HISTORY
– BARONESS ANGELA
BURDETT-COUTTS
Once
travelers to Britain have
visited the major sites
of London, many may begin
to take some time out and
experience a calmer side
of the city. London may
be famous for the Tower,
Changing of the Guard and
the British Museum,
as well as being the
home of the Mother of
Parliaments, but the
city has much, much more
to offer. The city is
also famous for its many
theatres and many parks.
And speaking of parks,
did you know that it is
possible to walk from the
Houses of Parliament by
way of St. James’
Park, Green Park, Hyde
Park and Kensington
Gardens to the
exhibition centre of Olympia
and do so by walking on
greenery alone. This is a
distance of three miles.
This is remarkable in a
city of London’s
size.
.
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| Hyde Park |
|
Kensington
Gardens |
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|
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| St James's
Park |
|
Green Park |
There
are over 1,700 parks and
open spaces in an area of
about seventy square
miles however, as
remarkable as the formal
parks and gardens are the
small gardens found in
front and behind the
houses are often quite
spectacular in their own
rite. Springtime in
London can be a
remarkably beautiful time
as many small streets and
many gardens
of private homes become
festooned with a mass of
colour from the blossom
on the trees.
As
a child, my parents took
me to many of the parks
and gardens in the city.
We would often walk
through Hyde Park and
Kensington Gardens.
I would enjoy seeing the Albert
Memorial and the Peter
Pan statue. We would
occasionally feed the
ducks in St.
James’ Park, which
was something I took a
delight in doing.
However, despite its
majestic beauty, we would
only go to Regent’s
Park only once a year
and this was to see the
parade and competition
held for the working
horses of London. My
mother found visiting
this park to be somewhat
disagreeable since it
houses the London Zoo.
My poor mother found
it difficult to tolerate
the odour that permeated
the park. This did not
please my father who
enjoyed going to the zoo.
As a child, I was with
my mother and did not
care for the place.
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|
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| The Albert
Memorial |
|
Peter Pan
Statue |
Harness
Horses Parade
London has
many wonderful markets,
but I am fondest of those
that take place on
Sundays. One such market,
little known to tourists
or to most Londoners for
that matter, is the
Sunday flower market that
takes place every week
– rain or shine –unless
Christmas Day falls on a
Sunday, that is – on
Columbia Road, found
between Old Bethnal
Green and Hackney
Roads close to where
the old Boroughs of
Bethnal Green and Shorditch
met. Over the years,
I have been fortunate
enough to visit many
flower markets in other
places, including the
wonderful one held each
weekday in Amsterdam on
the Singel Canal and
the one held on the Ile
de la Citee in Paris,
and as grand and as
spectacular as these
markets are, I am fondest
of the Columbia Road
Market. I am sure
that this is most likely
because it holds many
memories for me.
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|
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| Flower
Market on the Singel
Canal, Amsterdam |
|
Marche aux
Fleurs, Ile de la Citee,
Paris |
The
market was founded by Baroness
Angela Burdett-Coutts in
1869. The Baroness
was born on 24 April,
1814 and was herself, an
interesting and colourful
character. She became
renowned for her
philanthropic activities
and was once heralded as the
richest heiress in
England. She was a
colourful character and
the public was fascinated
by her. She was famous
for the parties that she
threw at her house in Highgate,
which was then
outside of London. She
and her companion, Hannah,
were considered a
couple by notable
society until Hannah’s
death in 1878. They
went everywhere together
and were welcomed into
the homes of the rich
and famous. In 1881,
the Baroness surprised
society by marrying her
29-year old secretary, an
American-born Member of
Parliament. She was
67–years old at the
time. Although he took
her name, which was
common when marrying an
heiress, he did not gain
her title.
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|
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| The
Baroness
Burdett-Coutts when
young and in later years |
The
Baroness spent
most of her wealth on
scholarships, endowments
and a wide variety of
philanthropic causes both
in England and around the
world. She supported,
with Charles Dickens, a
home for young women
wishing to escape their
lives as prostitutes, as
well as multiple
endeavours in Africa. She
had the granite fountain
of the Greyfriars
Bobby statue in
Edinburgh made and
established the National
Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to
Children (NSPCC).
She also paid for
the church bells for St.
Paul’s Cathedral and
had built many drinking
fountains for dogs. She
worked with Florence
Nightingale and
others in care for the
sick and the infirm, she
subsidized housing for
the working class, paid
for soup kitchens
and helped place hundreds
of destitute boys in
training ships so saving
them from lives of
crime on the London
streets. However,
much of her work was
centred on the East End
of London. She has a
street named after her
– Burdett Road
– which runs
north from the old West
India Docks in Poplar
up to Mile End Road in
Stepney, whereupon
the street name changes
to Grove Road, which
continues north and
transects Victoria
Park in Bethnal
Green.
