Feb 172015
 
Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt shown courtesy of Christ Church College, Oxford.

Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt shown courtesy of Christ Church College, Oxford.

The Eighteenth Century is full of stories of men with great vision, who persevered, and by succeeding, changed the world they lived in. Think of people like Jethro Tull, Josiah Wedgwood, James Watt and Matthew Boulton. But what of the men of great vision who tried – and then failed? One such is Thomas (later Sir Thomas) Tyrwhitt. His dream: to make the wilderness of Dartmoor into a productive bread-basket of the South West of England. He believed that he could tame the wilderness, drain the acidic boggy soil, clear the granite rocks which littered the fields, and plant wheat, and grow plantations of trees to produce wood needed by the Royal Navy.

You only have to visit Dartmoor today, a glorious wild space often shrouded in mist, to see what a spectacular failure it was. It remains untamed, a National Park of extraordinary beauty but little agricultural value. A few sheep, one or two cattle, and the occasional Dartmoor pony, are hardly what Thomas dreamed of when he took a lease of 2000 acres of land from the Duchy of Cornwall, when he was just twenty-three years old. He had been born in 1762/3 to a family living in Essex. Father was a country vicar, and young Tom went to Eton and then on to Christ Church College Oxford. He arrived on Dartmoor in 1785 at a remote spot, with an entourage of workmen, determined to make his mark on the Dartmoor landscape. Labourers cleared fields and constructed drains, while mine-workers dug shafts searching for tin, copper and other metals. They all needed accommodation, and  so Thomas arranged for the building of the Plume of Feathers (still in existence as a public house) where the workers could stay. In 1785 he also started construction of his own residence, still standing today as a fine guest house, known as Tor Royal. With its  shutters, and windows in the roof, it looks to me to be heavily influenced by a French style of architecture.

Tor Royal today.

Tor Royal today.

The ‘Royal’ gives the game away – Thomas was a friend of the Prince of Wales, so he had both money and connection. Both would come in useful as he battled away at taming the countryside. He had been appointed as private Secretary to the Prince, and in 1796 was made Auditor to the Duchy of Cornwall. In the same year he was returned as Member of Parliament by the good people of Okehampton.  By then work on the main structure of his modest little pad at Tor Royal was finished. As the website of the present guest house states: “Tor Royal Farm is Grade II* listed with a walled courtyard featuring a Bell Tower.  The interior boasts a domed ceiling with lantern and an unusual plaster frieze depicting the Princetown Tramway, the plans of which were reputedly drawn up in the house.  There is a single storey suite of rooms with a Plume of Feathers frieze and ornately decorated doors obtained from Carlton House in London when it was demolished.  The House has arched doorways to the domed reception room and many original Georgian features. A walled garden below the Devonport leat has been roofed over and now houses cattle and sheep in the winter months.”

The excellent Patrick Baty carried out detailed research into the paintwork on the mahogany doors at Tor Royal, concluding that they were taken down when Carlton House was demolished in 1827, and establishing that they were originally in place in the Blue Velvet Suite. His blog-post here contains fine photographs of Tor Royal, its arched atrium and the elaborately carved doors. By the time the doors were transported down to Dartmoor, Thomas had already extended the main building to include a suite of rooms apparently designed specifically for the use of the Prince. Sir Thomas certainly knew how to court royal favour, and when he hit upon the idea of establishing a detention centre for French prisoners-of-war, at the height of the Napoleonic Wars, he immediately proposed that the hamlet comprising  the cluster of prison buildings and warden’s quarters should be called Prince’s Town (later, Princetown).

Dartmoor prison The scheme, designed to solve the problem of housing large numbers of prisoners in the Thames estuary in rotting hulks of ships, was popular with the authorities, and in 1806 the foundation stone of the new prison was laid. Two years later it was ready to receive its first inmates and in due course it brought a measure of employment to the area. Prisoners meant guards, and guards needed accommodation. In time the accommodation block became the Duchy Hotel, and a bakery, slaughter-house and brewery were added. Over 5000 prisoners were interred behind the bleak granite walls.

In 1812 Thomas was knighted and made  Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod (‘Black Rod’ for short) with an important ceremonial role in the opening of Parliament. He stayed in office for twenty years. Back on Dartmoor, the prosperity associated with incarcerating those darned Frenchies was lessened when peace was declared. For a while their place was taken by up to 6,500 American prisoners, mostly sailors, captured in the War of 1812. After 1816, even these prisoners were re-repatriated, and the prison cells emptied. It was to be 1851 before the buildings were brought back to life as a secure prison for criminals. Until then, Princetown, by then a small town, was largely redundant and Sir Thomas had to consider other ways of bringing prosperity to the area.

