Chapter V: The Sub-District of St. Barnabas

“Nor rough nor barren are the winding ways
Of hoar antiquity, but strown with flowers.”

WARTON.

THE district parish of St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, stretching southward to the Thames, embraces in its bounds a considerable part of Pimlico. When St. Barnabas’ Church was built, for the local management of the parish, this southern portion was allotted to its minister’s care, and therefore I follow a division most suitable for my plan, and give a brief outline of the history of this part of the parish, in order that my notice may not be incomplete.

Of course, I do not intend to describe the suburb now called Pimlico as a whole, but only that portion of it within the district of St. Paul’s; yet I cannot even do so without touching on one or two items of general history: and first, then, for the name.

The first mention of the name Pimlico appears in the parish books of St. Martin in the year 1626. {245a} The ancient name of the place was Eybury, from the manor of Eia or Eye, signifying water; a most appropriate name for a spot bounded on three sides by running streams. There was a Manor House once existing, which we may infer was of some importance, from its being one of those houses for which a licence to crenellate or fortify was granted. This privilege was granted in 1307 to John de Benstede, by Edward I. {245b} Hence the addition of _bury_ to the original name of Eye or Eia, such addition meaning fortifications.

But to the name. The true explanation of its origin is to be found in a rare, if not unique tract, entitled, “News from Hogsdon,” 1598:—“Have at thee then, my merrie boys, and hie for old Ben Pimlicoe’s nut brown.” {245c} This “old Ben Pimlico,” of Hoxton, kept, in the days of Queen Bess, a right famous hostelrie, a popular place of resort, as numerous allusions in the dramatists {246} of the period testify. Pimlico Walk still exists at Hoxton, and doubtless indicates the pathway along which the pleasure-seekers wended their way to Old Ben’s.

It is evident in the above quotation that a _person_ is alluded to; but the word frequently expresses a _drink_, most probably derived from this worthy. This is evident from the following verses:—

“Let Hogsdon’s scrapers on their base,
Sound fum—fum—fum—from tattered case,
Nor Mean nor Treble now take place,
But Tenor.

A Counter-Tenor is that note.
Tho’ easy—’tis ne’er sung by rote,
But got with wetting well your throat
With claret.

Or stout March beer, or Windsor ale,
Or Labour-in-Vain (so seldom stale),
Or _Pimlico_, whose too great sale
Did mar it.”

THE COUNTER RAT, 1670.

This Ben Pimlico, and the ale named after him, are both spoken of with equal laudation by the dramatists—by Ben Jonson more especially, who lived in the neighbourhood, and doubtless was familiar with both. But in his play of “The Alchemist,” the allusion, I think, points to a bygone place:—

“_Lovewit_: The neighbours tell me all here that the doors
Have still been open—

_Face_: How, sir!

_Lovewit_: Gallants, men and women,
And of all sorts, tag-rag, been seen to flock here
In threwes, these ten weeks, as to a _second Hogsdon_
_In days of Pimlico and Eyebright_.”

This evidence of Jonson I think conclusive that the original Ben Pimlico’s had gone. The question is where; and my reply is, to Ebury. The reasons are—

1st. We had in this locality a pathway known as the Willow Walk, and there is such yet remaining at Hoxton.

2nd. The movement of places of amusement to the western suburbs commenced in the time of James I. At this time the Exchange, Islington, and Hoxton began to lose their charms, and pleasure-folk went to Spring Garden, the Mulberry Garden, &c.

Though this argument, if such it can be called, is wholly inferential, I do not think there is anything to oppose to it, unless the number of places called Pimlico {248} tells against the view taken. But here, again, the probability is that they borrowed their names from the one at Hoxton, because of its popularity; and the coincidence of the Willow Walk is moreover wanting: what I argue for is, that on the decay, for some reason or other, of Ben Pimlico’s establishment at Hoxton, he, or some one belonging to it, came to Ebury, formed his Willow Walk leading to the house, and his popularity being so great, the village became gradually to be called after him, and its ancient appellation imperceptibly lost.

