Jan 122016
 

Skaiting-dandies, shewing ofOK, so I have done Gillray and I have done Rowlandson: how about the lesser mortals who caricatured those intrepid skaters (or even, skaiters)? Again courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library, here is “Skaiting Dandies Shewing Off” drawn by Charles William and believed to have been published by Thomas Tegg in 1818. [As a complete aside, some time when I have nothing better to do I must look up when “shew” became “show”. I can just about remember a sign on the top of a double-decker bus (in the 1950’s) with a sign saying “Tickets must be shewn” but it was already archaic and seemed very strange – which is why I remember it to this day].

While The Ladies are wrapped up warm, a number of dandified males end up making complete asses of themselves, colliding into each others arms. A man in a topper is lacing on his skates while his friend is already executing something vaguely resembling a plie – no doubt to impress the watching females. The colliding males are saying “On Lord, how they are laughing at us!” Another man with splendid side burns remarks “What are you at there! You will put my wig out of Buckle” which garners the response “Pon my honor Sir, I beg pardon! You must thank the ladies” as they sink into a firm if unintended embrace.

Pleasing pastimeThe second caricature is entitled “Pleasing Pastime, or a Christmas Quadrille”. The man about to crash head-first through a hole in the ice grabs desperately at the skate of one of the men, causing him to lose balance. The other hand grabs the tail of the jacket of another man, who in turn flings out a hand and grabs the nose of a fourth intrepid skater. All four are destined for an icy bath…

It was published in 1826 by Thomas McLean and is described as being drawn by ‘A Frost’ (presumably Jack’s brother!). It gives a good idea of how the skate was tied onto the shoe, with three straps.

skateAnd finally, an altogether more elegant gentleman, drawn by M Egerton for print-maker Henry Pyall in 1825, and published by J Brooker. It is entitled  simply “Skate”. Mind you, if I saw the supercilious  blighter coming towards me I would try and knock his hat off. Rather like smug cyclists who ride their bikes with their hands in their pockets, as if to say “How clever I am – look, no hands!” Definitely deserve to be taken down a peg or two…

winterOK so it wasn’t ‘finally’. I end with an earlier style of engraving, actually dating from 1794 from publishers Robert Laurie and James Whittle. In a way it is much closer to the mezzotints produced by Carington Bowles  in the previous decade and shows a naval gentleman accompanying his girlfriend to a spot where they can observe the skaters. She may well be wrapped up warm with her cape and muff and ever-so-elegant hat, but her expression suggests that she would rather have stayed indoors. I like the costume worn by the little girl, playing with her dog.

Ah well, enough of ice and snow. Back to the warmth of a coal fire…

Jan 102016
 

As a follow-up to the post a couple of days ago featuring Gillray’s skating-themed etchings, I thought a Rowlandson would be appropriate. Except that it was actually made some years earlier than the Gillray, so I suppose it is a prequel rather than a follow-up…..

Cold Broth and  Calamity Rowlandson 1792It is called  “Cold broth and Calamity” and appears on the ever-useful Lewis Walpole site. Thomas Rowlandson drew the scene of various figures falling through the ice in 1792, and in that original form it appears on the British Museum site. It was published by S W Fores the same year, and it re-surfaced again as a published print in 1800.

Trying to match up the fallen skaters with their skates is not easy, but there are two figures in the foreground with three pairs of skates waving in the air. Beyond them two skaters come to the surface. In the background a parson is about to take a tumble, while his companion loses his wig and hat. There is even a tent pitched on the ice, and a small group of onlookers have gathered to observe the  icy scene.

Rowlandson used a pen with coloured inks to draw the picture, and it was  then used in subsequent satirical engravings. Ackermann included it in  1808 in his series ‘Miseries of human life’ but by that time a large woman was shown joining the parson as he is about to take a tumble, and an equally large woman joined the group of onlookers, horrified at the scene of  impending disaster unfolding before them.

It brings back vague memories of being at boarding school sixty years ago, near Petersfield in Hampshire, where a gang of us pushed an old car onto the ice and then had to scarper like mad when the ice began to crack. I imagine the car is still there at the bottom of the lake, rusting away….

Sep 262015
 

225 years ago my ancestor Richard Hall noted that following the passing of the Duke of Cumberland, there was a period of mourning at Court which was to last six weeks. The entry echoes the way that my ancestor always referred to the monarch as “good” King George. He clearly approved of the King, sympathised with him over his bouts of illnesses, and previously had remarked whenever there were signs of recovery.

