Tag Archives: london

Book Review: The Bloodless Boy by Robert J Lloyd

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Rob Lloyd
At work in EC3, I am surrounded by references to Robert Hooke’s London. Gresham College, where Hooke lived and worked for many years, was originally on the site of the former Nat West Tower on Old Broad Street. The Monument, designed by Hooke to memorialise the Great Fire, is just down the road. I pass his masterpiece church, St Edmund King & Martyr, every morning on Lombard Street on the way to the office. And Hooke was buried just across the street from me in St Helen’s Bishopsgate.

Gresham College

The Monument

St Edmund, King & Martyr, Lombard Street

Hooke’s burial plaque at St Helen’s, Bishopsgate

Despite all these reference points, I have to admit to knowing relatively little about Hooke or his work. My own researches have kept me in Georgian and Regency London for most of the past decade and until I started Robert J Lloyd’s thriller The Bloodless Boy, I knew next to nothing about the Restoration or about London in the period immediately after England’s Civil War.

Let me say it from the outset, The Bloodless Boy is a cracker that had me gripped from the first chapter and me on edge until the end. The story is set in 1678 in the London of Charles II. A New Philosophy is in vogue and a new London is being rebuilt after the Great Fire, led by the great thinkers of the Royal Society including Sir Christopher Wren, Sir Isaac Newton and Robert Hooke. The story centres around the polymath Hooke, who at the outset of the book is Curator of Experiments at Gresham College.

Lloyd does a magnificent job of evoking the atmosphere of the New Philosophers. From the opening sentence when Harry Hunt, Hooke’s young assistant, stops to examine raindrops on his spectacles turning to snow, we are constantly reminded of the presence of enquiring minds. The bloody and brutal Civil War, only decades earlier, casts a long shadow. When Hooke and Harry are roped into an investigation into why a young boy’s body has been dumped on the bank of the Fleet, its blood first having been drained, Hooke instinctively seeks to keep a low profile, fully aware of the the dark secrets and past allegiances that have led to so many lives being lost. But Harry, too young and innocent to remember the conflict, and keen to emerge from Hooke’s shadow by earning his own scientific stripes, cannot stop his burning ambition and curiosity from dragging him irrevocably into the path of a dangerous plot hatched by men with regicide on their minds.

Lloyd maintains a lively, exciting pace, driven by short chapters and frequent changes of scenery. His biggest achievement is to bring vividly to life all his main characters: the pallid, tetchy and ambitious Hooke; the sinister and calculating Lord Shaftesbury; the intelligent, charming and disarming Charles II. These famous names spring to life without ever seeming artificial, but Lloyd’s biggest success is with Harry Hunt – Hooke’s little-known assistant, known to history only from passing references in Hooke’s diary, whom Lloyd develops into an attractive hero: modest, conscious of his own failings, loyal to Hooke but anxious to prove his own worth through hard work and bravery in a world of geniuses.

As the story develops, we meet many of the leading figures of Restoration London: John Locke, Titus Oates, and of course Hooke and King Charles himself. There is an attention to historical detail that would impress readers of Patrick O’Brian, and Restoration London’s geography comes vividly alive: Wren’s famous churches are still works in progress – for example we are told that St Bride’s is partly rebuilt in Fleet Street but ‘still without its spire’. We also visit Garraway’s Coffee House, The Monument, the old London Bridge with its waterwheel, Truman’s Black Eagle Brewery on Brick Lane, the Whitechapel Bell Foundry and the Chelsea Physic Garden.

The Bloodless Boy had its roots in Lloyd’s MA thesis, which explored Hooke’s role as Britain’s first professional scientist. It has taken a long time to reach fruition and I really hope it gets the success it deserves. Rob tells me there’s a follow up in the works, so look out for that too.

The Bloodless Boy is available here as an e-book from Amazon, at £1.99 it was worth every penny. 5 stars!

You can learn more about Robert J Lloyd’s work at his Facebook page, here.

More on the history of this part of the City of London in this post on the Old Signs of Lombard Street, here.

