the City he allays their suspicions, acting
a part to deceive them.
The trees in Finsbury are beginning to grow up, and the Park is losing
the new, bare look which made it unattractive in its |
241 | early years.
Poplars (fast-growing trees) have been largely used. That is very
well for a beginning, but others of a slower growth, but making finer
timber, are the trees for the future. There is nothing very special to
notice in the general laying out of the grounds, as beyond the avenue
of black poplars and the lake, there are no striking features. The
view from the high ground, towards Epping, adds to the attractions of
this useful open space but not very interesting Park. One of the most
pleasing corners is the rock garden, not far from the lake. The plants
seem well established and very much at home. The green-houses, too, are
well kept up, and in the gloomy seasons of the year especially are much
frequented.
CLISSOLD PARK
Clissold, or Stoke Newington Park, is one of the parks which has
the advantage of having been the grounds of a private house, and
enjoys all the benefits of a well-planted suburban demesne. The old
trees at once give it a certain _cachet_ that even County Co |
242 | uncil
railings, notice-boards, and bird-cages cannot destroy. It has the
additional charm of the New River passing through the heart of it, and,
furthermore, the ground is undulating.
One of the approaches to the Park still has a semi-rural aspect and
associations attached to it. This is Queen Elizabeth’s Walk, with
a row of fine elm trees, under which the Queen may have passed as
a girl while staying in seclusion at the manor-house, then in the
possession of the Dudley family, relations to the Earl of Leicester.
Stoke Newington, until lately, was not so overrun with small houses
as most of the suburbs. In 1855 it was described as “one of the few
rural villages in the immediate environs [of London]. Though, as the
crow flies, but three miles from the General Post Office, it is still
rich in parks, gardens, and old trees.” The last fifty years have quite
transformed its appearance. “Green Lanes,” which skirts the west of the
Park, though with such a rural-sounding name, is a busy thoro |
243 | ughfare,
with rushing trams; and, but for Clissold Park and Abney Park Cemetery,
but little of its former attractions would remain. The Cemetery is
on the grounds of the old Manor House, where Sir Thomas Abney lived,
and “the late excellent Dr. Isaac Watts was treated for thirty-six
years with all the kindness that friendship could prompt, and all
the attention that respect could dictate.” The manor was sold by
direction of Sir Thomas’s daughter’s will, and the proceeds devoted to
charitable purposes. The old church, with its thin spire, and the new
large, handsome Gothic church, built to meet the needs of the growing
population, stand close together at one corner of the Park, at the
end of Queen Elizabeth’s Walk, and on all sides the towers among the
trees form pretty and conspicuous objects. The house in the Park, for
the most part disused, stands above the bend of the New River, which
makes a loop through the grounds. It is a white Georgian house with
columns, and looks well with wi |
244 | de steps and slope to the water’s edge,
now alas! disfigured by high iron railings. The place belonged to the
Crawshay family, by whom it was sold. The daughter of one of the owners
had a romantic attachment to a curate, the Rev. Augustus Clissold, but
the father would not allow the marriage, and kept his daughter more
or less a prisoner. After her father’s death, however, she married
her lover, and succeeded to the estate, and changed its name from
Crawshay Farm to Clissold Place. This title has stuck to it, although
it reverted to the Crawshays, and in 1886 was sold by them.
[Illustration: STOKE NEWINGTON CHURCH FROM CLISSOLD PARK]
The Park measures 53 acres. There is a small enclosure with fallow
deer and guinea-pigs, some artificial water, and wide green spaces for
games; but the special beauty of the Park consists in the canal-like
New River, with walks beside it, and in places foliage arching over it,
and the fine large specimen trees round the house. There are some good
cedars |
245 | , deciduous cypress, ilex, thorns, and laburnums; a good specimen
of one of the American varieties of oak, _Quercus palustris_; also
acacias and chestnuts--all looking quite healthy.
SPRINGFIELD PARK
Not very far from Clissold lies Springfield Park, in Upper Clapton,
opened to the public in 1905. It also has the advantage of being made
out of well laid out private grounds. The area, 32½ acres, embraced
three residences, two of which have been pulled down, while the third,
Springfield House, which gives its name to the Park, has been retained,
and serves as refreshment rooms. The view from the front of the house
over Walthamstow Marshes is very extensive. The ground slopes steeply
to the river Lea, and beyond on the plain, like a lake, the reservoirs
of the “East London Works,” now part of the Metropolitan Water Board,
make a striking picture. Springfield House was, until lately, one of
those pleasant old-fashioned residences of which there were many in
this neighbourhood, standing i |
246 | n well-planted gardens overlooking
the marshes and fertile flats below. These delightful houses are
becoming more rare every year, and it is fortunate that the grounds
of one of the most attractive should have been preserved as a public
park. The place was well cared for in old days, as the good specimen
trees testify. A flourishing purple beech is growing up, also a sweet
chestnut and several birches. A very old black mulberry still survives,
although showing signs of age. There are other nice timber trees on the
hillside, and among the shrubs an _Arbutus unedo_, the strawberry tree,
is one of the most unusual. This Park, though small, is quite unlike
any other, and has much to recommend it to the general public, while in
the more immediate neighbourhood it is greatly appreciated.
WATERLOW PARK
Undoubtedly the most beautiful of all the parks is Waterlow, the
munificent gift of Sir Sydney Waterlow. Its situation near Highgate,
above all City smoke; its steep slopes and fine trees; i |
247 | ts old garden
and historic associations, combine to give it a character and a charm
of its own. It is small in comparison with such parks as Victoria,
Battersea, or Finsbury, being only 29 acres, but it has a fascination
quite out of proportion to its size. There are few pleasanter spots on
a summer’s day, and at any season of the year it would well repay a
visit. It is especially attractive when the great city with its domes
and towers is seen clearly at the foot of the hill. London from a
distance never looks hard and sharp and clear, like some foreign towns.
The buildings do not stand up in definite outline like the churches
of Paris looked down upon from the Eiffel Tower: the soft curtain of
smoke, the mysterious blue light, a gentle reminder of orange and black
fog, shrouds and beautifies everything it touches. On a June day, when
the grass is vivid and the trees a bright pale green, Waterlow Park is
at its best. The dome of St. Paul’s, the countless towers of Wren’s
city churches |
248 | , the pinnacles of the Law Courts, the wonderful Tower
Bridge, dwarfing the old Norman White Tower, all appear in softened
beauty behind the fresh verdure, through well-contrived peeps and gaps
in the trees.
