Route starts at the southern end of London Bridge

 

STOP: Royal Exchange weather vane

LOCATION: Best viewed from junction of Cornhill and Birchin Lane

 

Gracing the top of the Royal Exchange – former hub of London’s trade – is a gold grasshopper. The grasshopper was the personal emblem of Tudor financier Sir Thomas Gresham.

 

Sir Thomas was a hugely influential figure in 16th century London. He founded the first Royal Exchange in 1565, which helped turn London into a global centre of finance. 

 

A bequest in his will set up Gresham College, which still puts on regular (and popular) public lectures to this day. And you may well have wandered down Gresham Street by the Guildhall, named in his honour.

 

But why did this sober man of finance choose a golden grasshopper as his personal emblem?

 

Legend has it that Thomas's ancestor Roger de Gresham was abandoned as an infant in the marshlands of Norfolk. The rejected orphan was finally discovered after a woman was attracted by the sound of a chirruping grasshopper. The Gresham family later made good as merchants, and eventually incorporated the insect into their coat of arms.

 

That's what the legend says. More likely, though, it's probably some ancient pun on Gresh and grass.

 

The Royal Exchange weather vane is not the only prominent grasshopper in the area. You'll see them all over the place when you start looking, mostly on sites connected with Gresham.

 

There’s another one which you’ll see if you look to the right when the route turns left onto Lombard Street. That one is really, really old. Pre-fire of London, in fact. It carries a date of 1563 along with Thomas Gresham's initials. It marks a former goldsmith's owned by Gresham, which was later taken over by Martins Bank.

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STOP: Walter Gilbert doors

LOCATION: 32 Cornhill

 

How many times have you wandered down here and not noticed these exquisitely carved wooden doors?

 

Walter Gilbert was a designer and modeller, who worked mainly in metal. He cut his sculpting teeth, so to speak, with the Arts and Crafts Movement towards the end of the 19th century, and then went on to embrace architectural sculpture in the first half of the 20th century.

 

Although you might not instantly recognise his name, there is a good chance you have admired one of his most prominent creations, as he was responsible for the gates of Buckingham Palace and for the massive bronze doors inside Freemason’s Hall. He was also responsible for the sculptures that adorn the façade of Selfridge's on Oxford Street.

 

These mahogany doors were designed by the Birmingham artist Bernard Philip Arnold but were then carved by Walter Gilbert when the building was built for Cornhill insurance in the 1930s.

 

There are eight panels which each feature a specific period, or even moment, from the history of Cornhill.

 

Each carved panel has an inscription that gives a brief description of the scene depicted in the panel, above it.

 

TOP LEFT PANEL reads:

"St Peter's Cornhill founded by King Lucius 179 A. D. to be an Archbishop's See and chief church of his kingdom and so it endured the space of 400 years until the coming of Augustine the monk of Canterbury.”

 

The carved panel shows a priest standing before King Lucius, who is seated on his throne. The priest holds up the plans for the church, which the king is inspecting. Next to the priest stands a builder holding a compass and a plane.   As an aside, there’s no evidence King Lucius actually existed.

 

TOP RIGHT PANEL reads:

"Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester, did penance walking barefoot to St Michael's Church from Queen Hithe, 1441”

 

The panel shows Eleanor, looking very dejected, holding a taper. A hooded priest walks in front of her, and a group of clerics follow behind. Eleanor (1400 - 1452) was the mistress, and then wife, of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester.

In 1441 she was convicted of sorcery, having asked the astrologers Thomas Southwell and Roger Bolingbroke to cast the horoscope of the then King Henry VI. Found guilty, she was ordered to perform public penance, which is the subject of the panel. In addition she had to divorce her husband and was sentenced to life imprisonment.

 

SECOND LEFT FROM TOP panel reads:

"Cornhill was anciently a soke of the Bishop of London who had the Seigneurial oven in which all tenants were obliged to bake their bread and pay furnage or baking dues.”

 

The panel shows two women in medieval attire walking away from the oven holding their freshly baked loaves. A priest records the payment of two bags of money, which can be seen on the step beside his foot, in a ledger.

 

SECOND RIGHT FROM THE TOP panel reads:

"Cornhill is the only market allowed to be held after noon in the 14th century.”

 

The panel shows a 14th century stallholder at the Cornhill market selling apples to two ladies dressed in medieval costume.