That part of Pimlico now in St. Paul’s district was, in the last century, a complete moral wilderness. As is apparent to the present day, the dwellings were of the meanest character; and it was only the infamous who long lived here. Jerry Abershaw lived in a house along the Willow Walk; and Maclean the highwayman, whom the ladies went to see (according to Horace Walpole), also lived on this spot. Its secure condition for persons of this description may be imagined, when it is recollected that there was, previous to 1768, no direct road to this part. The only way was from Chelsea; the road through Belgrave Place was not fit for carriages till this time. It was then completed and carried on to the Stonebridge, a bridge over the Westbourne, by the end of Wilderness Row. Parties going to Ranelagh by coach went along the King’s Road, a roadway to the left leading to the Grove; but in that day the silent highway of the Thames was much used, and as the ballad tells, the “fine city ladies” delighted in a voyage to Ranelagh or Vauxhall.

The Grosvenor Canal, which forms the boundary of our district on one side, was formed in 1823; its head had been the property of the Chelsea Waterworks Company, who in that year removed their works to their late position at Ranelagh. The canal enters the Thames a few yards eastward of the new Pimlico Bridge, the story of which is too recent, and too much one of “discord dire” to obtain further notice in these pages.

At the foot, where the Pimlico Bridge now stands, was the “White House,” a lonely habitation by the river side, used once by anglers; opposite to which, on the Surrey side, stood the “Red House,” a still more noted place of resort. Fifty yards westward of this spot, according to Maitland, Cæsar crossed the Thames, on his second expedition into Britain; but the opinion of Maitland is not generally shared in by antiquaries, who, notwithstanding the arguments advanced by different writers, in favour of spots they themselves have fixed on, yet in general adhere to the opinion of the father of English antiquaries, and agree with Camden, that this passage of the Thames was at Coway Stakes. Nevertheless it must be borne in mind, that many relics of this period have been found in the bed of the Thames at and about this spot; and during the progress of the bridge, coins and relics of a later time, many of which were Roman, were also discovered.

ST. BARNABAS’ COLLEGE consists of a Church, a Residentiary-house for the Clergy attached thereto, and a School-house, with residence for the teachers. The design originated with the Rev. W. J. E. Bennett, and the ground was the gift of the Marquis of Westminster. The commencement of the work was with the School-house, the foundation-stone of which was laid June 11th, 1846 (St. Barnabas’ Day); the foundation-stone of the Church was laid twelve months later, on which occasion the new School-house was formally opened; and on St. Barnabas’ Day, 1850, the Church was consecrated by the late Bishop of London.

The architecture, chosen by Mr. Cundy, under whose superintendence the College was erected, is the Early Pointed. The Church has a tower and spire of Caen stone, containing ten bells, the gift of as many parishioners; it is 170 ft. high. The interior is of great splendour, the open roof being finely painted, and the windows throughout of stained glass, by Wailes, of Newcastle, and representing incidents of the life of St. Barnabas. The chancel is separated from the body of the Church by a carved oak screen; the other wood fittings are also of oak. The lectern (a brass eagle), the communion-plate, font, and other costly ornaments, were the gifts of private individuals.

The Church has sittings for about 1,000 persons, all of which are free. It was erected entirely by voluntary contributions, and under the energetic incumbency of Mr. Bennett. Its cost has been about £15,000, of which the expense of the carcase of the Church, vestries, and buildings attached, amounted to £10,232.

St. Barnabas is but a Chapel-of-Ease to St. Paul’s, and is under the same legal government. Churchwardens are, however, appointed by the Incumbent of St. Paul’s for the maintenance of order and other similar offices; but, in other respects, the usual legal duties devolve on the wardens of St. Paul’s. The Schools are designed for 600 children—200 each of boys, girls, and infants.

During the Anti-Papal agitation of 1850, this Church was more than once the scene of unseemly disturbances on the part of the mob, and, to suppress which, it was necessary to call in the aid of the police.

AVERY FARM ROW doubtless is a remnant in name of some rural time. A family named Avery frequently appear in the registers of Knightsbridge Chapel, from 1663 to 1691; the probability is they were farmers here. Another Avery Row runs parallel to Bond Street.

BLOMFIELD TERRACE was so named after the late Bishop of London. At No. 1, the late Captain Warner, so well known for his _invention_ of the “long range,” died in December 5th, 1853. He had long resided in the locality, and was well known in it. He left seven children with their mother, in great distress, for whom the Hon. and Rev. Robert Liddell made a public appeal; but it afterwards transpired his wife was living in receipt of parochial relief at Ashford. Warner was buried in the West Brompton Cemetery.

