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London Research Trip, May 2012

28 May

Christ Church, Spitalfields.

So anyway, I went on the most amazing research trip to London last Friday. The plan was pretty simple – stay in the heart of my beloved Spitalfields and take photographs and notes to help me while writing The Ripper Novel which is a time slip book incorporating both 1888 and 2012 Whitechapel. This wasn’t a hardship at all as my family come from Whitechapel and I’ve been kicking about the place off and on for longer than I can remember, although when my grandparents moved us back from Scotland they opted to live in Essex rather than go back to the East End, alas. I still regard it as my cultural, spiritual and ancestral home though so it’s always nice to go back.

I arrived at lunchtime on the Friday, ditched my stuff at my hotel on Osborn Street, which is at the end of Brick Lane and a bustling thoroughfare lined with Turkish and Indian cafes and shops and then headed out for a wander around in the simmering heat. I took photographs of interesting graffiti and visited Ripper Site Number Two – busy and faintly insalubrious Hanbury Street, where Annie Chapman’s body was found in the backyard of number 29.

Hanbury Street.

After this I had a trip to All Saints where I tried on a profusion of dresses, all of which were too big and too long for me and then went to have lunch in Spitalfields Market before strolling down Brushfield Street and then along to Middlesex Street and Goulston Street, where the infamous ‘The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing‘ graffiti and a piece of Catherine Eddowes’ apron were discovered in a doorway.

I then walked on to Mitre Square, which was Ripper Site Number Four via Ripper Site Number Five, which is that pokey service road at the side of White’s Row car park which marks the former site of the notorious and long vanished Dorset Street. Miller’s Court, where Mary Jane Kelly’s body was discovered was on the left of the street but it’s all been pulled down now.

Mitre Passage.

I couldn’t quite remember where Mitre Square was at first as I usually go at dusk and all the sunlight was a bit discombobulating but then turned a corner and there was Mitre Passage in front of me looking as dark and eerie as always. I felt a distinct chill in the air as I walked down Mitre Passage and it even seemed a bit like all sound was muted as well. Due to the movements of the police that fateful night in 1888, we can be fairly sure that the Ripper made his escape down Mitre Passage after murdering Catherine Eddowes…

I lurked in Mitre Square for a while waiting for this tour group to go away. They’re clustered in the spot where Catherine Eddowes’ body was found. As a Ripperologist, I am in no position to complain about the interest other people may have in Jack the Ripper but I’m a bit bemused by daylight Ripper tours. It’s much better to go at night! Another group came in after this one and I was a bit perturbed to hear the guide coming out with all sorts of antiquated nonsense about the case. He was also in the habit of emitting hideous shrill eldritch screams. In broad day light! What must the people in the surrounding offices think?! One day, however, I will do a tour and IT WILL BE AWESOME.

Poor old Catherine Eddowes was found on approximately this spot.

The entrance to Mitre Passage from Mitre Square. The Ripper probably made his escape this way. Or did he?

I went back to Spitalfields after this, pausing at the Hummingbird Bakery for a restorative slice of vanilla cake before wandering through the market and then back along Brick Lane. I carried on along Old Montague Street until I reached Durward Street, which is Ripper Site Number One. Back in 1888, Durward Street was known as Bucks Row and it was here on the 31st of August 1888 that Polly Nichols’ body was discovered on the pavement by the old board school, which is the tall building in the photograph.

Entrance to Durward Street aka Bucks Row.

The old board school building, which was there in 1888 and loomed over the site where poor Polly’s body was found.

After this, I went back to my hotel to get ready for the evening and felt really at home and happy as I listened to the call to prayer floating over Spitalfields while putting on my makeup. I’d arranged to meet some friends in the Princess Alice on Commercial Street and had an ace evening drinking gin and being remarkably silly. There was a LOT of gossip involving misuse of disliked names, tiaras, inappropriate wearing of bridesmaids dresses and MORE about dreadful people and I even had a proposal of marriage! However, we have a rule that What Happens At Gin And Whores Stays At Gin And Whores so my lips are sealed. After the pub I went up Brick Lane for a curry with my friends Del and Miranda, which was great fun. People always tut a bit at me when I say that I never feel at all unsafe in Whitechapel but it’s true – I walked back to my hotel alone at 2am without any qualms at all.

The next morning I packed up my stuff and then went for a walk across Whitechapel High Street to Henriques Street, which is Ripper Site Number Three. Back in 1888, Henriques Street was known as Berner Street and it was here that Elizabeth Stride’s body was discovered on the night of the 30th September – the first of what is known as The Double Event Murders. To be honest I’m not even sure that she was one of the Ripper’s victims but that’s no reason to forget all about her as I believe all these women should be remembered. I just wish they’d got as much concern and attention in life as they did after death.