Most of the ground is too steep for the cricket and football to which
the greater part of other parks are given over. Only lawn tennis and
bowls can be provided for, on the green lawns at the top of the Park.
A delightful old pond, with steep banks overshadowed by limes and
chestnuts, has a feeling of the real country about it. The concrete
edges, the little patches of aquatic plants and neat turf, are missing.
The banks show signs of last year’s leaves, fallen sticks, and
blackened chestnuts, and any green near it, is only natural wild plants
that enjoy shade and moisture. It is the sort of place a water-hen
would feel at home in, and not expect to meet intruding Mandarin
ducks or Canadian geese. Let us hope this quiet spot may long remain
untouched. There are two newer lakes low |
249 | er down, laid out in approved
County Council style, trim and neat, with water-fowl, water-lilies, and
judicious planting round the banks of weeping willows and rhododendron
clumps. Probably many visitors find them more attractive than the upper
pool. There is no fault to find with them, and they are perhaps more
suited to a public park, but they are devoid of the poetry which raises
the other out of the commonplace. As the slopes towards the lower
lakes are the playground of multitudes of babies, it is necessary to
protect them from the water’s edge by substantial railings, but most of
the Park is singularly free from these unsightly but often necessary
safeguards. The trees all through the grounds are unusually fine. Four
hickories are particularly worthy of note. They are indeed grand and
graceful trees, and it is astonishing they should be so little planted.
These are noble specimens, and look extremely healthy.
The most characteristic feature in the Park is the house it contains
a |
250 | nd the garden immediately round it. This was built for Lauderdale,
the “L” in the Cabal of Charles II., probably about 1660. When
this unattractive character was not living there himself, he not
unfrequently lent it to Nell Gwynn. The ground floor of the house is
open to the public as refreshment rooms, and one empty parlour with
seats has much good old carving, of the date of the house, over the
mantelpiece, also in a recess which encloses a marble bath known
as “Nell Gwynn’s bath.” It is said to have been from a window in
Lauderdale House that she held out her son when Charles was walking
below, threatening to let him drop if the King did not promise to
confer some title upon him. In response Charles exclaimed, “Save the
Earl of Burford,” which title (and later, that of Duke of St. Albans)
was formally conferred upon him.
The terrace along which the King was walking is still there. A little
inscription has been inserted on a sun-dial near the wall, to record
the fact that the dial-p |
251 | late is level with the top of St. Paul’s
Cathedral. A flight of steps leads to a lower terrace. This is planted
in a formal design consisting of three circles, the centre one having
a fountain. Two more flights of steps descend, in a line from the
fountain, to a broad walk bordered with flowers leading to one of the
entrances to the Park. At right angles to the other steps a walk leads
from the fountain to another part of the garden, which is planted
with old fruit-trees on the grassy slope. It is at the foot of these
steps that the water-colour sketch is taken. The “eagles with wings
expanded” are the supporters of the Lauderdale arms. The whole garden
is delightful, and so much in keeping with the house that it is easy to
picture the much-disliked Lauderdale, the genial King, and fascinating
“Nell,” living and moving on its terraces. Pepys gives a glimpse of one
of these characters at home. He drove up alone with Lord Brouncker, in
a coach and six. No doubt the hill made the six very |
252 | necessary, as in
another place Pepys talks of the bad road to Highgate. They joined Lord
Lauderdale “and his lady, and some Scotch people,” at supper. Scotch
airs were played by one of the servants on the violin; “the best of
their country, as they seemed to esteem them, by their praising and
admiring them: but, Lord! the strangest ayre that ever I heard in my
life, and all of one cast. But strange to hear my Lord Lauderdale say
himself that he had rather hear a cat mew, than the best musique in
the world; and the better the musique, the more sick it makes him; and
that of all instruments, he hates the lute most, and next to that the
baggpipe.” These sentiments may not prove that Lauderdale was “a man of
mighty good reason and judgement,” as Lord Brouncker assured Pepys when
he said he thought it “odd company,” but at least it shows him honest!
How many people who sit patiently through a performance of the “Ring”
would have as much courage of their opinions?
[Illustration: WATERLOW P |
253 | ARK]
Within the grounds of the present Park, near Lauderdale House, stood a
small cottage in which Andrew Marvel lived, which was only pulled down
in 1869. It was considered unsafe, and no National Trust Society was
then in existence to make efforts for its preservation. In a “History
of Highgate” in 1842 the connection between the place and this curious
personage, political writer, poet, Member of Parliament, and friend
of Milton is barely commented on. “Andrew Marvel, a writer of the
seventeenth century, resided on the Bank at Highgate in the cottage now
occupied by Mrs. Walker.” The reader of these lines is penetrated with
a feeling that he ought to know all about Mrs. Walker, rather than the
obscure writer!
The kitchen-garden is large, with charming herbaceous borders, and
a long row of glass-houses and vineries, and the grapes produced
have hitherto been given to hospitals. Let us hope that the same
complaint will not arise here as in another Park, where out-door fruit
was distr |
254 | ibuted, and caused such jealousies that the practice was
discontinued.
With such a high standard set by the existing gardens, it is curious
that the new bedding should be as much out of harmony as possible. The
beds which call forth this remark are those round the band-stand. The
shape of them it is impossible to describe, for they are of uncertain
form and indistinct meaning. The flowers are in bold groups, and yet
they look thoroughly out of place.
Wandering one summer’s day near the statue, erected to Sir Sydney
Waterlow, the writer overheard some girls, who looked like shop-girls
out for a holiday, discussing who it was. The most enterprising went
up and read the inscription. “To Sir Sydney H. Waterlow, Bart., donor
of the Park 1889, Lord Mayor of London 1872–73. Erected by public
subscription 1900.” “Why, it’s to some chap that was once Lord Mayor,”
was the remark to her friend, following a close scrutiny of this bald
inscription. The impulse to explain the meaning of the word “ |
255 | donor”
was irresistible; it was evidently quite Greek to these two Cockney
young ladies. On learning the meaning they were very ready to join in a
tribute of gratitude to the giver of such a princely present. Surely a
few words expressing such a feeling would have been appropriate on the
statue so rightly erected in memory of the gift! Profound feelings of
thanks to the giver must indeed be experienced by every one who has the
privilege of enjoying this lovely Park, one of the most charming spots
within easy reach of the heart of the City.
GOLDER’S HILL PARK
Golder’s Hill Park joins the western end of Hampstead Heath, but its
park-like appearance and house and garden are quite a contrast to the
wilder scenery of the Heath, although Golder’s Hill seems more in the
country than Hampstead, as the houses near are so well hidden from it.