 

THIRD LEFT FROM THE TOP panel reads:

"Birchin Lane, Cornhill, place of considerable trade for men's apparel, 1604.”

 

On the panel, a tailor sits crossed-legged adjusting the hem of a gentleman who is admiring himself in a mirror that he is holding up to his face. The tailor's assistant stands behind the gentleman holding a tape with which he is measuring their client.

 

THIRD RIGHT FROM THE TOP panel reads:

"Pope's Head Tavern in existence in 1750 belonged to Merchant Taylor's Company. The Vintners were prominent in the life of Cornhill Ward”

 

The panel shows a waiter at the nearby Pope's Head Tavern (for which nearby Pope's Head Alley is named) serving wine to two gentlemen who are seated at a table.

 

BOTTOM LEFT PANEL panel reads:

"Garraway's Coffee House, a place of great commercial transaction and frequented by people of quality.”

 

The panel shows a group of 18th century stockbrokers gathered in Garraway's Coffee Shop, which used to be around the corner in Change Alley.

 

BOTTOM RIGHT PANEL panel reads:

"Thackeray and the Brontes at the publishing house of Smith Elder & Co. Cowper, the poet, Gray the poet, Guy, the bookseller and founder of Guy's Hospital, lived in Cornhill.”

 

The panel depicts Charlotte and Anne Bronte meeting with William Makepeace Thackeray at the premises of Smith Elder.

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STOP: Mercer’s Maiden 

LOCATION: Corbet Court (entrance opposite Holland and Barrett on Gracechurch Street)

 

In 1515, the livery companies were given an order of precedence based on wealth and influence, the Mercers Company came out on top.  

 

The Mercers was originally a guild for merchants, particularly in fine fabrics, most likely established in the 12th century.

 

Their symbol since at least 1425, has been the figure of a woman known as the Mercers’ Maiden.  The origin of the symbol is unknown, but theories include it referring to the Virgin Mary or perhaps the sign of an inn where the Mercers used to meet in medieval London.

 

Today, the Mercer’s company is still one of the wealthiest livery companies and makes significant donations to charity.  

 

They own a vast property portfolio, particularly in the Covent Garden area around Long Acre, and mark their properties with the symbol of the Mercer’s Maiden.    

 

This stone is the earliest surviving Maiden property mark, dating from 1669. It was moved back to this site during redevelopment works in 2004.

 

If you wander round Covent Garden you will see her peering out at you from doorways, walls and even bollards.

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STOP: St Lawrence Jewry weather vane 

LOCATION: View from junction King Street and Gresham Street (opposite Guildhall Yard)

 

This is the beautifully restored St Lawrence Jewry which takes its name from the Jewish community that lived nearby during the early medieval period. At that time there were several London churches dedicated to St Lawrence, and this one was named St Lawrence Jewry to distinguish it from the others. The nearby street called Old Jewry recalls the medieval Jewish presence here.

 

The Jews came to London at the time of the Norman Conquest but were expelled from England by Edward I in 1290. It wasn’t until Oliver Cromwell came to power 350 years later that they were allowed to return.

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St Lawrence was martyred in San Lorenzo (Rome) in 258 AD in a particularly gruesome fashion, being roasted to death on a gridiron. The Gridiron was basically a grill for roasting Christian martyrs. As you might expect, it looked like an iron grid, and was placed over a fire or burning coals. Some people were even basted in oil first, to ensure a proper roasting.   

 

At one point, the legend tells us, St Lawrence remarked ‘you can turn me over now, this side is done’. 

 

Appropriately, he is the patron saint of cooks, chefs and comedians. And that’s why the weathervane is a gridiron.   

 

Nearly all weather vanes tell a story so it's always worth looking up.

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STOP: The Castle pub 

LOCATION: Cowcross St 

 

From the late 17th to the early 19th century this area was known as Hockley-in-the-Hole and was an infamous entertainment district - drinking, debauchery and gambling being the chief activities. When it came to gambling, the area was renowned for its cock-fighting rings, and it was to one of these that a portly, well-dressed gentleman came one day in the early 19th century.

 

At first, his luck was in, and his winnings mounted. But he didn’t know when to quit - and it wasn't long before he had incurred massive losses. The man made his way to the Castle Tavern, and asked the landlord to advance him a sum of money that would be sufficient to pay off his gambling debts.