DoC 001 I am not quite clear why the period of general mourning was delayed, since Prince  Henry, Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn, actually shuffled off this mortal coil on 18 September. Perhaps it took a week for anyone to notice…. the Prince was the son of Prince Frederick, and was 44 at the date of his death. I like the man because of his colourful affairs. When caught in flagrante with the wife of Lord Grosvenor he was sued for damages in crim. con. and ended up having to touch up his brother (the King) for ten thousand pounds, plus costs of three thousand pounds. Lawyers, even then, didn’t come cheap!

On the debit side, he helped popularise Brighton by introducing the Prince of Wales to the delights of sea bathing and general carousing, away from the court of George III. I don’t think I can forgive him for that, because Brighton has been a nightmare for motorists ever since…

What else was happening to Richard on This Day in History? Well, in 1780 it was “a fine day, very warm”, but Richard omits saying what he did with his time so he may well have been sitting around with his feet up, catching the late autumn rays! The following year was positively hectic, as he caught the Oxford Stage and got there,  in safety, in time for a spot of Supper. It was a fine day mind you, but “very Cold”. In 1782 it was the night of the Harvest Supper (“pretty fine day, mild”). The following year was “a delightful fine day” spent taking tea with Mr Freeman, dining with Mrs Snooke,and attending a sermon taken from Jeremiah  2, part 31. Things hadn’t improved by the following year when it was ” very wet in the morning, after, part dull, fine-ish with some rain in the evening.” So, nothing exceptional  ever happened on 26 September, and then to cap it all, Richard would have had to close his shop just because the Duke had popped his clogs….

It is however interesting to compare and contrast what Richard had to say, with the comments made by his brother-in-law William Snooke. Richard always wrote about the weather, whereas William never once tells us if it raining or shining. Instead, he busied himself on 26 September 1775 saying that he”went afield and had a syllabub instead of Tea”. That day he also mended the stucco, and paid two shillings to Thomas Reynolds for half a hundred crayfish which he had “had some time ago” and forgotten to pay for! The year before that he had attended Burford Fair, while “Mrs Dunn and Mrs Roper went to Cirencester in a chaise a little after 8 o’clock”. He appears to have had a full house that night, because he notes that  “Mr Willis and Mr Whiting also supp’d, and slept in our house in one bed”. (Mind you, I can remember  the family putting up people in a shared bed, usually end to end!).

Good old William: he always jotted down if he had a memorably fine  meal, and on this day 1768 he “din’d on a Gammon of Bacon, Apple Dumplings and Fillet of Veal”. It must have put him in a good mood, because he promptly gave his wife a present of five guineas, paid one shilling and sixpence for a hare, and “gave an old man at Mr Freeman’s one shilling.”

Somehow I get the impression that William always enjoyed 26 September (and every other day of the year come to that) rather more than Richard did!

Apr 102015
 

a volcanoToday marks the two hundredth anniversary of the explosion of Mount Tambora in the Dutch East Indies (now, Indonesia) – an  event which caused catastrophic damage not just in the Far  East, but to weather patterns throughout the globe. It led to what has been termed ‘the year without a summer’; to countless deaths and starvation; to crop failures world-wide   – and to the most glorious sunsets, inspiring artists like Turner to experiment with ever-bolder use of colours to try and capture Nature’s glory.

Sir Stamford Raffles

Sir Stamford Raffles

The first sign that a catastrophic event was about to unfold was on 5 April 1815, when thunderous explosions were heard upwards of eight hundred miles away. They were noted by Sir Stamford Raffles (the man who went on to found Singapore, and who gave his name to Raffles Hotel) and apparently  five days later ‘a sound like distant gunfire’ was detected on Sumatra, some sixteen hundred miles away. This incredible noise was followed by a massive explosion, estimated as being four times more powerful than Krakatoa, as Mount Tambora blew itself to pieces. Ash, rock, pumice and a pyroclastic flow swept down to the sea on all sides of the mountain , killing tens of thousands of islanders. A tsunami followed, causing more devastation, destroying homes and crops, and resulting in mass starvation throughout the Dutch East Indies.

What the explosion also did was to pump thousands of tons of sulphur dioxide into the upper atmosphere, where the jet stream dispersed the gas over all parts of the globe. Fogs were commonplace, and snow fell in unseasonable times of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, as temperatures plunged. In India the monsoon pattern was disrupted not just that year, but for the three following years. Again, this led to crop failures, starvation, and innumerable deaths from lung disease.