He hit on the idea of constructing a railroad to link Princetown to the coast at Plymouth, convinced that transporting granite blocks quarried on the moor would generate profits for the promoters. It was a half-baked scheme in that the precise route had not been settled – it had not even been surveyed properly. Despite this, work started, leading to a realization that the badly drained and heavily contoured land was going to involve complicated and expensive engineering. The route was changed, meaning that the route now crossed the land of a neighbour, the Earl of Morley. His consent came at a price – the railway company had to agree to run a spur line to the Earl’s kaolin quarries so that the  kaolin (otherwise known as China Clay, used in cosmetics and in the manufacture of high quality paper) could be taken by rail to the port of Plymouth. To add to the problems, the new line had its own unique gauge of four feet six inches, meaning that it was not compatible with other rail links. It was also never intended to be used by steam trains, Sir Thomas and his board assuming that the wagons would be pulled by horse. The intention was that individual hauliers would pay a toll in return for being permitted to bring goods, mostly granite blocks, and the track known as the Plymouth and Dartmoor Railway opened in 1823 with a further extension being finished two years later. It was never going to be commercially viable, because not enough goods were ever transported, and what there was (stone) was entirely a one-way traffic. The anticipated transfer of goods to the interior of Dartmoor never took place, neither lime to fertilize the fields, nor tea,  sugar and other comestibles to sustain the prisoners and their guards. It was never a passenger line, and the project was a dismal failure.

Sir Thomas died in 1833, returning to Calais after he had gone on a holiday aimed at restoring his broken health. He was 71. His dream of taming Dartmoor is thankfully unrealized to this day, but on a crisp winter’s morning, or a  warm summer evening, a visit to Tor Royal has much to commend it. Go to Princetown in the wet, when mist shrouds the ancient field systems, and hangs on the moss-covered gnarled trees, and you get a picture of what it must have been like when Thomas Tyrwhitt first laid eyes on it 250 years ago…

To end with, a reminder of the role of the Black Rod in the year 1820. Convening Parliament involved the door to the House of Commons being ceremonially slammed in the face of the Black Rod, after  Parliament had been summonsed to investigate claims of adultery levelled against Caroline of Brunswick, the wife of the Prince Regent. Sir Thomas would have used his staff of office to strike the door three times, calling the members of the Commons to attend the House of Lords where the evidence of adultery was to be heard. The trial, in 1820, was recorded in a painting made some two to three years  later by Sir George Hayter, and now held in the National Portrait Gallery:

The trial of Queen Caroline 1820

The trial of Queen Caroline 1820, with Black Rod somewhere amongst the throng, holding his staff of office.

The trial failed to establish the claim, despite the evidence that she had been openly living with her “valet” Bertolomeo Pergami in Italy. Besides, the public were outraged at the appalling treatment of Princess Caroline – after all, she was hardly deserving of criticism when her husband was known to everyone as a serial adulterer, whore-monger and rake. The hypocrisy was unacceptable. Sir Thomas played his ceremonial part in the trial, but in the end the public disquiet prevailed. However when George III died and the Regent prepared to step into his father’s shoes, he banned Caroline from the coronation. The poor woman couldn’t take the hint, turned up at the Abbey, and was turned away at the point of a bayonet. She fell ill shortly afterwards, convinced that she had been poisoned, and died a few days later. Somehow I feel that both Princess Caroline and Sir Thomas had much in common – both of them died unfulfilled and largely un-mourned. Neither of them achieved what they had spent their adult lives pursuing – but I for one am glad that Dartmoor remained as a big, boggy, wilderness.

Feb 062015
 

Lancelot Capability Brown                          Lancelot Brown, 1716 to 1783

Lancelot Brown was born in Northumberland in 1716. As a lad he became a gardener’s boy at Sir William Loraine’s seat at Kirkhale Hall. In 1741,he joined Lord Cobham’s gardening staff at Stowe in Buckinghamshire, where he served under William Kent (one of the founders of the new English style of  landscape garden). While at Stowe, Brown married a local girl (sometimes described as being Kent’s daughter) and had the first four of his children.. He served as head gardener at Stowe before moving to London in 1751. He then purchased a small estate at Fenstanton and Hilton in 1767, later acquiring the manor of Fenstanton in 1770.

Hampton Court

Richard’s diary entry showing his visit to see Brown’s handiwork at Hampton Court. (In practice Brown was only appointed Head Gardener earlier in 1761 and his influence would barely have started to become apparent).