 

Of course, since he was a stranger, the landlord wouldn’t help without adequate security, so this the gentleman offered the landlord his handsome pocket watch. The man certainly seemed wealthy enough to honour the debt, and, if he didn't, well the pocket watch was worth much more than the amount he was being asked to hand over.

 

So the landlord accepted the watch, the money was handed over, and the man headed back to Hockley-in-the-Hole to settle his debts.

 

A few days later, a royal messenger turned up to redeem the watch with a handsome sum of money. He also presented the landlord a Royal Warrant that allowed him from that day onwards to advance money on pledges.

 

The well-dressed, portly stranger, it transpired, had been none other than King George IV.

 

From that day on, The Castle has had the distinction of being the only pub in England that, as well as its pub sign, is also able to display the three balls of a pawnbroker on its exterior wall.

 

According to a plaque inside the pub: "from that time a pawnbrokers licence has been issued to the Castle annually”.  And on the wall inside the pub, there is a huge painting that shows George IV dangling his watch enticingly in front of the landlord, who strokes his chin as he mulls over whether he can trust this stranger who has turned up out of the blue and asked him to lend him a sum of money.

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STOP: Police graffiti

LOCATION: Myddleton Passage (a turning next to Shakespeare'sHead pub)

 

Look to your left.  Just a brick wall I hear you say.  But, as with so many locations in London, first impressions can be quite deceiving.  If you look closer you’ll notice something quite out of the ordinary. Scores of numbers, letters, and even dates, have been gouged into the brickwork of the wall

 

You might think this is just mindless vandalism, and, maybe you’d want to report this to the local police. However, the first policeman you encounter might not be as sympathetic as you would like him to be - or, at least, he wouldn't have been a hundred or so years ago - because these initials and numbers are, in fact, a unique historical record, carved into the wall by bored, tired, and, possibly, slightly tipsy, 19th and early 20th police officers.

 

The police officers in question were predominately members of the Metropolitan Police's G Division, the Finsbury Division, based out of King's Cross.  Mostly, the officers simply carved their collar numbers followed by a "G" to denote G Division.

 

But every so often, some officers couldn't resist the urge to mark their territory further by carving their initials, or even names into the brickwork. Amazingly, some of the individual police constables whose names appear on the wall have been identified.

 

So, for example, 365 followed by the barely discernable FAVM, is thought to have been the work of Frederick Albert Victor Moore, who became an officer with G Division in 1886.

 

Further along the wall and you encounter the initials "FAH" followed by the number 103. This was believed to have been carved by Frederick Albert Huntley, from Hackney.

 

Another set of initials reads "TK", followed by the year "1913". The author of this particular carving is thought to have been Thomas Kirkpatrick, a former gamekeeper from Dumfries who joined the Metropolitan Police in 1910.

 

Why did they do it?  Well, we simply don't know.

 

One theory is that Myddelton Passage had such a bad night time reputation in the 19th century that officers were sent to guard the passage; a duty which they found so boring that they whiled away the hours by carving their names on the brickwork, just to keep themselves occupied.

 

Or it might have simply been a case of one officer decided to do it one night, another officer saw the number and decided to do likewise and, before long, it had become a ritual that all new officers joining G Division decided to follow, with some of them deciding to go further and carve their initials.

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STOP: Penny chute, House of Charity

LOCATION: Soho Square, junction with Greek Street

 

Soho Square is usually pretty buzzing, with its famous neo-Tudor building in the centre (actually built in the 1920s to cover the entrance to the electricity substation below the square). 

 

And there’s a lot of history - indeed the name is derived from a hunting call “Sooo Hooo” used to call the hounds and alert hunters to the sighting of a hare. Because back in the day this area was a royal park used for hunting by the likes of Henry VIII.  The first use of Soho as the name of the area was in 1636.

 

But this is the building we’ve come to see.

 

For the past few years this building has been home to a member’s club called the House of St Barnabas. It is not a standard member’s club because all profits go to the running of an employment academy, to help break the cycle of homelessness, mostly amongst women.

 

If we go back to the beginning though, the first house was built here when Soho Square was laid out in 1679. The owner was a man called Cadogan Thomas from Lambeth, a timber merchant, who leased it to various aristocrats.

 

By 1742 the house had been largely rebuilt and by 1855 it was being used by the Metropolitan Board of Works as the office of its chief engineer Sir Joseph Bazalgette. 

