CHAPTER IX.
THE STRAND—INTRODUCTORY AND HISTORICAL.
"Come, Fortescue, sincere, experienced friend,
Thy briefs, thy deeds, and e'en thy fees suspend;
Come, let us leave the Temple's silent walls;
My business to my distant lodging calls;
Through the long Strand together let us stray,
With thee conversing, I forget the way."—Gay.
Condition of the Strand in the Days of the Plantagenets and Tudors—Rules for Hackney Coaches—Taylor, the "Water Poet"—Origin of the
Name of the Strand—Graphic Sketch of the Strand Five Centuries ago—New Paving Act—State Pageants—Temple Bar in Danger—Messrs.
Childs' Bank.
During the reign of Henry VIII. an active stir
had commenced for the reparation of streets and
highways in and about the metropolis, and the
necessity for such improvement is fully shown by
the words of the royal statute which was then
enacted for the purpose. In granting permission
to lay out a new road in the Weald of Kent, which
formed an important thoroughfare to London, we
are told that "many other common ways in the
said Weald be so deep and so noyous, by wearing
and course of water and other occasions, that
people cannot have their carriages or passages
by horses, upon or by the same, but to their great
pains, peril, or jeopardy." Nor in approaching
London was the case improved, in several instances
at least; for the suburban districts, as yet only
villages separated from the City by fields, gardens,
and a sprinkling of cottages, were connected with
the City by a highway, often left in grievous disrepair through the negligence of the inhabitants.
Such was the case even with that great artery of
the metropolis—the Strand—of which we are about
to treat.
Frequented though it was, and necessary for
the comfort of the City, yet this highway, in the
thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth years of Henry VIII.,
is described as a road "full of pits and sloughs,
very perilous and noisome." There is extant
somewhere or other in the Rolls of Parliament,
a complaint of the high-road between the Temple
"and the village of Charing" being so deep
in mire as to be almost impassable. In fact it
had earned a thoroughly bad character. It was
described in the statute above quoted as "very
noyous and foul, and in many places thereof very
jeopardous to all people passing and repassing, as
well on horseback as on foot, both in winter and
in summer, by night and by day." By this route,
however, Cardinal Wolsey, when residing in Chancery Lane, used to ride down to Westminster Hall,
in all the magnificence which befitted a "Prince
of the Church," as already described in the first
volume of this work (page 81).
In speaking, however, of the disgraceful condition
of the high-road between London and Westminster,
in the days of the Plantagenets, we are in danger,
perhaps, of forgetting the fact that at that time the
traffic along it consisted mainly of foot passengers,
or riders on horseback, carriages being then almost
as unknown as hansom cabs or omnibuses. Elizabeth, as we know, rode usually on a pillion, even
on state occasions, and fifty years after her, we are
told, there were only thirty vehicles on wheels in
the whole of London. No wonder, therefore, that
many of our old thoroughfares are still narrow in
the extreme.
In the present admirably-paved state of the
streets of the metropolis, the following statement
relative to the Strand, Charing Cross, and Parliament Street, must appear strange:—"In 1353, the
road from London to Westminster had become so
dangerous for the transit of passengers or carriage of goods, as to demand the interference of
Government. A mandate was therefore directed,
in the name of the king and council, dated Westminster, Nov. 20, to John de Bedeforde, of London,
appointing him the commissioner for the paving of
the road in question. This instrument recites, that
the highway leading from the gate called Temple
Bar, London, to the door of Westminster Abbey,
by the frequent passage of carts, horses, merchandise, and provisions, to the Staple at Westminster, ever since its establishment, had become
so deep and muddy, and the pavement so much
injured and broken, that unless soon repaired,
great perils must be incurred by the passage both
of men and of carriages. In order to remedy this
evil, therefore, it was ordained that the foot-pavement adjoining to the houses on the line of the
road should be newly laid, at the expense of the
owners of the nearest houses; and that money
should be levied by tolls on goods sold at the
Staple, to defray the charge of paving the road
between the kennels on each side."