The mansion has a modern exterior, although parts of it are very old,
and the fine trees in the grounds show that it has been a pleasant
residence for s |
256 | ome hundreds of years. The estate of 36 acres was
bought in 1898 from the executors of Sir Spencer Wells, the money in
the first instance being advanced by three public-spirited gentlemen,
anxious to save the charming spot from the hands of the builder. The
view from the terrace of the house, which now serves as a refreshment
room, is very pretty, with a gently sloping lawn in front, park-like
meadows, and fine trees beyond the dividing sunk fence, and distant
peeps of the country towards Harrow. The approach from the Finchley
Road is by an avenue of chestnuts, and a flat paddock on one side is
a hockey and cricket-ground for ladies. There are some really fine
oaks, good beeches, ash, sycamore, Spanish chestnuts, and Scotch firs;
but the most remarkable tree is a very fine tulip, which flowers
profusely nearly every year. At the bottom of the Park an undisturbed
pond, with reedy margin, is much frequented by moor-hens. The valley
above is railed off for some red deer, peacocks, and an |
257 | emu, while
three storks are to be seen prancing about under the oak trees in the
open Park. The most attractive corner is the kitchen-garden, which,
like the one in Brockwell, has been turned into an extremely pretty
flower-garden. On one side is a range of hothouses, where plants are
produced for bedding out, and a good supply of fruit is raised and sold
to the refreshment-room contractor on the spot. Two sides have old red
walls covered with pear trees, which produce but little fruit, and
the fourth has a good holly hedge. The vines from one of the vineries
have been planted out, and they cover a large rustic shelter, and have
picturesque though not edible bunches of grapes every year. The way
the planting of roses, herbaceous and rock plants, and spring bulbs
is arranged is very good; but the same misleadingly-worded notice
with regard to the plants of Shakespeare is placed here as in the
Brockwell “old English garden.”[7] There is a nice old quince and other
fruit-tree standards in |
258 | this really charming garden. In another part of
the grounds there is an orchard, not “improved” in any way, but left
as it might be in Herefordshire, with grass and wild flowers under the
trees, which bear bushels of ruddy apples every year.
Part of the Park is actually outside London, but it is all kept up by
the London County Council. The parish boundary of Hampstead and Hendon,
which is also the limit of the County of London, is seen in the middle
among the oak trees.
RAVENSCOURT PARK
Ravenscourt is another of those parks the nucleus of which was an old
Manor House, hence the existence of fine old trees, which at once lift
from it the crudeness which is invariably associated with a brand-new
Municipal Park. A bird’s-eye view of the ground is familiar to many who
pass over the viaduct in the London and South-Western trains. These
arches intersect one end of the Park, and cut across the beginning of
the fine old elm avenue, one of its most beautiful features. A bright
piece of ga |
259 | rden, typical of every London Park, with raised borders in
bays and promontories, jutting into grass and backed by bushes, lies to
the south of the viaduct. Where two paths diverge there is a pleasing
variation to the usual type--a sun-dial--erected by Sir William Bull to
“a sunny memory.” The arches have been utilised so as to compensate for
the intrusion of the railway. Asphalted underneath, they form shelters
in wet weather--one is given over to an aviary, two to bars for the
elder children to climb on, and one is fitted with swings for the
babies. This arch is by far the most popular, and it requires all the
vigilance of the park-keeper to see that only the really small children
use the swings, or the bigger girls would monopolise them. Perhaps the
indulgent and fatherly London County Council will provide swings for
the elders, too, some day, and so remove the small jealousies.
To the west of the long avenue lies the orchard. A stretch of grass,
devoted to tennis-courts and bowlin |
260 | g-greens, separates the pear trees
from the walk. These pears and the solitary apple tree are delightful
in spring, and a temptation in autumn. Round the house, which is not
by any means as picturesque as the date of its building (about 1649)
would lead one to expect, are some good trees--planes that are really
old, with massive stems, horse-chestnuts and limes, acacias that have
seen their best days, cedars suffering from age and smoke, and a good
catalpa. The Manor House which preceded the present building was of
ancient origin. In early times it was known as the Manor House of
Paddenswick, or Pallenswick, under the Manor of Fulham, and was the
residence of Alice Perrers, the favourite of Edward III. It was seized
in 1378, when she was banished by Richard II.; but after the reversion
of her sentence, she returned to England as the wife of Lord Windsor,
and the King, in 1380, granted the manor to him. It is not heard of
again till Elizabeth’s time, when it belonged to the Payne family |
261 | ,
and was sold by them in 1631 to Sir Richard Gurney, the Royalist Lord
Mayor, who perished in the Tower. After his death it was bought by
Maximilian Bard, who probably pulled down the old house and built the
present one, which is now used as the Hammersmith Public Library. In
the eighteenth century the name was changed from Paddenswick (a title
preserved by a road of that name running near the Park) to Ravenscourt,
an enduring recollection of the device of a black raven, the arms of
Thomas Corbett, Secretary to the Admiralty, who owned the place for
a few short years. Nearly every vestige of the surroundings of the
old manor was obliterated and improved away by Humphrey Repton, the
celebrated landscape gardener. He filled up most of the old moat,
except a small piece, which was transformed into a lake, more in
harmony with the landscape school to which he belonged. This piece of
water is a pretty feature in the Park, and an attempt has been made to
recall the older style, by introduci |
262 | ng a little formal garden in an
angle of the enclosing wall of the Park. The square has been completed
with two hedges, one of them of holly, and good iron gates afford an
entrance. The “old English garden,” from which dogs and young children,
unless under proper supervision, are excluded, is laid out in good
taste--a simple, suitable design, with appropriate masses of roses and
herbaceous plants, arches with climbers, and an abundance of seats. It
has the same misleading notice with regard to Shakespearian plants, as
in Golder’s Hill and Brockwell, one of the South London Parks, which
must now be looked at.
CHAPTER VII
MUNICIPAL PARKS IN SOUTH LONDON
_No fresh’ning breeze--no trellised bower,
No bee to chase from flower to flower;
’Tis dimly close--in city pent--
But the hearts within it are well content._
--ELIZA COOK.