 

Bazalgette was responsible for the new sewage system installed in London in the 1860s, much of which we still use today. He may well have drawn up many of the plans in this house and today you will find the Bazalgette Room inside.

 

The Metropolitan Board of Works were also responsible for laying out Charing Cross Road and Shaftesbury Avenue, thus shaping the area of Soho we’re stood in.

 

In 1861 the building became home to the House of Charity (see name in brickwork). The charity was founded in 1846 to look after “the waifs and strays of the turbid sea of human society”.  The charity’s original function was to look after families who by no fault of their own had found themselves in difficulty. They could be admitted and supported at the house.  The charity later broadened to help the homeless more generally, even helping people emigrate to Australia, supporting those between jobs and looking after immigrants from Russia and the Balkans. In the 1950s the charity became known as the House of St Barnabas.

 

The house was commandeered during World War Two as the headquarters of the Air Training Corps and after the war became a women’s hostel.  The hostel closed in 2006.

 

A nice little detail you’ve probably never noticed is the penny chute built into the railings which has been collecting donations for over 100 years. 

 

The house also has a ‘Crinoline staircase’. From the ground floor upwards the baluster bars bend outwards to accommodate the large hooped dresses of ladies. A ‘crinoline’ was the structured petticoat that would go beneath a skirt to hold it out. This does not continue downstairs as these would have been servants quarters and they wouldn’t have such finery. 

 

Overall the House of St Barnabas is a fascinating spot. In true London style it is practically oozing with history, myths, and legends stretching back centuries.

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STOP: EMI Building 

LOCATION: 20 Manchester Square (at junction with Manchester Street)

 

Between 1960 and 1999 EMI Records imposing seven storey glass fronted headquarters was located here.   Don’t look for it though, it was demolished at the turn of the millennium, and the building you see is just the latest anonymous office block on the site.

 

The one thing nearly every music fan knows about EMI House is that in February 1963 the cover photo of the Beatles' debut LP Please Please Me was taken here on the second-floor landing.  

 

But most people are possibly not aware that EMI's press office used Manchester Square as a cheap and convenient location for their publicity photos.  Dozens of iconic pictures were taken against the railings at the front of the building, or on the spiral staircase leading to the outdoor basement area and some, like a Seekers' EP cover were taken in Manchester Square itself. 

 

In 1969 the Beatles returned here with original Please Please Me photographer Angus McBean to recreate the stairwell shot for the intended Get Back album.  That record never materialised, although the project eventually turned into Let It Be.  But both photographs were eventually used in 1973 for the so-called Red and Blue compilation albums (officially titled 1962-1966 and 1967-1970).

 

When EMI left Manchester Square in 1999 the famous section of stairwell railing complete with glass (but not the stairs themselves as is sometimes claimed) went with them and was installed in the first-floor cafe of their offices in Brook Green, Hammersmith.  

 

In 2009 EMI moved yet again and the railing was mounted in their reception area at Wrights Lane, off Kensington High Street.  Since then the once-mighty EMI has been swallowed by a series of mergers and takeovers and today the Wright’s Lane building is the home of the Warner Music Group. 

 

It’s thought that Paul McCartney now owns the EMI handrail and keeps it in his studio in Sussex.

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STOP: River Tyburn conduit 

LOCATION: Bentinck Street, junction with Marylebone Lane

 

The River Tyburn flows down from the Hampstead hills to the River Thames near Pimlico. It passes under some of London’s wealthiest areas: Marylebone, Westminster, even Buckingham Palace.

 

The word Tyburn comes from ‘teoburne’, meaning ‘boundary stream’ or ‘two streams’ in early medieval English. Before the Normans conquered England in 1066, the Tyburn formed a major boundary between estates outside the city walls. As suburbs were built up in areas like Mayfair from the late 1600s, the river continued to define boundary lines.

 

The Tyburn was one of the rivers providing fresh water to the city.   It was never used for transport or to power London’s industry.

 

In the mid-1200s, the City of London had the revolutionary idea of building a channel to take water from the Tyburn, near where it crossed modern-day Oxford Street, to residents further into the city.  Named the Great Conduit, the water supplied London’s growing population as far as Cheapside – about an hour’s walk east if you made that journey today. It was destroyed in 1666 by the Great Fire of London.