In 1625 there were twenty hackney coaches in
London; but they multiplied so rapidly, that in
ten years afterwards Government took the alarm
at their general use, and endeavoured to limit it,
upon the plea that these carriages "disturbed the
ears of king, queen, and nobles, jostled horse and
foot passengers, tore up the streets and pavements, and increased the price of hay and horse
provender." It was therefore ordered "that no
hackney or hired coaches be used or suffered in
London, Westminster, or the suburbs thereof,
except they be to travel at least three miles out of
the same; and also, that no person shall go in a
coach in the said streets, except the owner of the
coach shall constantly keep up four able horses for
our (the king's) service when required." But the
time had gone by when such despotic edicts were
in force; and Cromwell himself, we are told, was
destined soon after to drive four-in-hand, in Jehu
fashion, through this forbidden territory, and be
capsized for his pains.
Scarcely had this innovation been commenced
in London, when Taylor, the "Water Poet," who
plied a scull upon the Thames, exclaimed, "They
have undone my poor trade!" Speaking of the
coaches, he adds, "This infernal swarm of trade
spillers have so overrun the land, that we can get
no living on the water; for I dare truly affirm, that
every day in any term, especially if the court be at
Whitehall, they do rob us of our livings, and carry
five hundred and sixty fares daily from us." Alluding also to the confusion produced by this startling
civic revolution, he adds, "I pray you look into
the streets, and the chambers or lodgings in Fleet
Street or the Strand, how they are pestered with
them (coaches), especially after a mask or a play
at the court, where even the very earth quakes and
trembles, the casements shatter, tatter, and clatter,
and such a confused noise is made, so that a man
can neither sleep, speak, hear, write, nor eat his
dinner or supper quiet for them."
The scene presented by the thoroughfare of the
Strand, through its entire length, if we may believe
such an eyewitness as John Evelyn, was very gay
and brilliant. He writes in his Diary, "May 29,
1660. This day his majestie, Charles II., came
to London, after a sad and long exile and calamitous suffering both of the king and church,
being seventeen years. This was also his birthday,
and with a triumph above 20,000 horse and foot,
brandishing their swords and shouting with inexpressible joy; the ways strew'd with flowers,
the bells ringing, the streets hung with tapestry,
fountains running with wine; the mayor, aldermen,
and all the companies in their liveries, chains of
gold, and banners; lords and nobles clad in
cloth of silver, gold, and velvet; the windowes
and balconies well set with ladies; trumpets,
music, and myriads of people flocking even so
far as from Rochester, so as they were seven hours
in passing the City, even from two till ten at night.
I stood in the Strand and beheld it, and bless'd
God. And all this war done without one drop of
bloodshed, and by that very army which rebelled
against him; but it was the Lord's doings, for
such a restoration was never mentioned in any
history, ancient or modern, since the return of
the Jews from the Babylonish captivity; nor so
joyful a day and so bright ever seen in this nation,
this happening when to expect or effect it was past
all human policy."
To pass on to a somewhat later date, we are told
by Malcolm that when, in 1689, the number of
hackney carriages in London was limited by Act of
Parliament to 400, the inhabitants of the Strand
and Fleet Street petitioned against any increase in
their numbers, on the ground that "they prevented
the quality from getting to their shops!"
During the time of Queen Elizabeth, considerable
improvement had been effected by the filling up of
the gaps or blanks left between the dwellings that
had already been built along the Strand; and by
the end of her long reign, both sides of this line of
route had been nearly covered with the mansions
of the nobility, so that Westminster may be said at
that time to have been joined on to London. The
still rural character, however, of the districts
abutting on the north side, at the time when the
Strand was only an unpaved road, may be gathered
from the existence to our own day of such names
as the Convent (Covent) Garden, Long Acre, St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields, and Lincoln's Inn Fields,
most of which were open country at the date of the
earliest existing map of the metropolis.
The name of the Strand is clearly of Saxon and
not of Norman origin; and, if we may trust a writer
in the Penny Cyclopædia, it is mentioned by name
in the Saxon Chronicle. And as a proof of the
statement it is recorded that upon the Strand Earl
Godwin and his son Harold drew up their land
forces in the insurrection which they headed against
Edward the Confessor, in A.D. 1052.