Of the South London Parks Battersea is the largest and most westerly,
and the best known to p |
263 | eople outside its own district. Battersea is
entirely new, and has no history as a Park, for before the middle of
last century the greater part was nothing but a dismal marsh. The
ground had to be raised and entirely made before the planting of it as
a park could begin at all. The site was low-lying fields with reeds and
swamps near the water, and market-gardens famous for the asparagus,
sold as “Battersea bundles,” growing around it. In the eighteenth
century three windmills were conspicuous from the river. One ground
corn, another the colours, and the third served to grind the white lead
for the potteries. This was during the time when Battersea enamel was
at its height, and snuff-boxes were being turned out in quantities. On
the banks of the river stood a tavern and Tea Garden, known as the Red
House for many generations. It was much resorted to, but latterly its
reputation was none of the best. Games of all kinds took place in its
gardens, and pigeon-shooting was one of the greates |
264 | t attractions there,
during the first half of the nineteenth century. Although for long,
crowds enjoyed harmless amusements there--“flounder breakfasts,” and
an annual “sucking-pig dinner,” and such-like--towards the end of the
time of its existence, it became the centre of such noisy and riotous
merrymakings that the grounds of the Red House became notorious.
The Sunday fairs, with the attendant evils of races, gambling, and
drinking, were crowded, and thousands of the less reputable sections
of the community landed every Sunday at the Red House to join in these
revellings. It was chiefly with a view to doing away with this state
of affairs, that the scheme was set on foot, for absorbing the grounds
of the Red House, and other less famous taverns and gardens that had
sprung up round it, and forming a Park.
Battersea, or “Patricesy,” as it is written in Domesday, was a manor
belonging to the Abbey of Westminster until the Dissolution of the
Monasteries. The name is most probably deriv |
265 | ed from the fact that
it was lands of St. Peter’s Abbey “by the water.” Later on it came
into the St. John family, and Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, was
born and died in Battersea. After his death it was purchased by Earl
Spencer, in whose family it remains. Part of the fields were Lammas
Lands, for which the parish was duly compensated. The gloomy wildness
of the fields gave rise to superstitions, and a haunted house, from
which groans proceeded and mysterious lights were seen at night,
at one time scared the neighbourhood, and enticed the adventurous.
The only historical incident, connected with the fields, is the duel
fought there in 1829 between the Duke of Wellington and the Marquess
of Winchelsea; the latter having personally attacked the Duke during
the debates on the Catholic Emancipation Bill. The Duke aimed his shot
through his adversary’s hat, who then fired in the air, and the affair
of honour was thus settled. Battersea Fields were approached, in those
days, by the old |
266 | wooden Battersea Bridge which had superseded the
ferry; the only means of communication till 1772. The present bridges
at either corner of the Park have both been built since the Park was
formed.
Like Victoria Park, Battersea was administered with the other Royal
Parks, in the first instance. The Act of Parliament giving powers
to the “Commissioners of Her Majesty’s Woods” to form the Park was
passed in 1846, but so much had to be done to the land, that the
actual planting did not begin until 1857. The ground had all to be
drained, and raised, and a proper embankment made to keep out the
river. Just at this time the Victoria Docks were being excavated,
and the earth dug out of them was conveyed to Battersea. Places were
left, to form the shallow artificial lake, mounds raised, to make the
ground round the water undulating, and the rest of the surface of
the Park levelled. Altogether about a million cubic yards of earth
were deposited in Battersea Park. The extent is 198 acres, and fr |
267 | om
the nature of the ground, except the artificial elevations near the
lake, it is quite flat. The design was originally made by Sir James
Pennethorne, architect of the Office of Works, and the execution of
it completed by Mr. Farrow. The chief features, are the artificial
water (for the most part supplied by the Thames), and the avenue of
elms which traverses the Park from east to west, and cross walks, with
a band-stand and drinking-fountain at the converging points. Round the
Park runs a carriage drive, and, following a different line, a track
for riders--with the usual spaces for games between. The trees are
growing up well, so already any bareness has disappeared. The absolute
flatness, which makes the open spaces uninteresting, is relieved by the
avenue, which will some day be a fine one.
It is an object-lesson to show the advantage of avenues and shady
walks, too often ignored by modern park designers, or only carried
out in a feeble, half-hearted way. The chief variation in Ba |
268 | ttersea
Park was achieved by John Gibson, the Park Superintendent, who made
the sub-tropical garden in 1864. His experience, gained on a botanical
mission to India, which he undertook for the Duke of Devonshire, well
fitted him for the task. This garden has always been kept up and added
to, and specially improved in the Seventies, while the present Lord
Redesdale was at the Office of Works.
A sub-tropical garden was quite a novelty when first started here, and
caused much interest to horticulturalists and landscape gardeners.
The “Sub-tropical Garden,” by W. Robinson, and other writings on the
subject, have since made the effects which can be produced familiar
to all gardeners; but in 1864 to group hardy plants of a tropical
appearance, such as aralias, acanthus, eulalias, bamboos, or fan palms,
was a new idea. During the summer, cannas, tobacco, various palms,
bananas, and so on, were added to the collection, and caused quite an
excitement when they first appeared at Battersea. The g |
269 | arden is still
kept up, and looks pretty and cool in summer, and on a cold winter’s
day is sheltered and pleasant. But much of the charm and originality
of the early planting has been lost, in the present official idea of
what sub-tropical gardens should contain, which carries a certain
stereotyped stiffness with it.
In 1887 the Park, at the same time as Victoria and Kennington, was
given up to the Metropolitan Board of Works, and since then the control
has passed to its successor, the London County Council. The gardens are
kept up, more or less, as before, with a few additions. An aviary with
a restless raven, fat gold and silver pheasants, and contented pigeons,
delights the small children, who are as plentiful in Battersea as in
all the other London playgrounds. Like the other parks, Saturdays and
Sundays are the great days. The games of cricket are played as close
together as possible, until to the passer-by the elevens and even the
balls seem hopelessly mixed. The ground not devo |
270 | ted to games is thickly
strewn with prostrate forms, and certainly, in this, Battersea is by no
means singular! In autumn, one of the green-houses, in which the more
tender sub-tropical plants are housed is given up to chrysanthemums.
This flower is the one of all others for London. It will thrive in
the dingiest corners of the town, and display its colours long after
the fogs and frosts have deprived the parks and gardens of all other
colour. The shows in the East End testify to what can be achieved, even
by the poorest, with this friendly plant. Every year at Shoreditch
Town Hall the local exhibition takes place, and there are many similar
institutions, where monster blooms, grown on roofs or in small back
gardens, would compete creditably at a national show. The popularity
of the chrysanthemums in Battersea Park is so great, that on a fine
Sunday there is a string of people waiting their turn of walking
through, stretching for fifty yards at least from the green-house to
the entranc |
271 | e to the frame-ground. Certainly the arrangement of the
green-house is prettily done. The stages are removed, and a sanded path
with a double twist meanders among groups of plants sloping up to the
rafters, and a few long, lanky ones trained to arch under the roof.