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 |
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| Greyfriars
Bobby |
NSPCC
(click to
enlarge) |
Florence
Nightingale |
St. Paul's
Cathedral |
The
Baroness died of
acute bronchitis on 30
December, 1906 and
by the time of her death
it was said that she had
given more than £3
million to good causes.
She was buried on 5
January, 1907 near the
West Door in the nave of Westminster
Abbey. In 1871, in
recognition of her
philanthropic work, Queen
Victoria conferred a
peerage on her under the
title Baroness
Burdett-Coutts of
Highgate and Brookfield
in the County of
Middlesex. In 1872
she became the first
woman to be presented
with the Freedom of
the City of London
and in 1874 she became
Edinburgh’s first
woman Burgess and
was also given the Freedom
of the city. The Turkish
Government honoured
her for her help given to
peasants and refugees and
Charles Dickens dedicated
Martin Chuzzlewit to
her. All in all, she was
a remarkable woman who
did not sit idly by and
watch as others suffered.
 Columbia
Road Market was built
upon an area known as Novia
Scotia Gardens. This
was the site of an old
brick field where the
brick clay had been
exhausted and which began
to be filled in with
refuge. The sheds
surrounding the one-time
field had been turned
into cottages, but were
undesirable since they
were below ground level
and subject to flooding.
In 1830, the area became
plagued with the
activities of a notorious
gang formed by
three men, including a
particularly frightening
fellow known by various
names including Jack
Sirabout and Black-Eyed
Jack. Collectively,
the gang was known
as the Resurrection
Men. The Gang stole
freshly buried bodies and
sold them to the London
medical schools. In
November1831, they
delivered the fresh
corpse of a 14-year old
boy to King’s
College in The
Strand. The gang
was arrested, tried and
convicted and later
hanged. The gang admitted
prior to their hanging
that the corpse in
question was not that of
a youth, but of a passing
drover on his way to Smithfield.
The public, it seemed
were fascinated by the
gang and apparently
the police, seeing a good
thing, opened the
villains’ premises
for viewing and in doing
so charged five
shillings for the
right to visit! The
public did indeed come,
and demanding souvenirs, removed
the dwelling, piece by
piece until nothing
remained! By 1840, the
area had degenerated into
a notorious slum and it
was following the decline
in the fortunes of the
area that prompted the Baroness
to purchase the land
and establish the Columbia
Road Market.
 The
original market was a
tall Gothic-styled
building capable of
holding four hundred
stalls on the ground
floor with flats above.
The original intention
was that food should be
sold in the market.
Unfortunately the
building was never
popular with the costermongers
and selling soon moved
out into the street. The
covered market was closed
in 1886 and became used
as warehouses and
workshops until its
demolition in 1958. The
site was then redeveloped
as a nursery school. Only
the wrought iron railings
of the original building
remain today. Originally,
the market operated on
Saturdays, but moved to
Sundays to allow the
local Jewish costermongers
to sell their wares. This
change in day also
allowed traders from
other markets to sell
their leftover inventory
from Saturdays here.
Making this change
required the passage of
an Act of Parliament since
trading on Sundays was
strictly against the law
at that time. The selling
of flowers and birds was
introduced by the
protestant Huguenot immigrants
that populated Spitalfields
and part of Bethnal
Green following their
departure from France.
The Columbia
Road Market
flourished as a flower
and plant market until
World War II when it fell
upon hard times. Two
events helped bring about
its decline at that time.
Firstly, flowers were not
produced for sale to the
public at that time, and
secondly, in 1940 a large
bomb hit the shelter
beneath the market
causing great disruption
to the area. However, like
a phoenix rising from
the ashes, the market
enjoyed resurgence in the
early 1960s and each
Sunday morning between 8
a.m. and 2 p.m., it is
now filled with an ever
increasing number of costermongers
and customers from
all over London and
elsewhere.
As
a child, I remember being
taken to the Columbia
Road Market on many
occasions. The market was
not as large as it is
today and I am sure that
there were not the same
variety of plants
available to the public
at that time. However, I
have fond memories of the
place even though I
cannot say that I found
it to be especially
interesting. However, for
behaving myself and
for not getting lost
in the crowd, as well
as for not making a
fuss, I was rewarded
with lemonade and a
bag of crisps while
my father enjoyed a drink
in the pub once his perusing
was done.