 

The Tyburn remained a clear stream through Regent’s Park to what is now Marylebone Road, into the 19th century. Other rivers like the Fleet were choked up with rubbish and sewage by this point. But the development of Mayfair in the 1700s buried sections of the Tyburn. By the 1830s it was already underground up to Primrose Hill and by the 1860s it was fully underground.  At which point it was turned into a waste sewer, flowing between Hampstead and Westminster.

 

And why have we stopped here?  Well if you look at a map, or indeed just look around, you’ll see the streets in this area form a grid pattern.  Except this one, which follows a curve pattern as it is directly above the Tyburn and the route of the old conduit.

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TOILETS - HYDE PARK CORNER

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STOP: Victoria palace theatre 

LOCATION: Victoria Street, junction with Vauxhall Bridge Road

 

The statue on the top of the Victoria Palace theatre honours the great Russian-born ballerina Anna Pavlova.  Her signature role was The Dying Swan, which she performed thousands of times.  The statue was put on the top of theatre when it was built in 1911 to celebrate the dancer and the role that the theatre owner, Alfred Butt, played in her career. 

 

Pavlova thought it unlucky for her to see the statue and so avoided looking at it whenever she passed.  She was so superstitious that she insisted on closing the curtains in her cab whenever she was in the area.

 

This was one of a number of London statues which were taken down for safe-keeping in 1939, but unfortunately it did not return and is now lost. So, this is a replica which was installed in 2006.

 

I know it doesn’t look like it from here, but it’s twice life size.

 

Why Pavlova and why the Victoria?  Well, it’s a rather long story that begins around 1832 when a hotel and tavern were built on this spot. It was turned into the Royal Standard Music Hall in 1850 which was then demolished and rebuilt a couple of times. Alfred Butt bought the place in 1911 and built the fabulous new Victoria Palace Theatre here for the princely sum of ₤12,000. 

 

The statue was placed atop in honour of Pavlova, whose first London performances were produced by Butt.  Although she was a classical ballerina she often performed in concert-like revues, the likes of which would have been popular at Butt’s Victoria Palace.

Pavlova died of pleurisy while on tour in The Hague in 1931.  She was three weeks short of her 50th birthday at the time. The story is that doctors said she would not survive without an operation, but they added that she would never dance again should she agree to surgery. Famously, she told her doctor, “If I can’t dance then I’d rather be dead.” And die she did, shortly thereafter.

 

Pavlova the dessert is believed to have been created in honour of the dancer either during or after one of her tours to Australia and New Zealand in the 1920s. The nationality of its creator has been a source of argument between the two nations for many years.

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STOP: Bonnington Square Gardens

LOCATION: Bonnington Square, Vauxhall (follow the route round the square)

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Bonnington Square was built in the 1870s to house railway workers. In the late 1970s, it was compulsorily purchased by the GLC which planned to demolish it to build a new school. 

 

A shopkeeper in one of the buildings managed to prevent the demolition in the courts at the time when all the occupants were moving out, and shortly afterward the squatters moved in.  By the 1980s, the square was almost completely occupied by squatters. And the community formed by those squats continues to the present day.

 

The squatters established a volunteer-run vegetarian cafė, a community garden on part of the square that had been bombed during the Second World War (seven houses), a bar, a nightclub and a wholefoods shop. They subsequently formed a housing cooperative and successfully negotiated for the right to lease the buildings. The café and garden are still there.

 

The residents of the square undertook a project in 1990 to change the garden into a "Pleasure Garden" (named in homage to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens that used to be nearby), and in the process formed the Bonnington Square Garden Association. In 1998, the housing cooperative was permitted by the London Borough of Lambeth to purchase the buildings.

 

As you ride round you’ll see the place has the feel of an exotic paradise.

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STOP: Lambeth Walk

LOCATION: At the eastern end of Lambeth walk at the junction with China Walk

 

When the song about dancing Cockneys became a hit in the 1937 musical Me and My Girl, the street of the same name was in its heyday, lined with shops and market stalls.

 

But thanks to a process begun by World War II bombers and completed by urban planners, there are just a handful of shops left and the famous Lambeth Walk street market has all but died.

 

In 1938, 159 shops lined the street and catered for every need, including 11 butchers, two eel and pie shops (one with a tank of live eels outside), a bird dealer and a tripe dresser.   And the market, which was busiest on Saturdays when stalls with gas lamps stayed open late, also stretched right along the road, selling fruit and vegetables plus second-hand clothes and shoes.