Approximate spot of the entrance to the yard where Elizabeth Stride’s body was found.

Henriques Street is a miserable little road but when you recall how bustling and busy Whitechapel High Street was back in the late Victorian era, you start to get a real appreciation for how flagrant the Ripper was. This is also true of Hanbury Street and Dorset Street – both were busy and well populated. Bucks Row and Mitre Square, however, were altogether lonelier.

After leaving Henriques Street I walked towards the City, unintentionally going past Mitre Square as I went. It’s not actually that great a distance but certainly not ‘a few streets away’. However, my feet automatically took me that way as I headed to the City so if Elizabeth Stride was also murdered by the Ripper, I couldn’t dispute that his route may also have taken him past Mitre Square.

It was a real eye opener to visit all of the Ripper sites again as it gives a real feel for the areas and also the distance between them. In popular imagining, the murders all took place within a very small area but actually they were fairly widely apart. It’s possible to walk between all five with ease but they aren’t a few streets away from each other either.

After all this, I walked through the deserted City (hardly anyone lives there so virtually everything closes down at the weekend) past the Gherkin and those lovely old City churches that stand serenely in the midst of glinting blue glass office buildings and relentless modernity and on to Austin Friars.

Not the greatest outfit for a sweltering summer’s day in the City: All Saints dress and Doc Marten boots!

As regular readers of this blog will know, I am a HUGE FAN of Wolf Hall and its sequel Bring Up The Bodies by Hilary Mantel and so I couldn’t resist a trip to see the site of Austin Friars, which was the main residence of Thomas Cromwell. Nothing now remains of the huge mansion complete with gardens and tennis courts that he built there for himself and his sprawling household but I think you can still get some sense of it. Austin Friars is a small quiet gated street tucked away in the streets in between London Wall and Old Broad Street. You have to concentrate very hard to imagine even the faintest essence of Thomas Cromwell in the air but what it does underline is the fact that he was very much a City Man with a residence that even in the sixteenth century was at the very heart of the old City and at the centre of the London financial world with its guilds, aldermen and banking houses.

I was extremely moved to stand on the site of Thomas Cromwell’s home, which is now the Drapers’ Hall at the end of Throgmorton Street and even wept a little tear for him. Or at least for the Cromwell that Mantel conjured up, whom I am madly in love with. In the pub the night before, I joked about falling through my own time slip and ending up in Tudor England where I would show Thomas Cromwell my iPhone and recommend that he tries Cut The Rope. Sadly, however, the sun shone and a slight breeze rose making the trees in the small gated garden rustle their green skirts enticingly but there were no sightings of long dead men.

I carried on through the city, past the Crutched Friars (Thomas Wyatt was given the Crutched Friars church after the Dissolution and apparently pulled it down to build a tennis court) and on to the London Wall where I ate a peaceful lunch in a pretty garden on one of the high walks leading to the Museum of London. My first London job after leaving university was in Moorgate and I always smile to myself a bit when I walk past what was my office, remembering the callow goth that I once was. Oh dear.

The London Wall is dotted with ruins from a long gone age.

I paid a quick visit to the Museum of London, conscious that I had a bus and train to catch back home to Bristol and wanted to have a last drink in the sunshine at Spitalfields Market before I went. I bought presents, including fab tea towels with eighteenth century ladies on them and books about the Great Fire for the Seven Year Old. In the museum itself I was particularly taken with this dress, which was worn by a little girl in honour of the Queen’s coronation in 1953. How lovely! I’m surprised no one has produced replicas.

SUCH a pretty dress!

Anyway, that was the end of my research visit. I’ll be back again once the Olympics have gone away as I glimpsed quite a few old pubs and winding alleyways that are just crying out for exploration. There was a wedding at Christ Church, Spitalfields on Saturday morning and the sound of bells really gladdened my heart as I made my way home.

The Ripper novel from Hell…

29 Apr

It’s been a busy week here at Guillotine Towers so apologies to everyone waiting on emails, Facebook messages, reviews and stuff from me as I’m feeling completely overwhelmed right now. It’ll be business as usual next week though!

There’s been a definite Ripperologist buzz here as I started work on what will probably be my fifth novel. The original plan was to write a multi perspective piece exploring the effects of the Ripper murders on women of the era, but this eventually changed to become a time slip novel merging the past and present. Which would explain why I’ve been reading so many time slip books lately in an attempt to work out what I think works and what doesn’t appeal to me at all.

So far, all of the time slip novels that I’ve read have been quite similar in style with milquetoast heroines, a dash of romance and an underlying theme of righting the wrongs of the past in some way that generally seems to involve a couple getting together for an EPIC SMOOCH. I’ve also read different types of time slip that involve reincarnation, trances, possessed artifacts, diaries and actual time travel. It’s been a pretty instructive time actually as I’ve found that there’s more different types of time slip books than I had anticipated and that writing one is actually a lot more complex than just writing two stories in different eras and then neatly tying them together. Or maybe it is?