The show is much looked forward to, and the colours and arrangements
compared with former years, praised or criticised, such is the eager
interest of those who crowd to take their turn for a peep. It is
delightful to watch the pleasure on all faces, as a whole family out
for their Sunday walk, press in together. It is only one more instance
of the joy the London Parks bring to millions of lives.
The world of fashion has only attacked Battersea Park spasmodically.
When it was new, and the sub-tropical garden a rarity, people drove out
from Mayfair or Belgravia to see it. Again Battersea became the fashion
when the cycling craze began. In the summer of 1895 it suddenly became
“the thing” to bicycle to breakfast in Battersea P |
272 | ark, and ladies
who had never before visited this South London Park flocked there
in the early mornings. It was away from the traffic that disturbed
the beginner in Hyde or St. James’s Park, and perhaps the daring
originality of cycling seemed to demand that conventions should further
be violated; and nothing so commonplace as Hyde Park would satisfy the
aspirations of the newly-emancipated lady cyclists. What would their
ancestors, who had paced the Mall in powder and crinolines, have said
to the short-skirted, energetic young or even elderly cyclist? No doubt
some of that language which shocks modern ears, used by the heroines in
“Sir Charles Grandison,” would have been found equal to the occasion.
The great cycling rage is over, and Battersea is again deserted by fair
beings, who now prefer to fly further afield in motors, but the Park
is just as crowded by those for whose benefit it was really made--the
ever-growing population of London south of the river.
VAUXHALL PARK
Going ea |
273 | st from Battersea the next Park is Vauxhall, a small oasis of
green in a crowded district. Although only 8 acres in extent, it is a
great boon to the neighbourhood, and hundreds of children play there
every day. It has been open since 1891, the land, occupied by houses
with gardens, having been acquired and the houses demolished, and the
little Park is owned and kept up by Lambeth Borough Council.
It has nothing to do with the famous Vauxhall Gardens, to which the
rank and fashion of the town flocked for nearly two hundred years;
and the country visitor to Vauxhall Park could hardly speak of it in
such glowing terms as Farmer Colin to his wife in 1741 of the famous
Vauxhall Spring Gardens:--
“O Mary! soft in feature,
I’ve been at dear Vauxhall;
No paradise is sweeter,
Not that they Eden call.
“Methought, when first I entered,
Such splendours round me shone,
Into a world I ventured
Where rose another sun.”
The site of these Garde |
274 | ns, which covered some twelve acres with groves,
avenues, dining-halls, the famous Rotunda and caverns, cascades and
pavilions, is now all built over. It lay about as far to the south-east
of Vauxhall Bridge as the little Park is to the south-west. In name
Vauxhall sounds quaint and un-English. In earlier times it was known
as Foxhall, or more correctly Foukeshall, from Foukes de Breant, who
married a sister of Archbishop Baldwin in the latter half of the
twelfth century.
The land of the present Park was purchased in May 1889.[8] Then it
was covered by houses standing in their own grounds. The largest of
these was Carroun or Caroone House, which had been built by Sir Noel
de Caron, who was Ambassador of the Netherlands for thirty-three
years, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James I.--the others, a row
of eight with gardens, were known as “The Lawn.” In front of them was
a long pond, said to have been fed by the Effra River. This stream,
which rose in Norwood and flowed into the Tha |
275 | mes at Vauxhall, has,
like most of the other streams of London, become a sewer, and the pond
is no more. In one of these houses (51 South Lambeth Road) Mr. Henry
Fawcett resided, and when the houses were pulled down to form the Park
his was left, the intention being to make it into some memorial of
him. It was found to be too much out of repair to retain, and had to
be pulled down. With the sum which the sale of materials from the old
house realised, it was proposed to erect a memorial drinking-fountain.
This idea bore fruit, as Sir Henry Doulton sold one to the vestry
for less than one-third of its value, and moreover gave a further
memorial to the courageous blind Postmaster-General of a portrait
statue by Tinworth, with appropriate allegorical figures. This fine
group recording the connection of Henry Fawcett with the place is
the most conspicuous feature of the Park. The trees are growing up,
and an abundance of seats and dry walks made it an enjoyable if not
beautiful garden. The |
276 | swings and gymnasiums are numerous and large,
but what gives most pleasure is the sand-garden for little children.
For hours and hours these small mites are happily occupied digging
and making clean mud pies, while their elders sit by and work. It is
touching to see the miniature castles and carefully patted puddings
at the close of a busy baby’s day. In the summer, when the sand is
too dry to bind, some of the infants bring small bottles, which they
manage to get filled at the drinking-fountain, and water their little
handfuls of sand. These children’s sand-gardens, common in parks in
the United States, are a delightful invention for the safe amusement
of these small folk, and the delight caused by this one, which was
only made in 1905, shows how greatly they are appreciated. Many of the
parks and some of the commons now have their “sea-side” or “sand-pit,”
and probably not only do they give immense pleasure, but they act as
a safety-valve for small mischievous urchins, who otherwise |
277 | could not
resist trespassing on flower-beds.
The grass in this, as in all the parks, has to be enclosed at times, to
let it recover, the tramp of many feet. The wattled hurdles which are
often used in the London Parks for this purpose, have quite a rustic
appearance. They are like those which appear in all the agricultural
scenes depicted in fifteenth century MSS. It is much to be hoped that
no modern invention in metal will be found to take their place.
KENNINGTON PARK
Not very far from Vauxhall, beyond the famous Oval, lies the larger and
more pretentious Kennington Park of 19½ acres. This has a long history
as Kennington Common. It formed part of the Duchy of Cornwall estates,
having been settled by James I. on Prince Henry, and has since belonged
to each succeeding Prince of Wales. In still earlier times there was a
Royal Palace at Kennington, which fell into decay after Henry VIII.’s
reign. Here as on all similar commons, the people had a right of
grazing cattle for six months |
278 | of the year. But the moment it was open
to them in the spring such a number of beasts were turned on to the
ground, that in a very short time “the herbage” was “devoured, and it
remained entirely bare for the rest of the season.”