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.
THE
HUGUENOTS
The Huguenots
were members of the
French Reformed Church.
In the early sixteenth
century the group,
influenced by the
writings of John
Calvin, became more
and more critical of the
doctrine and manner of
worship as practised by
the Catholic Church.
At first, the King of
France, Francis I
(reign 1515-1547)
protected the group
against the wishes of
Parliament. However,
following the The
Affairs of the Placards in
1534, where anti-Catholic
posters appeared in
various French cities as
well as in the
King’s bedroom,
protection ended. This
resulted in the Huguenots
suffering religious
persecution including
attacks on both preachers
and worshipers. This
reached its peak in 1572
with the St.
Bartholomew’s Day
massacre, a series of
assassinations together
with mob violence,
believed to be instigated
by Catherine
de’Medici and
occurring six days after
the wedding of the
King’s sister to the
protestant Henry III
de Navarre (later to
become King Henry IV
of France). The
wedding was attended by
many of the most wealthy
and prominent Huguenots.
Although the number of
deaths is unknown, it has
been estimated between
five and thirty thousand
and resulted in the loss
of many prominent leaders
of the group. It is
estimated that at their
peak in 1562, the Huguenots
totalled about two
million amongst sixteen
million Catholics, but
following the massacre,
their number markedly
declined. Despite this,
retaliation against
Catholics occurred with
the taking of a few
Catholic cities and the
destruction of monuments
and shrines.
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| John
Calvin |
France
during the Huguenot Wars
(Click the
map to enlarge) |
The King's
Sister and Henry IV |
Henry IV |
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|
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|
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| Massacre |
|
Catherine
De Medici |
|
St.
Bartholomew's Day
Massacre |
By
the end of the 17th
Century huge numbers of Huguenots
were driven out of
France. Many settled
throughout Northern
Europe, while others went
to South Africa and the
Americas. Those that went
to North America were not
welcomed in Louisiana. A
large number of refugees
came to Britain where
they were to have a
marked influence on the
society as a result of
the trades and crafts
that they practised.
These included weaving,
lace making and market
gardening. In 1550,
the French Protestant
Church of London was
established by Royal
Charter and today the
church is found in Soho
Square in the West
End.
Many
immigrants settled in
Kent and in particular in
Canterbury. The
Archbishop allowed them
to worship in a specific
area of the cathedral
where, even today, there
is a weekly service
delivered in French. A
large number migrated to
London and settled in Shoreditch
and part of Bethnal
Green. They
established a weaving
industry in the Spitalfields
area, which over time
moved south into Whitechapel.
The Huguenots were
responsible for
introducing the selling
of plants, flowers and
caged birds to the Columbia
Road Market, which
eventually became the
main products traded
there. The Huguenots
did not construct many
buildings or roads in
this area and so there
are few reminders of
their presence in the
East End except for a few
weavers' cottages and Weavers
Field, a large green
space to the west of Bethnal
Green Road.
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|
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Weavers'
Cottages in
Hare Court, Spitalfields |
|
Huguenot
Weaver's House
at the corner of Brick
Lane |
|
Weavers
Fields,
Bethnal Green |
Memories
of the Huguenots
Other Huguenots
settled in Wandsworth where
their gardening skills
were to influence market
gardening at Battersea.
A number of refugees
migrated north of London
and settled in
Bedfordshire, which was
the centre of the
lace-industry at that
time and where immigrant Walloons
from Belgium had
settled earlier. Yet
another group moved to
Norwich and became
involved in the wool
industry already of
importance thanks to the
earlier presence of Walloon
weavers. At one time,
the Huguenots and Walloons
together made up one
third of the population
of Norwich.
Once the Napoleonic
Wars ended and normal
relations resumed with
France, French silk began
to be imported and the
market fell out of
the British silk trade,
which was run by the Huguenots.
As a result, many
turned to other trades
including furniture
making. I remember my
mother telling me that Gibraltar
Walk, which is a
small street off Bethnal
Green Road, was
once home to small
furniture factories. She
said that she and her
elder brother once worked
in one as French
polishers.
Gibraltar
Walk, Bethnal Green
For
further details of the
history of the Huguenots,
the reader is
referred to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huguenot#Britain_and_Ireland.
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.
GREEN
FINGERS AND THE
DECORATIVE CABBAGE
My father
loved plants and even
though we lived over a
shop when I was a child
and had no real garden,
he somehow was able to
pursue his love of horticulture.