COMMERCIAL ROAD (The), on the right-hand side of the canal, is occupied almost entirely by factories, workshops, and the dwellings of those employed therein. A “House of Refuge,” under the management of the clergy of the parish, is situated here; and also a Ragged School, both supported by public contributions.

Jenny’s Whim Bridge, sometime called the Wooden, and now Ebury Bridge, crosses the canal at the north end of the Commercial Road. Here was a turnpike, similarly named, till 1825. Jenny’s Whim was a very celebrated place of amusement, on the site of St. George’s Row. It was equally the resort of high and low, and with all classes was for a lengthened period a favourite place of recreation. I never could unearth the origin of the name, but presume the tradition told me by an old inhabitant was the correct account, viz., that it was so called from its first landlady, who caused the gardens to be laid out in so fantastic a manner, as to cause the expressive little noun to be affixed to the pretty and familiar christian name she bore. Angelo says it was established by a celebrated pyrotechnist in the reign of George I. The house had a large breakfast room, and the grounds, though not large, contained a bowling green, alcoves, arbours, and flower beds, with a fish pond in the centre. There was also a cock-pit; and in a pond adjacent the brutal sport of duck-hunting was carried on. This is alluded to in the following sketch, quoted from the _Connoisseur_, May 15, 1775:—“The lower sort of people have their Ranelaghs and their Vauxhalls as well as the quality. Perrot’s inimitable grotto may be seen, for only calling for a pint of beer; and the royal diversion of duck-hunting may be had into the bargain, together with a decanter of Dorchester, for your sixpence, at Jenny’s Whim.”

Angelo says:—“It was much frequented, from its novelty being an inducement to allure the curious, by its amusing deceptions. Here was a large garden; in different parts were recesses, and by treading on a spring—taking you by surprise—up started different figures, some ugly enough to frighten you—a harlequin, a Mother Shipton, or some terrific animal. In a large piece of water facing the tea alcoves, large fish or mermaids were showing themselves above the surface.” Horace Walpole, in his Letters, occasionally alludes to Jenny’s Whim; in one to Montagu he spitefully says—“Here (at Vauxhall) we picked up Lord Granby, arrived very drunk from Jenny’s Whim.”

Towards the close of the last century, Jenny’s Whim began to decline; its morning visitors were not so numerous, and opposition was also powerful. It gradually became forgotten, and at last sunk to the condition of a beer-house, and about 1804 the business altogether ceased.

Jenny’s Whim has more than once served the novelist for an illustration; see “Maids of Honour; a Tale of the Times of George the First:”—“There were gardens,” says the writer, mentioning the place, “attached to it, and a bowling green; and parties were frequently made, composed of ladies and gentlemen, to enjoy a day’s amusement there in eating strawberries and cream, syllabubs, cake, and taking other refreshments, of which a great variety could be procured, with cider, perry, ale, wine, and other liquors in abundance. The gentlemen played at bowls—some employed themselves at skittles; whilst the ladies amused themselves at a swing, or walked about the garden, admiring the sunflowers, hollyhocks, the Duke of Malborough cut out of a filbert tree, and the roses and daisies, currants and gooseberries, that spread their alluring charms in every path.

“This was a favourite rendezvous for lovers in courting time—a day’s pleasure at Jenny’s Whim being considered by the fair one the most enticing enjoyment that could be offered her; and often the hearts of the most obdurate have given way beneath the influence of its attractions. Jenny’s Whim, therefore, had always, during the season, plenty of pleasant parties of young people of both sexes. Sometimes all its chambers were filled, and its gardens thronged by gay and sentimental visitors.” {257}

The house is still partly standing, and by its red brick and lattice-work may be easily identified.

GRAHAM STREET.—In this street lived and died a man for many years well known in London, James Thornton. He was _cook_ to the Duke of Wellington throughout the Peninsular and Waterloo campaigns. When, on the death of his great master, it was stated in the papers that the Duke’s dinner on the eventful 18th of June was dressed by a Frenchman, he indignantly wrote to the _Times_, claiming his honour. He possessed an unlimited fund of anecdote, and used to boast he buried Lord Anglesea’s leg, and helped to support Raglan at the amputation of his arm. Thornton died in 1853.