The Common was a great place for games of all sorts, particularly
cricket. When in 1852 it was turned into a Park, and play could not go
on to the same extent, by suggestion of the Prince Consort, a piece of
land, then market-gardens, was let by the Duchy to the Surrey Cricket
Club, which was formed for the purpose of maintaining it. This is the
ground that has since gained such notoriety as the Oval, the scene of
many a match historical in the annals of cricket. The Common, too, was
famous for the masses that collected there to hear Whitfield preach.
His congregations numbered from 10,000 to 40,000 persons, and his voice
would carry to the “extremest part of the audience.” He notes in his
diary, Sunday, May 6, 1731--“At six in the evening went and preached
|
279 | at Kennington; but such a sight I never saw before. Some supposed
there were above 30,000 or 40,000 people, and near fourscore coaches,
besides great number of horses; and there was such an awful silence
amongst them, and the Word of God came with such power, that all seemed
pleasingly surprised. I continued my discourse for an hour and a half.”
The last time he preached there was a farewell sermon before he went to
America in August 1739.
Two other incidents are connected with Kennington Common, neither so
pleasant--the scenes of the execution for high treason, with all the
attendant horrors, of the “Manchester rebels” after the ’45; and the
great Chartist revolutionary meeting under Feargus O’Connor in 1848.
The precautions taken by the Duke of Wellington saved the situation,
and the 200,000 people who it had been proposed should march to
Westminster melted away, and the whole thing was a fiasco.
It was soon after this episode that the Common was converted into a
Park. The ground, |
280 | including all the Common and the site of the Pound,
was handed over by the Duchy of Cornwall (by Act of Parliament), to be
laid out as “Pleasure grounds for the recreation of the public; but if
it cease to be so maintained” to “revert to the Duchy.”
The transformation has been very successful, and the design was
suitable and well conceived. The large greens are divided by wide
paths shaded by trees, and each section can be closed in turn to
preserve the grass. There is a sunk formal garden, bedded out with
bright flowers, which show up well on the green turf; and at one end
there are shrubberies with twisting walks in the style that is truly
characteristic of the English Park, and seems to appeal to so many
people. The whole space is not large, but the most is made of it, and
both the formal and the “natural” sections have their attractions. At
the “natural” end, near the church--which, by the way, was built as a
thank-offering after Waterloo--is a handsome granite drinking-fountain,
|
281 | designed by Driver, and presented by Mr. Felix Slade; and in the centre
of the Park is a fountain, given by Sir Henry Doulton, with a group of
figures by Tinworth, emblematic of “The Pilgrimage of Life.” The Lodge
was the model lodging-house erected by the Prince Consort in the Great
Exhibition of 1851.
MYATT’S FIELDS
Myatt’s Fields or Camberwell Park is but a short distance to the
south-west of Kennington. This Park of 14½ acres was one of those
princely gifts which have been showered on the inhabitants of London.
It was presented by Mr. William Minet, in whose family the land has
been since 1770. His ancestors were Huguenots who had come to England
at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN BY TINWORTH, KENNINGTON PARK]
It was handed over to the newly-formed County Council in 1889,
having been previously laid out. The way in which this was done with
an avenue, which will some day be one of the great beauties of the
neighbourhood, and which is i |
282 | n the meantime a pleasant shady walk, has
already been commented on. For its size, Myatt’s Fields is one of the
most tasteful of the new parks. Its quaint name is a survival of the
time when the ground was a market-garden leased by a certain Myatt from
1818–69. The excellent qualities of the strawberries and rhubarb raised
there, gave the Fields such a good reputation in the district, and the
name became so familiar, that it was retained for the Park.
Camberwell Green is a distinct place, not far distant, and is noticed
among the village greens of London.
RUSKIN PARK
Ruskin Park, the newest of all the parks, is not very far from
Camberwell, and has been formed of a cluster of houses, with grounds
of their own, on Denmark Hill, known as the Sanders’ Estate. The name,
which has an “Art Nouveau” sound about it, and raises an expectation
of something beautiful, was given to it because John Ruskin for many
years lived in the neighbourhood. From 1823, when he was four, to 1843,
his home |
283 | was 28 Herne Hill, and there he wrote “Modern Painters.” From
then until 1871 he lived even nearer the present Park, at 163 Denmark
Hill. Describing the house, Ruskin wrote of it: “It stood in command
of seven acres of healthy ground ... half of it meadow sloping to the
sunrise, the rest prudently and pleasantly divided into an upper and
lower kitchen-garden; a fruitful bit of orchard, and chance inlets and
outlets of wood walk, opening to the sunny path by the field, which
was gladdened on its other side in springtime by flushes of almond
and double peach blossom.” Such might have been the description of
the houses and grounds now turned into a park. Some of the lines of
the villa gardens have been retained, and some wise and necessary
additions and changes have been made to bring the whole together; but
even the inspiration of Ruskin has not kept out the inevitable edges
and backbones of uninteresting evergreens. Some of the green-houses
have been kept, but six dwellings have been de |
284 | molished, and one of
the two retained will be used as a refreshment room. The outside wall
of the garden front of one, covered with wistaria, has been left,
facing its own little terrace and lawn and cedars, and soon after the
opening, in February 1907, many people found it was possible to get
sun and shelter and enjoy the prospect from the seats in front of the
ruined drawing-room windows. The dividing wall of two houses has been
cleverly turned into what will be a charming pergola, and below, the
ground has been levelled to form a bowling-green. The terraces and
steps from one level to another are a pleasing feature in the design.
The ground is not yet finished, and it is greatly to be hoped that
the usual clumps of evergreens will not be multiplied, but Ruskin’s
description borne in mind, and let there be almonds and double peaches
to gladden the spring, and not drooping, smutty evergreens, or “ever
blacks,” as they might be more fittingly called, to jar on the picture
of fresh youn |
285 | g growth. The pond, a stiff oval, has had to have the
necessary iron railings, and the trees near it have been substantially
barricaded with rustic seats--a most important addition. The avenue of
chestnuts which crosses the open part of the ground has been left; and
there are other good young trees growing up, and a fine old ilex and
mulberry. There is already a question of adding a further 12 acres to
this Park, which is 24 acres at present, but the scheme is still under
consideration.
BROCKWELL PARK
Those who want a change, from the roar and bustle of streets, can
attain their object very quickly by the expenditure of a few pence
and fifteen minutes in the train. Getting out at Herne Hill Station,
in a few seconds the gates of Brockwell Park are reached. The old
trees and undulating ground are all that could be desired, but the
chief attraction, and the object that well repays a visit, is the
old walled garden. It is a high brick enclosure, with fine old trees
peeping above, and f |
286 | estoons of climbing plants brightening the dull red
walls. The narrow paths, running in straight lines round and across,
are here and there, spanned by rustic arches covered with roses, or
clematis, or gourds, from which hang glowing orange fruit in autumn.