 

 

 

The Dragon and the Grasshopper

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My last post on London’s weathervanes ended with a brief mention of the eleven-foot golden grasshopper of the Royal Exchange. Since writing it I’ve been learning more about the grasshopper, and about its relationship with another beautiful old vane, the great nine-foot dragon that flies above Wren’s magnificent steeple of St. Mary-le-Bow:

 

It’s rather lovely to reflect that the dragon has been up there, taking all that the Thames valley’s gusty weather can throw at it, for more than three centuries, dating back to the rebuilding of St. Mary-le-Bow in 1679 after the Great Fire. Records show that a sum of £4 was paid to Edward Pearce, Mason, for carving the wooden model on which the dragon was based; and that a further £38 was paid to Robert Bird, the coppersmith who made the dragon itself. It is said that when the dragon was raised to its pinnacle it was accompanied by the famous Jacob Hall, a noted trapeze artist of the time, who performed a high wire act to the astonishment of the watching crowd.

In my previous post I noted that it is said that the Royal Exchange grasshopper is even older, possibly dating back to the original Exchange built in 1567. Images of that building (see below) clearly show that there were several similar grasshopper vanes mounted on the roof, but I’ve seen other sources that suggest these were lost in the Great Fire and that the current vane is from the second Exchange dating from 1669. If anyone has the definitive position, please let me know in the comments box!

 

 

With the exception of the giants Gog and Magog – and possibly Dick Whittington’s cat – I can’t think of any more deeply symbolic emblems of London’s great history. As explained in my earlier post about the old signs of Lombard Street, the grasshopper is the family emblem of Sir Thomas Gresham, Elizabethan merchant adventurer and founder of the Royal Exchange. The dragon, with its association with the cross of St.George (the badge of Londoners since at least the reign of Edward I) has been depicted as the bearer of the City coat of arms for centuries.

 

 

Note that the St Mary-le-Bow dragon also has the red crosses painted on the undersides of its wings, as shown below.

 

Until the late 20th century the vanes were two of the highest points in the City (the dragon is 221 feet high and the grasshopper 188 feet) and ever since they were erected, Londoners have imagined a relationship between the creatures, often reflecting the uneasy tension between organised religion and commerce. For example, in 1698, a tract, Ecclesia & Factio, was published as a dialogue between dragon and grasshopper about religious freedom:

 

In the early 19th Century, one Skryme (see note 1), an apothecary known for sensationalist predictions of doom, took to broadcasting a prophesy that ‘when the grasshopper on the top of the Exchange shook hands with the dragon on the top of Bow Church steeple, fearful events would take place’. As luck would have it, in 1820 the same architect happened to be engaged in repairing both creatures and for a time both vanes lay ‘cheek by jowl’ as it were, in the same workshop. And sure enough, within a year Mr Skryme was able to report that:

King George III had died; a royal duke had died suddenly; another, in France, had been murdered; there had been radical meetings in all parts of the kingdom; the bloody scenes in Manchester [Peterloo]; the great plot in Cato Street – and above all, the Queen [Caroline, estranged wife of George IV] had returned to England. All these and similar events are recounted by Mr Skryme with a mysterious look, and a dismal shake of the head…

These great weathervanes take such a battering from wind and rain that it is no surprise that major overhauls are needed from time to time. The dragon was taken down for repairs in 1760 and again, as caused Mr Skryme such consternation, in 1820. On the latter occasion a young Irish labourer accompanied it on its descent by sitting on its back and using his feet to manoeuvre it around the various obstacles, ‘which daring feat was witnessed by many thousand persons’ (see note 2).

The grasshopper has been subject to more recent repairs and I am delighted to be able to share some details and images of the process followed, which were very kindly provided by John Wallis of Dorothea Restorations (see note 3) who carried out the work:

 

The grasshopper was manufactured from copper and had been badly damaged. The surviving body was panel beaten back into shape and the broken sections repaired using copper and soldering in place using high lead content solder. The legs, which were some of the weakest elements, were reinforced using copper tube and fixed to the main structure. The original paint covering was carefully removed by gently flame cleaning and scraping. The whole structure was then lightly sanded by hand to remove any remaining paint.
An etch primer was applied to the whole structure, followed by several coats of a cream enamel paint to provide a smooth surface of the correct colour for gilding.
The gold was applied on top of an oil based size and was 23.5 ct double thick loose leaf. This is a great image as it really gets across just how huge the vane is.
And finally, here is the grasshopper, resplendent after its makeover, back in its rightful place on top of the Exchange where it can turn in the wind and chat the days away with its fire-breathing friend down Cheapside (the spire of St. Mary-le-Bow can be seen in the photo, just in front and to the right of St.Paul’s).