This global phenomenon was called all sorts of different things at the time – from  ‘the year without a summer’  to ‘the Poverty Year’, ‘The Summer that never was’ and the rather evocative ‘Eighteen hundred and Froze to Death.’ In Europe, the drop in temperatures led to the failure of wheat and potato harvests. Mass starvation followed, with the worst famine of the whole of the nineteenth century. Food riots broke out, grain stores were looted – and beggars filled the streets. Widespread flooding followed the heavy rainfalls produced by the abnormal climatic conditions, leading in turn to typhoid and cholera outbreaks spread by contaminated water.

For several decades the dust in the atmosphere gave rise to splendidly-coloured sunsets, captured by Turner throughout the 1820’s and 1830’s, as in these two:

J.M.W. Turner's 'Sunset over a Lake'

J.M.W. Turner’s ‘Sunset over a Lake’

Turner 's 'Sunset' from 1830-5

Turner ‘s ‘Sunset’ from 1830-5

(The picture at the start of this blog of the volcano erupting is actually of Vesuvius, by Joseph Wright of Derby, not of Mt Tambora; but then, Wright never saw Vesuvius erupting (it was dormant when he visited it) so I am using his imaginary view to represent Tambora. It appears courtesy of the Huntington Library, San Marino, California).

Dec 312013
 

To mark the end of the year  a snippet from Richard’s diary for 1790:aa2

I have not come across a record of the disaster – although the century seems to have been marked by a number of catastrophic drownings in the canals around Amsterdam, often linked to fog. The Gallery of Natural Phenomena refers to a general disaster on  December 14th 1783

“Holland – Fog. Fatal accidents, Amsterdam; coaches fell into canals”

and presumably this was repeated at the end of the century. Meanwhile Richard did love his entries about extreme weather – it must have rounded off his year nicely! What is sad is to see that people are still drowning in considerable numbers in the Dutch capital – though probably as a result of drink rather than fog. Fifty one deaths by drowning in the last three years…

Post Script:   Since this was published I received corroboration of the events of 31st December 1790 from the ever-so-helpful Baldwin Hamey, who does a fascinating blog called London Details here. He referred me to this engraving. The caption apparently reads “In the heavy fog several people and a coach have gone into the water. Torches produce more light to see.”

It appears on this Dutch site  and copyright belongs to Amsterdam City Archives. Thanks Baldwin!

1111

Jul 152013
 

Richard Hall was fascinated by extreme weather conditions and loved writing down tittle-tattle from around the country. I like the description of the storm which happened off Lerwick in 1797:

A

B

In case your eyesight isn’t up to deciphering the spidery scrawl:

“Letter from Lerwick, a town in Scotland, July 15, 1797.

A boat with six men from there, ling fishing,  was overtaken with a storm of lightning & thunder – the boat’s shrouds were burnt, the mast and part of the boat shivered to pieces – the men’s stockings were burnt within their boots, their underjackets and flanel shirts totally burnt, but their skins, boots and outside jackets not hurt. One of them had a watch in his pocket, which was melted and destroyed. All of them were providentially saved, but stunned & in a state of stupefaction for some time after they were taken ashore.”

Two days later a horrendous storm struck London: “Very early in the morning a tremendous storm of Lightning and Thunder and great rain. Was particularly dreadful in London. The Lightning & Thunder very awful – what a Mercy to be preserved! The Newspaper says ‘of the dreadful flashes of Lightning & the awful peals of Thunder that prevailed no adequate description can possibly be given’

C

Apr 232013
 

Writing in his notebook about extreme weather conditions, Richard Hall notes:

Terrible

The Terrible, launched in Harwich in 1762, was the fourth of that name (if you include vessels captured from the Spanish and the French, and then re-named). It doesn’t seem to have had a particularly impressive life. It was classified as a ‘third rate ship of the line’ and had taken part in the First Battle of Ushant in 1778. Later she went on to feature in the Battle of the Chesapeake but was badly damaged in the encounter and was scuttled by fire (1782). A sad end for a crew which had already suffered the indignity of losing their shirts in a lightning storm!