In the centre of the garden a small fountain plays on to moss-grown
stones, and on a hot summer’s day the seats, shaded by the luxuriant
Traveller’s Joy, make a cool resting-place, though not so sequestered
as the arbours in the angles of the wall, darkened by other climbers.
The rest of the garden is a delightful tangle of herbaceous plants.
All the old favourites are there, and a small notice near the entrance
announces to those in search of knowledge that the garden contains all
herbs and garden plants mentioned in Shakespeare’s works. A little
knowledge is a dangerous thing, and the unwary might not realise that
the flowers of Shakespeare’s time, although undoubtedly there, only
form a small portion of the whole display. The boa |
287 | rd is literally
true, but visitors are apt to go away with the idea that brilliant
dahlias, and gaudy calceolarias, or even the most modern introduction,
_Kochia tricophila_, were friends of Shakespeare’s! A large number of
the plants, however, are truly of the Elizabethan age, that golden
time of progress in gardening as well as of other arts, when spirited
courtiers and hardened old sailors alike scoured the seas and brought
strange plants from new lands. Many of these now familiar treasures
from east and west flourish in this little enclosure, and recall the
romantic days of the sixteenth century: the Marvel of Peru--the very
name tells the delight that heralded its arrival from the West--the
quaint Egg-plant (_Solanum ovigerum_) brought from Africa, and the
bright-seeded Capsicums from India. Even the bush, with its wealth of
white or purple flowers, the _Hibiscus Syriacus_, was known in those
days, though not by that name. Gerard, in describing it, says it was
a stranger to Englan |
288 | d; “notwithstanding, I have sowen some seedes of
them in my garden, expecting successe.” That delightful confidence,
which is the great characteristic of all these old gardeners, was not
abused, apparently, in this case, for two years later, in the catalogue
of plants in his garden, 1599, this great tree mallow was flourishing.
Many of the gourds, which are grown to great advantage in this little
garden, were also known at an early date. Gerard says of them, “they
joy in a fruitful soil, and are common in England.” Were it not for
the conspicuous little notice-board, no fault could be found with the
selection of plants which, from early spring till late autumn, brighten
this romantic little garden. The _Solanum jasminoides_ is none the
less graceful because it has only found a home in sheltered corners in
England, for the last seventy years. _Cobæa scandens_, which festoons
very charmingly some of the arches, is certainly an old friend, having
been over a hundred years in this country; |
289 | but it is a new-comer when
compared with the Passion Flower growing in profusion near it, and even
that did not appear until after Shakespeare’s death. It was unknown to
Gerard, but his editor, Thomas Johnson, illustrates it in the appendix
to the edition of 1633. It had then arrived from America, “whence it
hath been brought into our English gardens, where it growes very well,
but floures only in some few places, and in hot and seasonable yeares:
it is in good plenty growing with Mistresse Tuggy at Westminster,
where I have some years seene it beare a great many floures.” Mistress
Tuggy and her friend would have rejoiced at the sight of the house in
the centre of Brockwell Park on a warm October day, thickly covered
with the golden fruit as well as star-like flowers of their precious
“Maracoc or Passion-floure.”
[Illustration: OLD ENGLISH GARDEN, BROCKWELL PARK]
This delightful walled garden was the old kitchen-garden. Luckily,
the fashion for the gardens of a past generation was g |
290 | rowing at the
time the Park was purchased, and the London County Council must be
congratulated on the good taste displayed in dealing with it. The
history of the acquisition of the ground is soon told. The desire for
a park in this neighbourhood led those interested to try and arrange
to buy Raleigh House in the Brixton Road, with some 10 acres of land,
for about £40,000. Having got an Act of Parliament to allow this,
Brockwell Park came into the market with a ready-made park of 78 acres.
The Act of 1888 was repealed, and eventually a sum of nearly £120,000
was spent on the purchase of Brockwell, which was opened to the public
in 1892. Near the entrance gates, close to Herne Hill Railway Station,
a drinking-fountain, with a graceful figure of “Perseverance” and
portrait bust, has been erected to Mr. Thomas Lynn Bristowe, M.P. for
Norwood, who was chiefly instrumental in obtaining the Park, and whose
death occurred with tragic suddenness at the opening ceremony. It is
quite a steep hill |
291 | up to the house, which is of no great antiquity
or beauty, having been built at the beginning of last century, when
the older manor-house was pulled down, by Mr. Blades, the ancestor of
the last owner. The view on all sides is extensive, and the timber
is fine. There are good old oaks, as well as elms and limes; and it
is satisfactory to see that, in the recent planting, limes have been
given a place, and not only the overdone plane. As a contrast to the
delightful formal garden, some pretty wild grouping has been carried
out beside the artificial water. This series of ponds are an addition
to the Park as originally purchased. It now measures 84 acres, and
the extra piece contained water, which has been enlarged into a big
bathing-pool and a so-called “Japanese garden.” These ponds are well
arranged; and although there are various kinds of ducks and geese and
black swans, and concrete edges and wire netting are inevitable, they
are not so aggressive as in many parks. In places tall pl |
292 | ants have been
put in behind the railings and allowed to hang over, to break the undue
stiffness. In the late autumn purple Michaelmas daisies nearly touched
the water, and the red berries of the Pyracantha overhung the ducks
without apparent disagreement.
The opening of Brockwell as a public Park has had the effect of
banishing most of the rooks. There was a large rookery, but year by
year the nests decrease. In 1896 there were thirty-five nests, the next
year twenty, while in 1898 there were only eight or ten. Thus every
season they are getting fewer, but still, in the spring of 1907, one
pair of rooks were bold enough to build.