My father was a complex
and oftentimes difficult
man and was a jack of
all trades. Amongst
the many talents
that he thought he had
was making plants
grow. He was born in
Edwardian times in Dulwich,
an area where more
the more well-to-do
working class lived.
His father was a printer
with one of the large
newspapers in Fleet
Street and was a
hard-working man who
neither beat his wife nor
his children. The family
did not have to share
their house with any
other family and my
father was able to grow
up in relative peace and
security. He had only to
share his bedroom with
one younger brother, but
had his own bed. His
childhood was in stark
contrast to that of my
poor mother, whose own
upbringing, or rather
lack of it, proved to be
more Dickensian in
nature.
In the
early years of the
twentieth century,
fashion dictated that all
homes of good repute,
regardless of social
standing, possess an Aspidistra
plant. This herbaceous
plant was housed in a
decorative pot and
proudly displayed on a
tall wooden stand placed
in the front room window.
Here the plant not only
got the best light but
could be shown off to
the neighbours since
there was an unspoken
competition between them
as to who grew the best
plant.
My
father enjoyed going to
parks and gardens and
especially liked Sunday
evening walks during
spring and summer in Victoria
Park. He would spend
an age gazing at the
tulips, daffodils and
roses and I recall him
being almost mesmerised.
When I asked him if
anything was wrong, he
would shake his head and
then wax lyrical about
the site before us. He
loved plants and thought
that he had green
fingers. Although a competent
gardener and an
extremely industrious
one, unfortunately his
talents were limited.
Sadly, and despite great
efforts, only the
hardiest vegetation grew
for him. I can personally
attest that his fingers
lacked even the slightest
tinge of green! Try as he
might, tulip, daffodil
and crocus bulbs failed
grew neither in number
nor in statue as promised
by the sellers. Creepers
would start to creep, but
then stop, shrivel and
die despite the generous
application of
fertiliser, suitable
quantities of water and
the whispering of loving
and tender words! Tragically
more exotic foliage was
even less kind to him.
Once brought home, these
fickle foliages promptly
lost their leaves, turned
dark brown and drooped!
It was only the faithful Geranium
that responded to his
love and care. And for
this, he was most
grateful. Despite wanting
to raise palms, birds of
paradise and other exotic
and luxuriant plants, he
eventually settled for
the hardier Geranium
and learned to love and
nurture them.
 Except
for the summer, our home
resembled a vast hot
house where each
windowsill, each spare
table top and any unused
cupboard became home to
my father’s cuttings.
These he had taken from
his precious Geraniums
the previous autumn and
had nurtured them with
loving care through the
winter months. First they
were kept in a dark
place, generally in
an especially dark area
of the cellar beneath the
shop where even the dog
feared to tread. Once
spring came, everything
would have to make way
for his plants, since now
it seemed they required
light and needed to be
either on windowsills or
close by. Whenever he
felt it necessary,
everything had to make
way so that each
plant came to the kitchen
for watering in and
around the sink. Because
of the sheer numbers,
this was a massive
undertaking. Plants were
left to drain in
and around the sink and
on the draining boards
for what seemed an
eternity. Much to the chagrin
of my mother, my
father always failed to
clean up properly
afterwards and words would
be exchanged. Once these cuttings
grew to be full
plants, they were taken
into the tiny yard that
existed at the back of
our living area over the
shop. Here they were
transplanted them into
larger plants and were
now deemed ready to take
their place in his garden.
Our shop
projected by about four
feet into the street
beyond the living area
above it. As a result, my
father turned this parapet
or ledge into a
garden. He filled it with
a number of wooden
tubs, which were beer
barrels cut in two. In
them, he planted a
variety of hardy plants,
but his pride and joy was
his Geraniums. In
summer, his garden was
transformed into a mass
of colour and made for a
spectacular sight, which
lasted throughout the
whole season. The
shop’s customers
constantly praised him
for making the area
attractive. My father was
in constant need of
praise and had to be
handled with kid
gloves, as he flew
into a rage whenever it
was not forthcoming from
my mother and me.
However, his response to
praise from others was
different and was met
somewhat offhandedly and
accepted in an almost
gruff and begrudging
manner. As a child, I
found his behaviour
confusing. My mother, in
her usual jocular and
somewhat sarcastic way,
referred to my father as Farmer
Jenkins at such times
and dismissed his
behaviour with a shrug.
In
addition to having plants
on the parapet above
the shop, my father would
also have one or two
small baskets of Geraniums
hanging over it.
Although these dangling
baskets were maintained
high above the street and
made for a pretty sight,
they could cause some
annoyance to passers-by
when he watered them!