The roll-call of his commissions is impressive to say the least: Hampton Court, Warwick Castle, Blenheim Palace, Bowood House, Longleat, Chatsworth and to a lesser extent Kew Gardens, to name but a few of the 170 gardens he helped design. His nick-name came from his invariable assertion to land-owners that their land had ‘capabilities’ for improvements to the landscape. He called himself a ‘place maker’ rather than a landscape gardener.

 

His style was as far removed from the formal knot gardens and planted-up flower beds as it is possible to get. For Brown, emulating nature was the name of the game, with rolling hills, meandering streams, serpentine-shaped lakes with overhanging trees, and perfect vistas at every turn.

Capability Brown died on sixth February 1783, in London, leaving behind a legacy unparalleled in the history of English gardening. Indeed one of the criticisms made against Brown was that he destroyed so much of what had gone before. The architect Sir William Chambers complained that Brown’s grounds “differ very little from common fields, so closely is nature copied in most of them.” Another author commented that he hoped to die before Brown so that he could “see heaven before it was ‘improved.” His works destroyed the three greatest Baroque gardens in England; Longleat House in 1757, and Chatsworth and Blenheim in 1760. In its place he brought a parkland style which became so popular that there can hardly be a stately home in the country which doesn’t show Brown’s influence to some degree.

He is buried at Fenstanton Church, Cambridgeshire.

 

Feb 012015
 

 

 

 

Four year and four months after he was abandoned (at his own request mind you) on an uninhabited island on a remote archipelago off the coast of Chile, Alexander Selkirk looked up and saw a sight he probably had despaired of ever seeing: a sail coming over the horizon. The date was 1st February 1709. As the sailing ship The Duke drew closer, he managed to signal the crew on board, and soon his lonely vigil was over.

The Duke was not the first vessel to have visited the island since Selkirk’s spell as a castaway began – twice, Spanish ships had called to the island, but Selkirk remained in hiding since he knew that he would be killed if he was sighted. He was after all a privateer who had preyed on Spanish vessels in the area for some years.  

Born in 1676 in Scotland, the seventh son of a cobbler and tanner, he went to sea and in 1703 joined up with William Dampier, a famous buccaneer/privateer of the time. He was made sailing master on board the galley Cinque Ports under the command of the captain, one Thomas Stradling (with whom Dampier had fallen out).

The Cinque Ports had called in at the remote island in 1704 to take on fresh water and any other provisions such as fresh fruit which might be had. Selkirk had by now become a thorn in the captain’s side . Selkirk kept banging on about how unsafe the vessel was, and apparently went so far as to see if others would join him in his quest to be left ashore. Stradling headed down the mutiny but granted Selkirk his request to be allowed to stay behind. All he had brought ashore with him was a musket, gunpowder, carpenter’s tools, a knife, a Bible, some clothing and rope. He was given enough quince marmalade and cheese to provide just one day’s worth of sustenance, but he was confident that a rescue vessel would be ‘ just around the corner’….only it wasn’t!

Arguably, Selkirk made the right call since the storm-damaged Cinque Ports never did make it back to England and most of the crew perished.  The Captain and seven crew members escaped drowning when the ship foundered, and they were picked up by rescuers only to be put in a Peruvian jail and left to rot. But for Selkirk a terrifying and lonely vigil was about to begin. Luckily for him he was a practical man, good with his hands, and fleet of foot. This enabled him to hunt and kill feral goats which had been left on the island by earlier sea-farers, and to fashion clothing out of their hides using skills learned from his shoe-making father. A nail for a needle, an ability to collect shellfish, a penchant for wild berries, a few goats for company, what more could a man want?

The Duke was under the command of Woodes Rogers, who termed Selkirk ‘Governor’ of his island, promoted him in due course to mate, and gave him command of one of his ships. Later, Rogers was to write  ‘A cruising voyage round the world: first to the South-Sea, thence to the East-Indies, and homewards by the Cape of Good Hope’ – it was published in 1712 and included an account of Selkirk’s ordeal.

Selkirk returned briefly to his home town of Lower Largo in Fife  1717, and it must have been one huge shock for his family, who had long since presumed him dead when he walked into the kirk where they were worshiping – and him in all his lace and finery! He apparently  stayed long enough to persuade a 16-year-old dairymaid to elope with him to London on the promise of marriage.  They never wed and indeed Selkirk decided to go to sea again within weeks of reaching the capital. Eventually he married a widow in Plymouth, and died on board the Royal Navy ship Weymouth in 1721, probably of yellow fever. He was buried at sea off the west coast of Africa.

His exploits as a marooned sailor inspired the wriitng of both Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver’s Travels.