 

The market kept running during World War II - although the street's location, less than a mile from the Houses of Parliament, meant the area suffered from stray bombs. The war marked the beginning of the end for the street as a commercial and social centre. 

 

The only remaining Victorian shop buildings on the street have been renovated and occupied - but by firms like architects that are not open to the public.

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The Pelham Mission Hall with its Doulton terracotta and brick facade features an unusual exterior pulpit for Sunday preaching. The foundation stone was laid by the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1910.  Named after Francis G Pelham, Rector of Lambeth 1884 - 1894, it has not been used for public worship since 1949.  

 

Public baths 

These are the third Lambeth Baths to be built here.   They opened in 1958.  So even then, the area was so run down and the housing so poor that a public bath house was required. They housed individual baths and laundry facilities but no public swimming pool. After many years of decline and neglect, the baths were converted in the 1990s into a doctor's surgery and a teaching unit for King’s College Hospital.

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STOP: Fire insurance plaques 

LOCATION: 57 Roupell Street (Atlas plaque) and No 9 (Sun plaque)

 

The Great Fire devastated London. There were few recorded deaths (just six), but estimates put the destroyed property value at £10,000,000.  From those ashes rose the world’s first property insurance.

 

After the fire, much of London needed to be rebuilt.  But in 1666 the contracts of tenants made them liable for repairs to their houses, not the landlords who owned the property. Tenants were also supposed to pay rent while their burned houses were being rebuilt. 

 

This was clearly untenable and so an emergency ‘Fire Court’ was set up to sort out disputes that arose out of the rebuilding, such as who should pay to rebuild. The judges had the power to decide who should rebuild, based on ability to pay, and could cancel contracts. This stopped disputes from dragging on and enabled Londoners to rebuild as quickly as possible.

 

This also got people thinking about better fire safety and how to pay for repairs. And so, in 1680 the first insurance company, called the ‘Fire Office’, was set up. Other insurance companies soon appeared and by 1690 one in ten London houses was insured.

 

By 1700 companies had realised that it would probably be cheaper to put out the fires more effectively than pay for rebuilds. And so they began to employ their own fire brigades. 

 

The insurers created ‘fire mark’ plates, such as this one, in order to identify which houses were insured by each company when the fire brigades arrived. This identification was particularly important in London before the introduction of street numbering in the 1760s. 

 

Insurance companies often had reciprocal arrangements with each other, so that if a fire brigade put out a fire at a house insured by another company then the brigade’s company would be reimbursed.  But if you didn’t have insurance (i.e. a plaque), you were on your own.

 

After a while the major insurers realised it would be more efficient to have a single, unified force to watch over London, and in 1833 the London Fire Engine Establishment was created, the forerunner of today’s Fire Service.

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STOP: ‘Commit no nuisance’ sign 

LOCATION: Doyce Street

 

What a commanding sign that is. We are left in no doubt as to the amount of nuisance we can commit. The authority behind it will brook not the slightest hint of nuisance. Precisely NO NUISANCE will be tolerated here.

 

The sign is intended to discourage one nuisance above all others. Peeing. The “committing of nuisance” was a well-known euphemism for wild toileting from at least the 1790s. Signs like these were commonplace by 1826.  There were so many signs there was even a sketch in the Weekly Times showing a Frenchman mistaking a “Commit No Nuisance” board for a street name.

 

The great surge in public peeing came in the early-to-mid-19th century. This was a time of rapidly growing population, and rapid urban expansion. Many more people worked outdoors, hawking goods, sweeping crossings, running errands, labouring. Very few public toilets catered for their needs. A crafty tinkle in the corner was the only option.

 

An 1843 book, 'Suggestions for the Improvements of our Towns and Houses' describes it vividly.

 

“The indelicacy of men watering against the walls of houses in public thoroughfares is not only distressing to such of them as possess any feeling of modesty but is productive of pain and confusion to all well bred females who throng the streets and cannot avoid such rencontres in every direction. Sometimes there may be seen a rank of men say eight or ten gentlemen and labourers all in a row, “pumping ship” against boards and palings which surround buildings under repair, and frequently in such conspicuous situations and public thoroughfares that really it is almost impossible for wives and daughters to go past the place”

 

I love the phrase “pumping ship” to mean having a pee. For a long time, “Commit No Nuisance” signs were the only measure against public urination. Anybody caught doing the deed within the vicinity of such a warning stood liable for a fine.  By implication, a wee anywhere else was tolerated. But finding a spot to relieve oneself was not always easy.