DULWICH PARK
Dulwich Park is not very far from Brockwell, but its surroundings
are more open. A few of the roads near it have some feeling of the
country left. The houses that are springing up are of a cheerful villa
type, and have nothing of the monotony and dulness of most of the
suburbs. Fine old trees grow along many of the roads. The chestnuts,
for i |
293 | nstance, in Half Moon Lane between Herne Hill and Dulwich
are charming, and also on the further side of the Park, where the
celebrated inn, the “Green Man,” was situated, there is a rural aspect
and a delightful walk between trees. It was within the grounds of the
“Green Man” that the Wells of chalybeate water were situated. The Wells
had been discovered in the reign of Charles II., and the water sold in
London, but the “Green Man” did not become a popular resort until after
1739. A story connected with this popular spa is recorded in the “Percy
Anecdotes” in 1823. A well-known literary man was invited to dinner
there, and wished to be directed. However, he inquired vainly for the
“Dull Man at Greenwich,” instead of the “Green Man at Dulwich.” One
of the entrances to the Park is close to the site of the once famous
Wells. The Park itself, which covers 72 acres, was the munificent gift
of Dulwich College. The gift was confirmed by an Act of Parliament
in 1885, and the Park opened to the |
294 | public in 1890. The College was
founded by Edward Alleyn in 1614, who called it “The College of God’s
Gift.” Originally, there were besides the Master, Warden, and four
Fellows, six poor brethren and six sisters, and thirty out-members.
The value of the property has so enormously increased that the number
of scholars has been very greatly added to, and now hundreds of boys,
some quite free, and some for a very low fee, obtain a sound commercial
education. The founder was a friend of Shakespeare, and one of the best
actors of his plays in the poet’s lifetime. His early biographers go
out of their way to refute the alleged reason of his founding “God’s
Gift College,” namely, that when on one occasion he was personating the
devil, the original appeared, and so frightened him that he gave up the
stage to devote himself to good works. Were this story true, the vision
was certainly well timed, and has produced unexpected and far-reaching
results. The educational work, the picture gallery, a |
295 | nd the well laid
out estate of Dulwich Manor, including the large public Park, are all
the direct result!
There are a few fine old trees in the Park, particularly a row of
gnarled oaks near the lake. This is a small sheet of water on the
side nearest the College. The carriage road, which encircles the
Park, crosses by a stone bridge the trickling stream, formed by the
overflow from the lake. On the south-east side of the Park there are
but few trees, but large masses of rhododendrons and azaleas have
been planted, which make a brilliant show in the summer. The most
distinctive feature is the rock gardening. There is a very large
collection of Alpine and rock plants, which are growing extremely well
and covering the stones with delicious soft green cushions, which turn
to pink, yellow, white, and purple, as the season advances. Even in
the cold, early spring, snowdrops, and the pretty little Chionodoxa,
the “Glory of the Snow,” begin to peep out amongst the rocks, and
these are the har |
296 | bingers of a succession of bloom, through the spring
and summer months. On either side of one of the entrances, a long and
pleasing line of this rock-work extends, but the plants for the most
part are grown on mounds like rocky islands rising up from a sea of
gravel. There are several of these isolated patches in the middle of
the carriage drive. It is certainly fortunate, for those who only
drive round the Park, thus to have a full view of the charming rock
plants; but to compare such a display to the rock garden at Kew is
misleading. There may be nearly as many plants at Dulwich as at Kew,
but the arrangement of that charming little retired valley at Kew is
so infinitely superior that the comparison is unjustified. The small
stream which leaves the lake, and other places in the Park, offer,
just as good a foundation for a really effective rock garden as the
one at Kew. Such an arrangement would give a much better idea of the
plants, in their own homes, than the islands in the roadway |
297 | , that
must suffer from dust, besides looking stiff and unnatural. It is,
however, delightful to see how well these plants are thriving. This is
hardly astonishing, as it is not in a crowded, smoky district, but in
one of the most favoured of suburbs. Dulwich Park adds greatly to the
advantages of the neighbourhood: it has not hitherto been crowded, and
is by no means a playground of the poorest classes, but now the advent
of electric trams and rapid communication may somewhat lessen its
exclusiveness.
HORNIMAN GARDENS
There are gardens of a very different character round the Horniman
Museum, not far distant. This collection, as well as the 9¼ acres of
ground adjoining it on Forest Hill, were the gift of the late Mr. J. F.
Horniman, M.P., and the garden, kept up by the London County Council,
was opened in June 1901. The situation is extremely attractive. A
steep walk up an avenue from London Road, Forest Hill, near Lordship
Lane Station, leads to a villa standing in its own grounds, |
298 | which is
utilised for refreshment rooms and caretaker’s house, &c. The lawns
descend steeply on three sides, and on the western slope there is a
wide terrace, with a row of gnarled pollard oaks. From this walk there
is a wide and beautiful view, over the hills and parks, chimney-pots
and steeples of South London, with the lawns and pond of Horniman
Gardens in front. On this terrace a shelter and band-stand have been
put up, and no more favoured spot for enjoying the open-air town life,
so common on the Continent, but until lately so rare in England, can
well be imagined. The country round is still fairly open, between
Forest Hill and Brixton. Near the foot of Horniman Gardens lies Dulwich
Park, with the shady path known as “Cox’s Walk,” from the proprietor
of the “Green Man,” and the roads lined with trees connect Dulwich
with Brockwell Park, Herne Hill, so that this corner of London is well
supplied with trees.
DEPTFORD PARK
Deptford Park is a complete contrast to the semi-rural D |
299 | ulwich. It
is in one of the most densely-populated and poor districts, where
it is greatly needed, and has been open since 1897. The site was
market-gardens, and was sold by the owner, Mr. Evelyn, below its value,
to benefit the neighbourhood. It is merely a square, flat, open space
of 17 acres, with only a few young trees planted round the outskirts.
Near the principal entrance in Lower Road, the approach is by a short
walk between two walls. Along either side of the pathway, and for some
little distance to the right and left, after the open space is reached,
a nice border of herbaceous plants has been made along the wall, and
a few beds placed in the grass on either side, and ornamental trees
planted. Thus the entrance to this wide playground is made cheerful and
attractive, and a pleasant contrast to the grimy streets outside.
TELEGRAPH HILL
Between these two extremes lies a small Park known as Telegraph Hill.
It is only 9½ acres, and is cut in two by a road, but it is very
varie |
300 | d in surface. The origin of its name is from its having been a
station for a kind of telegraphy that was invented before the electric
telegraph had been discovered. Two brothers Chappé invented the
system, and were so successful in telegraphing the news of a victory
in 1793, that their plan was adopted in France, and soon throughout
Europe. In Russia a large sum was expended in establishing a line of
communication between the German frontier and St. Petersburg; but so
slow was the building that the stations were hardly at work before
they were superseded by electricity. The signals were made by opening
and shutting six shutters, arranged on two frames on the roofs of a
small house, and by various combinations sixty-three signals could
be formed. The Admiralty established the English line, of this form
of telegraphy between Dover and London in 1795, and the first public
news of the battle of Waterloo actually reached London by means of the
one on “Telegraph Hill.” The place was well cho |
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