We find this thoroughfare sometimes spoken of as
"the High Street of Westminster, commonly called
the Strand," as, for instance, in the lease by which
Sir Wm. Cecil agrees to take his property in this
neighbourhood for a term of years from the Earl
of Bedford. The lease is printed in extenso in the
thirtieth volume of the "Archæologia."
The following graphic sketch, which we take
from All the Year Round, carries us back to the
Strand of five hundred years ago:—
"Beyond the Bars is the river-side road, called
'Strand Street.' It was sorely in need of paving
until lately, when a tax for its repair was levied on
all goods carried along it to the Staple at Westminster. Here, many lords, spiritual and temporal,
have goodly Inns, of which you can see but two
or three: the Bishop of Exeter's close on the left;
the Bishop of Bath's beyond it; and the Bishop of
Chester's, with the old stone cross before it. At
that cross the Judges have sometimes sat to try
pleas. The palace which you can just see to the
left is the Savoy, so called from Peter, Count of
Savoy, who built it in the reign of our Henry III.,
whose Queen was the Count's niece. Now the
Duke of Lancaster is the owner thereof, and John,
the captive King of France, lodged there not long
since. The bridge over the lane in the centre of
the road is called 'Strand Bridge.' On the right
of St. Clement Danes Church you see the wells of
St. Clement and Holy Well; and, beyond them,
the vineyard and convent garden of the Abbey of
Westminster, skirted by the woods of Long Acre.
The church among the fields in the distance is St.
Martin's."
MILFORD LANE IN 1820.
Between the Strand and the river-side there are
four or five great and noble families whose names
and histories are interwoven with the vicinity.
Nearest to Temple Bar, the Devereuxes, Earls of
Essex; next the Howards, of the ducal family of
Norfolk; then the Protector Somerset, the Cecils,
Earls of Salisbury and Exeter, and Villiers, Duke
of Buckingham, to say nothing of the proud line
of Percy, Dukes of Northumberland, who up to
1874 have kept up their town residence at Charing
Cross. About one and all of these in succession we
shall have plenty to say in the next few pages.
Mr. A. Wood, in his "Ecclesiastical Antiquities
of London," tells us that "the Abbot of Westminster had a garden on the banks of the Thames,
where Westminster and London join, near St.
Clement Danes. It was called the 'Frère Pye
Garden,' and stood opposite to the palaces of the
Bishops of Durham and Carlisle." The site is
fixed by its garden, which is now Covent Garden.
The town house of the Duke of Beaufort in
the reign of Charles II. stood here, on the site of
what now are known as Beaufort Buildings; but
the family removed thence to Beaufort House at
Chelsea in 1682. Then there was Essex House,
and the Inn of the Bishops of Norwich (afterwards
York House), which as far back as the reign of
Edward III. spread out their embattled fronts
towards the Strand, while their extensive gardens,
terraces, and water-stairs sloped down to the river.
Spelman says that in the troublous times of the
Tudors most of the houses of the prelates in the
Strand were taken from them by courtiers "without any recompense."
Among the characteristic features of the Strand
at this period were the bridges that spanned the
various water-courses flowing from the meadows
and open fields on the north, and crossing this
thoroughfare in their way to the Thames. One
or two of these bridges were kept in remembrance
down to comparatively recent times in the names
of Ivy Bridge Lane and Strand Bridge Lane, of
the latter of which—now simply Strand Lane—we shall have to speak presently, in connection
with the old Roman bath which is situated there.
Then there was the stone cross, of which old
Stow speaks as being situated in front of the spot
now occupied by St. Mary's Church, and which in
its turn gave place to the famous Maypole, thus
alluded to in the "Dunciad," and of which we
shall speak hereafter:—
"Amidst the area wide they took their stand,
Where the tall Maypole once o'erlook'd the Strand;
But now, as Anne and Piety ordain,
A church collects the saints of Drury Lane."
Stow states that the Liberty of the Duchy of
Lancaster extended from Temple Bar to the east
side of Cecil Street, near what is now the Adelphi,
and from the stocks just outside Temple Bar to
"a stone cross, now headless," over against the
Maypole in the Strand, and along by Exeter
Change and Burleigh Street.