If you liked this post and enjoy reading about London history, you may like to read about my book The Boss of Bethnal Green: Joseph Merceron, the Godfather of Regency London.

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Notes and sources

1. The Edinburgh Monthly Review, Vol IV (Sep1820), p.330.

2. Antiquities and Curiosities of the Church, edited by William Andrews; London :  William Andrews & Co., 1897; pp. 175-182.

3. I am very grateful to John Wallis of Dorothea Restorations for sharing these details and allowing me to publish his images.

 

Vanity and Wind

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Looking skywards in London can be surprisingly rewarding. There’s so much detail up there, passing most of us by, most of the time. Weathervanes, for example. Dozens of them, perched on top of our churches and other buildings. They range from the run-of-the-mill weathercock to a wide variety of other creatures and inanimate objects, usually with an interesting and emblematic significance linking them to their particular home.

Weathervanes are an ancient invention, dating back to at least the first century BC when a vane was erected on the Temple of the Winds in Athens. The common use of the cockerel or rooster is believed to be linked to an edict of Pope Nicholas in the 9th Century that all church steeples be surmounted by the symbol of Christ’s betrayal by St. Peter (that Peter would deny Christ three times before the cock crowed on the morning following the Last Supper). The Bayeux Tapestry (1) shows a workman attaching a weathercock (the less charitable might see it as a squirrel) to the roof of Westminster Abbey:


Here are ten London weathervanes I’ve spotted recently. We’ll begin with the traditional poultry, and then move on to some of the more idiosyncratic varieties.



All-Hallows-by-the-Tower. A very traditional-looking vane, on the City of London’s oldest church (originally built c.675, although gutted during the Blitz and extensively rebuilt after the Second World War). This vane is a good illustration of the two main rules of weathervane-making: (1) the centre of gravity must sit directly over the central spindle; (2) the surface area of one side should be significantly greater than the other. With such a big tail, the cockerel will face into the wind and give the direction from which it is blowing (it appears the wind was South-Westerly on the day I took this photo…)

St. Dunstan-in-the-East. Another weathercock sits atop Wren’s beautiful spire with its four flying buttresses. The main body of the church was ruined in the Blitz and never rebuilt. It is now a rather lovely enclosed garden.

Our third weathercock is at St. Katherine Cree on Leadenhall Street. Another beautiful building, dating mostly from the early 17th Century and one of the very few City churches to survive both the Great Fire and the Blitz almost unscathed.

Perhaps the next most popular category of weathervanes is the ship. Unsurprisingly given its great maritime history, London has its fair share of these:

Trinity House, Trinity Square is the HQ of the General Lighthouse Authority for England, Wales and the Channel Islands. Trinity House has been looking after shipping for more than 500 years so it is fitting that it is overseen by this model of a 16th century ship.
A rather more ornate ship adorns the pinnacle of the splendid Two Temple Place, near Temple Underground station and built for William Waldorf Astor in 1895. It is a representation of Columbus’s Santa Maria, intended by Astor to symbolise the path of discovery of his own ancestors and the linking of the US and Europe.
Another fitting nautical tribute is the replica of the Pilgrim Fathers’ Mayflower above the famous Liberty store in Great Marlborough Street. Not just because of the associations between the US and liberty, but because the store’s famous mock-Tudor beams were recycled from two ships, HMS Hindustan and HMS Impregnable.
It’s not all chickens and ships, however. The church of St Peter-upon-Cornhill boasts a rather large and ornate representation of St.Peter’s key to the gates of Heaven…
…and there is a wide variety of other creatures adorning London’s rooftops. For example at the former Billingsgate Market on Lower Thames Street, we should not be surprised to find:
…whereas at St. Helen’s Place off Bishopsgate, the former premises of the Hudson’s Bay Company, once masters of the Canadian fur trade, is topped by a golden beaver.
And finally, it is surprising how few people notice the giant creature at the very top of the Royal Exchange…
…this beautiful golden grasshopper, the family emblem of the Exchange’s founder Sir Thomas Gresham. This is a real whopper at around eleven feet long, and is believed to be from the original incarnation of the Royal Exchange built around 1567, having survived both the Great Fire and a further conflagration that destroyed the second Exchange in 1838.
You can read more about the Gresham grasshopper in our separate post on the old signs of Lombard Street, click here.
Sources and further reading
(1) Source: http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/domesday/images/bayeux-029.jpg
All other images © @HistoryLondon