GROSVENOR ROW, together with Queen Street and Jews’ Row, form one thoroughfare. It formerly was one of the most remarkable streets in or around the metropolis, and, to a great extent, is so now. To Jews Row came Wilkie to sketch his “Chelsea Pensioner reading the Account of the Battle of Waterloo,” painted for the Duke of Wellington. The iron gate shown in the picture is still to be seen. The numerous signs bear witness to the military air of the neighbourhood, such as “The Snow Shoes,” a recollection of Wolfe’s glorious campaign, the “General Elliott,” and the “Duke of York.”

Grosvenor Row, which terminates at the Stone Bridge (as the place is marked in old plans), was built in 1768. At the end is the “Nell Gwynn,” a tavern named after the mistress of Charles II. Its sign-board was originally decorated with her likeness; and the legend, firmly believed by old Chelsea folk, that to her the noble institution adjacent owes its foundation, was painted underneath. Nell’s residence at Sandy End has been doubted by Mr. Cunningham. It is certain that her mother resided near the Neate Houses in Pimlico; and, in the records of Knightsbridge Chapel, there are occasionally entries of the name—connections not improbably of the royal mistress. One of the entries, Jan. 13, 1667, records the marriage of Robert Hands and Mary Gwin, the former being the name of a family long resident freeholders in Pimlico, and to whom Chelsea Bun House, which I am now about to notice, belonged.

CHELSEA BUN HOUSE was established early in the eighteenth century, but the exact time is unknown. It had obtained a reputation for its buns as early as 1712; for in that year, Swift, who then resided at Chelsea, mentions buying one of them in his walks. It soon became quite a fashionable resort of a morning: even the Royal Family used familiarly to visit Mrs. Hands, who was a complete living history of all the affairs of the district, and of those who came thither. To her customers her garrulous anecdote was a fund of amusement, and her house and colonnade were continually crowded with loungers. George II., his Queen, and their family, patronised the place, and were frequently to be seen laying siege to its delicacies. George III., too, after he had ascended the throne, did not forget the spot where, in his childhood, he had paid many a pleasant visit; and in his turn, when his family was young, he and Queen Charlotte frequently accompanied it thither. The latter presented Mrs. Hands with a silver half-gallon mug, highly ornamented, and five guineas at its bottom, as a testimony of her appreciation of the attentions bestowed on the royal children.

On Good Fridays the concourse of people drawn hither was immense. Business on this day was always commenced at four o’clock in the morning, by which time numbers of customers were waiting; and on some occasions it has been estimated that fifty thousand persons have assembled here for hours before eight o’clock. Occasionally the crowd became unruly, and disturbances ensued, and it was found necessary to close the establishment partially. Handbills of a warning character were issued, and constables stationed to preserve order.

When Ranelagh declined from its zenith, the Bun House experienced the reverse of fortune. Parties visiting the former generally called to patronise the latter before they entered; and the success of the one depended more perhaps than would have been easily credited on that of the other, and it gradually dwindled away to complete insignificance.

The Bun House consisted of but one storey, was about 50 ft. in length by 14 ft. in breadth, with a colonnade in front projecting over the pavement, and affording a convenient shelter in wet weather. The interior was fitted up in a perfectly unique manner; the array of curiosities of every kind, and various countries, forming a collection amusing and grotesque. There were artificial and natural curiosities, the former including models of St. Mary Redcliffe, and of a ship; clocks of curious devices, and a model on horseback of the Duke of Cumberland, in the costume worn at Culloden; two grenadiers in the costume of the same period, four feet in height, in lead, and weighing each nearly two hundredweight. There were also some paintings, the most famous of which was the portrait of Aurungzebe, Emperor of Hindostan. The natural curiosities consisted of stuffed birds and animals, minerals, ores, and similar rarities, arranged in cases; while the furniture, antique in manufacture, multifarious in design, strong in make, and comfortable in use, added to the peculiarity of the place, and its attractions. In the King’s collection in the British Museum is an engraving of “A Perspective View of Richard Hands’ Bun House, at Chelsea, who has the Honour to serve the Royal Family.”

Various improvements being carried out in this part of Pimlico, in accordance with an Act of Parliament (introduced by Sir Matthew Wood), passed in 1839, the Bun House was condemned and pulled down in that year; preserving its ancient appearance, though not its ancient reputation, to the last.