Mar 152013
 

Richard Hall loved writing about the weather. Quite apart from filling his diaries with entries about the rain and snow, he kept a retrospective note-book on weather abnormalities. Here is his entry for March 1774:

flood 001

Poor old Edward Vickers (I think it is Vickers and not Nickers!) so let us spare a thought for the poor newspaper boys who still have to deliver the papers in all weathers. Some things never change…

Jun 022012
 
The sun pictured during the 2004 transit of Venus (yup, it’s the black dot at the top!)

On June 3rd 1769 Captain James Cook opened his ship´s log and noted:

“This day prov´d as favourable to our purpose as we could wish; not a Clowd was to be seen the whole day and the Air was perfectly clear”

The ‘purpose’ described by him was the primary reason for his voyage on board the Endeavour: to observe the transit of Venus. Also on board was the astronomer Charles Green, and they had gone to Tahiti on the instructions of George III to observe and measure  the silhouette of the planet Venus as it crossed the face of the sun. Once they had completed their observation they were to head south in an endeavour to find the fabled ‘Unknown South Land’.

The astronomer Edmund Halley had been one of the people clamouring for the expedition. In 1716 he correctly predicted that observing and accurately recording the differences in the transit time, measured from two different places on the earth’s surface, would enable scientists to calculate the exact distance of the earth from the sun, and hence measure the size of the solar system. Halley called on the scientific community to combine forces so that accurate measurements could be taken all across the globe, knowing that the fairly straight-forward trigonometry calculation would give the measurement ‘to unlock the secrets of the universe’.

Halley correctly predicted the transit would next occur on June 6, 1761 and again on June 3, 1769. Ironically he never lived ot see either transit – just as he never lived to see the return of the comet which carries his name and whose trajectory he correctly calculated.

But the scientific community heeded his call, and a whole army of scientists embarked for distant places armed with stop watches and telescopes. The numbers they brought back were duly crunched and analyzed, and a conclusion was reached that the distance between the sun and the earth was in the range of 92,900,000 to 96,900,000 miles – very close to today’s figure of 92,960,000 miles.

The astronomical event occurs in pairs eight years apart, and then not again for another 105 years. It was last observed in 2004. This year is therefore the last chance any of us alive as adults today will see the occurrence, due on 5th/6th June 2012, as the next one will not come round until 11th December 2117 (and December 2125).

Statue of Captain Cook at Gisborne, New Zealand

This year’s transit will be best viewed from the Pacific Ocean where it will be visible (cloud cover permitting) for most of the time. In Sydney the transit should start around 8.30 and last until 2.00 in the afternoon. The start of the transit will be visible in North America, and most of Europe  will be able to observe the closing stages. Hard luck on the South Americas and those interested in astronomy in  much of Africa – it will not be visible at all in those areas. In the United Kingdom the transit should be visible an hour after sunrise – at around 6 a.m.

In Australia plans are afoot to send a replica of the Endeavour to Lord Howe Island in June to repeat the  earlier work of Captain Cook. The ballot to get on the crew list of 32 was drastically over-subscribed and each has to pay a substantial sum of money for the privilege of going on the voyage. Any ‘softy’ wanting the luxury of a cabin has had to fork out A$8000 For the rest of us, observing the event through smoked glass, or old X-ray film, is probably the best bet.

More information about the imminent transit can be found at:

http://www.transitofvenus.org/

And because the old maps are often so much more beautiful than their modern counterparts, here is Ferguson’s map showing the 1761 Transit:

May 042012
 

“1800. About May 4th Great Storms of Lightning Thunder & Hail at Windsor – Liverpool – Hull – Northampton – Kettering – Warwick – Lincolnshire etc. Great damage done to a Turnpike House at Minster near Witney. The Turnpike-man (was badly injured).”

 

There were of course hundreds of turnpike houses the length and breadth of the country, as each community formed its own Turnpike Trust to carry out road improvements and in return receive the right to impose road tolls. Although many of the toll houses remain they have often been substantially altered to provide contemporary accommodation. The one pictured here was ‘rescued’ by the Avoncroft Museum near Bromsgrove in Worcetershire. Along with dozens of other recscued buildings visitors get the chance to see buildings ‘as they were’. Well, if it was the Minster Turnpike, I suppose it would have to be “as it was before it got hit by lightning”.

Richard Hall always noted down the expenses of travelling, which included turnpike fees (here, as “TP” or “T Pike”) etc:

 

 

 

 

Each turnpike cottage would display the rates for travellers. This one, from Northchapel, appears courtesy of the website of the Open Air Classroom http://www.openairclassroom.org.uk/Further%20information/information-turnpike%20trusts.htm