Having one or two hanging
baskets obviously
proved insufficient for
my father, as he soon had
additional ones hanging
from the ceiling of the
shop. These baskets had
been mounted high and
quickly proved difficult
to maintain. With
sadness, he brought them
down and they sat outside
for a few weeks until he
came up with the idea of
bringing them into our
home. At first the news
of this caused my mother
to say: Oh no, not
more plants! However,
once he arranged several
in the doorways between
rooms and on the stairs,
she was converted and
found them a delight.
From then
on, hanging baskets became
a part of our home. This
proved fine until we
moved from the shop and
into a house with a
winding staircase
complete with landing. My
father discovered the
most awkward of places to
arrange his hanging
baskets and it was
then that they became a
source of annoyance to
me. As both my parents
were short – my
father being five feet
one inch and my mother
four foot eleven,
although she refused to
admit to this height and
died believing that she
was five foot!
– it mattered not to
them to have baskets
of plants hanging and
dangling in doorways and
over stairways. My father
arranged them so as to
avoid their hitting their
heads. However, he seemed
totally oblivious to the
fact that I was growing
and soon would outgrow
them! I eventually grew
to be about five feet ten
inches and although this
did not make me a giant,
it nonetheless made me
one in a land of people
like my parents!
Throughout my youth, I
had to contend with low
placed mirrors and
had to be constantly
vigilant when I went
through a doorway or up
some stairs as I risked
getting a whack on
the forehead or nose from
a dangling object.
Whenever I was assaulted
by one of his
baskets, my father’s
first concern was for the
condition of his precious
plants and I would be
told to be more
careful in future!
Little concern was shown
for me and the lump
developing on my forehead
would be dismissed as nothing!
It seems that I spent
my later youth bobbing
and weaving through a
maze of hanging plants.
Today, I have learned to
admire decorative flowers
cascading down from
hanging baskets whenever
I see them in gardens and
parks and I never fail to
stop and admire them.
However, despite my
admiration, I cannot
forget the trauma
experienced in my youth
and so you will find no
such menacing dangling
objects in my home!
My
father would love to go
to Columbia Road
Market on a Sunday
morning. He would spend
hours wandering the
stalls looking for that
perfect plant. He
would talk to the
vendors, ask about the
plants and their prices
and ask how best to
maintain them. After
making his selections, he
would go to his favourite
pub in the area and think
about his purchases.
Sadly, the plants never
managed to live up to
expectation. Creepers
and Aspidistras came
and went. He was often in
despair, but alas,
nothing that he did
helped these plants
survive beyond the
autumn. Only the precious
Geranium survived.
One
plant that he persisted
on trying to make grow
was the decorative
cabbage. This was an
especially ugly plant to
my way of thinking, but
being young at the time,
I was not overly fond of
the species be it
decorative or edible!
These plants were popular
during my father’s
childhood and were seen
in parks even when I was
a child. They varied in
colour but I seem to
remember that most were
dark red. Regardless of
their colour, they all
looked to me like throwbacks
to Dinosaur times!
My father nurtured these vegetables
in the backyard,
but try as he may, they
did not flourish. He
would blame the cats of
the area for their demise
and was convinced that
these animals urinated on
his precious plants. Many
times he got into
arguments with neighbours
and fell out with
them when he accused
their precious animals of
deliberately relieving
themselves over his
precious plants. Again my
mother dismissed his
behaviour as that of a
madman!
Whenever I
come to London, I always
visit the market early on
a Sunday morning. I like
to take the bus that
replaced the old
trolleybus that once ran
from remember my mother
telling me that Hackney
Road was once a wealthy
Liverpool Street Station,
along Bishopsgate and
onto Hackney Road.
I road become
seedier and can no longer
brag of being a road of
distinction. I where the well-to-do
used to live. Sadly, over
the years, the road has
always get off the bus at
the I cross over the road
and walk down the little
winding street that takes
Bingo Hall, which
once was the beautiful Odeon.
me to the market.
Although
the market is basically
the same, it has grown in
size and the clientele
has increased in number.
The street is filled with
customers from an earlier
hour now, the pubs are a
little busier and the
range of goods has
increased. There are more
shops open now including
a wonderful bread and
cheese shop just off
the market that offers
wonderful treats for the
hungry visitor. I wander
the stalls and look at
the plants with interest,
and on occasion, I ask a
question in memory of my
father. I note with
amusement that the colourful
cabbages are still on
sale. Obviously things do
not change as much as we
think and for this I am
sure that the Baroness
and my father would
be happy.
Thank
You to Ms. Mary Frisby
for her picture
contribution.
.
|