 

The Victorians had other interventions up their sleeves. They introduced spikes and other measures, such as sloping boards low down on walls so that an incoming stream would ricochet back onto the perpetrator’s legs. These urine deflectors can still be found around town today. Indeed we visit some on the street furniture ride.

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STOP: Ayres Street

LOCATION: Junction of Ayres Street and Union Street (by Rose and Crown pub)

 

Ayres Street is named after Alice Ayres, a nursemaid who died from injuries sustained in the Union Street fire of 1885, but not before she saved the lives of the three children in her care. You might recognise the name from the film Closer with Natalie Portman.

 

In 1902 Alice’s name was added to the Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice at Postman’s Park and in 1936, this street was named after her. 

 

Alice Ayres was an unusual national hero, not just because she was a woman, but because she was a working class woman. Heroes came from the upper classes, don’t you know, and excelled in science, engineering, or the military. 

 

It was said that her memorial was ‘a tool of education of the lower classes’, to inspire them to courage and unquestioning duty. The upper classes didn’t need encouragement to be brave, fearless or put others before themselves. Apparently.

 

Alice worked in an oil and paint shop owned by her brother-in-law Henry Chandler.  The shop was a three storey corner shop at 194 Union Street.  The Chandler family lived above the shop, with Henry and wife Mary Ann Chandler sleeping in one bedroom with their six-year-old son (also called Henry), and Alice sharing a room on the second floor with her nieces, five-year-old Edith, four-year-old Ellen and three-year-old Elizabeth. 

 

On the night of 24 April 1885, fire broke out ion the ground floor, trapping the family upstairs. Gunpowder and casks of oil were stored in the lower floors of the building, causing the flames to spread rapidly. Although the shop was near the headquarters of the London Fire Brigade and the emergency services were quickly on scene, by the time the fire engine arrived intense flames were coming from the lower windows, making it impossible for the fire brigade to position ladders. 

 

Meanwhile, Alice, wearing only a nightdress, had tried to reach her sister but was unable to get to her through the smoke. The crowd that had gathered outside the building were shouting to her to jump. Instead she returned to the room she shared with the three young girls and threw a mattress out of the window, carefully dropping Edith onto it. 

 

Despite further calls from below to jump and save herself, she left the window and returned carrying Ellen. Ellen clung to Alice and refused to be dropped, but Alice threw her out of the building, and the child was caught by a member of the crowd. 

 

Alice went back into the smoke a third time and returned carrying badly injured Elizabeth, whom she dropped safely onto the mattress. After rescuing the three girls, Alice tried to jump herself, but overcome by the smoke, fell limply from the window, striking the projecting shop sign. She missed the mattress and fell onto the pavement, suffering spinal injuries.

 

Alice was rushed to nearby Guy's Hospital where, because of the public interest her story excited, hourly bulletins were issued about her health. Even Queen Victoria sent a lady-in-waiting to enquire after her condition.

 

The oil and paint stored in the shop caused the fire to burn out of control, and when the fire services were eventually able to enter the premises the rest of the family were found dead. The body of Henry Chandler was found on the staircase, still clutching a locked strongbox filled with the shop's takings, while the badly burnt remains of his wife Mary Ann were found lying next to a first floor window, the body of six-year-old Henry by her side. 

 

Alice’s condition deteriorated and she died in Guy's Hospital on 26 April 1885. Her last words were reported as "I tried my best and could try no more”.  Elizabeth, the last of the children to be rescued, had suffered severe burns to her legs and died shortly afterwards.

 

In 1936, the London County Council renamed White Cross Street, which is near the scene of the fire to Ayres Street in tribute to Alice.  The Chandlers' house no longer stands, and the site is occupied by an office complex; but it is immediately opposite the present-day headquarters of the London Fire Brigade.

 

At the beginning and end of the film Closer, the main character (Natalie Portman) visits the Postman Park memorial and when Jude Law asks her for her name, she spots Alice Ayres’ name on the wall and adopts it in the film from then on.

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The ride ends at the Horseshoe Inn.