The foot-pavement of this quarter of the town,
as well as of other parts of Westminster, would
seem to have been in a deplorable state as recently
as the year 1762, when a new paving Act was
passed. Until that time, it appears, every inhabitant did before his own house just what was
right in his own eyes, without rule or plan. The
consequence was that some parts of the footway
were paved admirably, some indifferently, and
some were left unpaved—mere pools of mud and
water—according to the wealth or caprice of each
resident. A proof of the general filth of this part
of the Strand may be found in the London Chronicle
of the time, where we read, apropos of the new
measure of reform, "All sorts of dirt and ashes,
oyster-shells, the offals of fish, poultry, and other
kinds of meat, will now no longer be suffered to be
thrown loose into the streets, but must be kept until
the dustman comes round; nor will the annoyances
erected by coachmakers be permitted; and when a
house is pulled down the rubbish must be carried
to the proper place, and not left on the footway."
In the description of the Strand given by him in
1807, Pennant complains of the street as being in
some places too narrow for the incredible number
of persons and carriages passing through it.
The Strand has witnessed in its day some strange
and curious sights. For instance, we read that
Queen Elizabeth, when she rode into the City, sat
on a pillion behind her Lord Chancellor, wagons
and the newly-invented carriages being in disfavour
with her Majesty. Among the numerous pageants
which the thoroughfare of the Strand has witnessed
may be mentioned the procession of Queen Elizabeth in state to St. Paul's, to return thanks for the
victories over the Spanish Armada. Queen Anne
passed this way in state to St. Paul's on several
occasions, to commemorate victories over France
and Spain. In 1704 there was a state visit to the
City to celebrate the victory of Blenheim; and in
like manner have been commemorated the victories
of Ramillies and other important triumphs. Then
there was the religious ceremonial when George III.
and his consort went in state to St. Paul's to offer
a nation's thanks for its king's recovery; the solemn
conveyance of captured banners and the great
naval procession to St. Paul's, headed by the King,
in 1797; the funeral procession of Lord Nelson in
1806, and that of the Duke of Wellington in
1852; and the visits of Queen Victoria, when she
went in state to dine at Guildhall, and to open
the new Royal Exchange, and, in 1872, to return
public thanks for the restoration of the health of
the Prince of Wales.
But probably none of these pageants ever presented a scene so striking as when the gates of
Temple Bar were opened at the approach of the
second Charles on his restoration, and the King,
brought back to his own again, rode gallantly
through the City to Whitehall. The houses of the
Strand were adorned with the richest tapestry, and
window, balcony, and scaffold were crowded with
all that was beautiful and loyal. The streets were
lined with members of the City companies in their
liveries, and the loud music of the trained-bands,
and the din of the bells from a hundred steeples,
were drowned in the cheers of the enthusiastic
populace. This event appears all the more impressive when contrasted with the rueful spectacle
presented by Temple Bar just eighty years later,
when the heads of the most devoted followers of
the house of Stuart were exposed over its gates, as
if in bitter derision of the monarchs of the exiled
Stuart line whose effigies adorn its niches.
As we have already stated, the appearance of
Temple Bar at the present time (November, 1874)
is sufficient to impress any passenger along the
Strand, in his way to the City, with its utterly
hopeless prospect. Temple Bar—almost the last
relic of the geographical sovereignty of London—looks now as if it really needed friends, and its
aspect is forlorn and hopeless in the extreme, and
amply sufficient to justify our reprinting the following lines, written on the report of removing
Temple Bar in 1788:—
"THE METROPOLITAN PROPHECY.
"If that gate is pulled down, 'twixt the Court and the City,
You'll blend in one mass prudent, worthless, and witty;
If you league cit and lordling, as brother and brother,
You'll break Order's chain, and they'll war with each other.
Like the great wall of China, it keeps out the Tartars
From making irruptions where industry barters.
Like Samson's wild foxes they'll fire your houses,
And madden your spinsters, and cozen your spouses;
They'll destroy in one sweep both the mart and the forum,
Which your fathers held dear and their fathers before'cm."
But it is time to pass from these general remarks
to a more detailed account of the thoroughfare of
which we treat.