After Mrs. Hands died, her son carried on the business. He was a most eccentric character, and dealt also largely in butter, which in all weathers he carried about the streets in a basket. He, like his mother, was thoroughly versed in the lore of the district, and like the old Bluegown in Scott’s “Antiquary,” was the bearer of its news as well as butter. He was much respected in the neighbourhood; and on his death, an elder brother, who had entered the army, and was then a poor knight of Windsor, became proprietor. He also was eccentric in manner, and peculiar in costume; and on his death, leaving no friends or relatives, the property was claimed by the Crown.

Chelsea Bun, House has given name to one of Miss Manning’s novels, published in 1854.

Opposite to the Bun House stood Stromboli House and gardens, a minor place of recreation, at its height about 1788; on the site of St. Barnabas’ College stood the Orange tavern and tea-gardens. Here was a private theatre, at which the local genii of the sock and buskin performed to their admiring neighbours; and at the junction of Grosvenor Row and Ebury Street stood an old inn, a relic of the Republicans in the neighbourhood, and which bore one of the peculiar and enthusiastic appellations of that period—_God encompasseth us_. This was corrupted into “The Goat and Compasses,” an absurd and unmeaning sign, but the modern inn is now called simply “The Compasses.”

RANELAGH GROVE AND TERRACE is so named from the celebrated place of amusement of our ancestors; but is in the parish of Chelsea, and therefore not within our design. At No. 2, Ranelagh Terrace, died the Rev. Thomas Pennington, nephew of the celebrated Elizabeth Carter. He was author of two works of foreign travel, and also of “Memoirs of the Grand Dukes of the House of Medici.” He died December 21st, 1852, in his 92nd year.

UPPER EBURY STREET.—Part only of this street is within the district of St. Paul’s; in it died Rodwell, the composer, and William Skelton, a celebrated engraver. Skelton’s productions are numerous, and extend over a lengthened period, among them a series of portraits of the reigning family from George III. to our present Queen. He died here, August 13th, 1848, in his 86th year, and was buried in Brompton Cemetery.

Several places of public entertainment were in the neighbourhood of Ebury Street, the chief of which were “The Star and Garter” and “The Dwarf;” both were in their heyday about 1760; and notices of them were frequent in the papers of the time. “The Cherokee Chiefs,” objects of wonder in 1760, and alluded to in Goldsmith’s “Citizen of the World,” were frequently to be seen here. “The Star and Garter” stood near to the end of Burton Street, “The Dwarf” on the site of the factory in Elizabeth Street. There were besides these, places of minor resort, mere tea-gardens. “To drink tea at Pimlico” became proverbial in the last century. Here came from the close streets, to inhale the purer air of the fields, hundreds of the working-classes; more especially on the Sunday they poured forth, old and young, married and single. Gay says of the spring-time—

“Then Chelsea’s meads o’erhear perfidious vows,
And the press’d grass defrauds the grazing cows.”

One of these places was attached to the house now numbered 75.

WESTBOURNE PLACE is a neat double row of houses (deriving its name from the stream) joining Eaton and Sloane Squares. No. 2 was the house taken in 1808 by Colonel Wardle for the notorious Mary Ann Clarke, as part recompense for the services she was to render in the prosecution of the inquiry into the conduct of the Duke of York. Into the history of this disgraceful connection I do not intend to enter, any more than to say, that afterwards an action was brought against Colonel Wardle for the value of the furniture supplied to this house, as was alleged, on the faith of his personal promise. William Thomas Lewis, for many years a popular comedian, and acting manager of Covent Garden Theatre, died at his residence in Westbourne Place on January 13th, 1811. No. 23 was once the residence of Miss Corbaux, celebrated as a painter, and for her knowledge in those most recondite of studies, the histories and languages of the ancient nations of the East.

WESTBOURNE STREET branches off Westbourne Place. Mr. Smith, author of “A History of Marylebone,” once lived here. In this street is a Baptist Chapel. Formerly, on a part of this ground, was York Hospital, a depôt for invalid soldiers, and named after the Duke of York. Here for two years, _without pay_, Mr. Guthrie, the eminent surgeon, attended on the poor fellows maimed at Waterloo. The establishment, in 1819, was removed to Chatham.