I’ll talk more about how the time slippage in my Ripper novel will work when I’ve actually managed to get more than a couple of chapters finished, but I think it’s fair to say that I’m pretty excited right now about the whole project.

As part of my initial research, I’ve been delving into the story of my Victorian policeman ancestor, Sergeant David Lee from H Division a lot more with the help of Ripperologist, Neil Bell. Initially we were hampered by the lack of a collar number but then found it in this old newspaper article from 1880, which mentions him…

A body in a coal cellar! How typical. St George’s Chambers seems to have been one of those horrible little lodging houses that provided barely adequate accommodation for many people in the east end during the nineteenth century. In Charles Dickens Jnr’s Dictionary of London (1879), he wrote: ‘About the best sample of this kind of establishment extant will be found at St. George’s chambers, St. George’s-street, London-docks, a thorough poor man’s hotel where a comfortable bed with use of sitting-room, cooking apparatus and fire, and laundry accommodation, soap included, can be had for 4d. a night, all kinds of provisions being obtainable in the bar at proportionate rates. To any one interested in the condition of the London poor, this establishment is well worth a journey to the East-end to visit.

As my ancestor was a Sergeant at the time, he wouldn’t have been doing a beat but Neil hasn’t been able to ascertain yet if he was a beat sergeant, who would have checked up on the officers or manning the desk in one of the local stations, possibly Leman Street.

Anyway, now that we are armed with a collar number: 26H, it means that I can start looking for him in photographs of the period. Also, in newspaper articles of the time, collar numbers are often cited rather than names so there’s that too.

I was hoping to find Sergeant David Lee in the best known photograph of H Division, grouped around what is alleged to be Inspector Abberline, but alas he isn’t there. Some people think this photograph was taken just before the 1888 murders but the Sergeant with the 26H collar number shown sitting next to The Alleged Abberline isn’t my ancestor, but rather a certain William Pennett, who is best known in Ripperology circles as the officer who made the grisly discovery of the Pinchin Street torso in September 1889.

Pennett was a plain old bobby at the time but then it appears that he was promoted to Sergeant in 1890 after my ancestor retired and took over his collar number of 26H. This is interesting as it means that the well known photograph of H Division must have been taken AFTER mid 1890 rather than before 1888 as a lot of people suppose and was probably after 1895 as Neil, who is an expert on the policing of the area of the period, tells me that’s when the new uniform tunics were introduced. I’m a bit disappointed, of course, that it isn’t my ancestor in the PRIME POSITION on the front room and next to The Alleged Abberline himself, but I can’t help but be pleased that our little bit of research has helped a bit with the dating of this photograph.

All of this is adding to my plans for a research trip to London next month. I’m planning visits to the Museum of London and Bishopsgate Institute as well as some lengthy mooches around Whitechapel to take photographs and make notes. I’m also going to my favourite pub with some friends. Well, some friends and ‘maybe’ someone who may or may not like me at all! It’s okay, I’m not completely mad – they USED to like me but now they might not. Or maybe they never liked me at all? Who can tell? Anyway, I have a fiver riding on them not turning up so it’s a big deal. Clearly.

Anyway, moving on. Which, I, apparently, find it impossible to do…

In other book news, I’ve now officially commissioned a brand new cover of GORGEOUSNESS for my Marie Antoinette novel: The Secret Diary of a Princess from Lisa Falzon, who painted the lovely cover for Before The Storm. I’ve made a sumptuous Pinterest board in its honour and cannot WAIT to see what she comes up with! I’m planning a bit of a giveaway when the new cover launches…

The London of Jack the Ripper: Then and Now – Robert Clack & Philip Hutchinson

22 Apr

As pretty much anyone who reads this blog on even an irregular basis will already know, I’ve been a committed and occasionally committable Ripperologist for well over twenty years now and recently made the eerie discovery that great x 3 grandfather was in H Division in 1888 and most likely living in the Whitechapel police station on Commercial Street at the time of the murders.

I say eerie but actually it’s not that much of a coincidence really – my interest in Jack the Ripper is down to my grandmother, who raised me. She came from the east end of London and was a scion of one of those sprawling Cockney clans with their gangsters, strange vaudeville songs of interminable pointlessness, rhyming slang, music hall relatives, affection for EELS, insane ADORATION of West Ham football club (when my great grandmother died, the club sent a, hopefully appropriately coloured, wreath to her funeral – do they do that for everyone, I wonder?) and horror stories about the Blitz. As a result, despite being born in Scotland and very far from the bells of St Mary-le-Bow, I’ve pretty much always considered myself to be culturally a Cockney because that’s what I grew up with. When we moved from Scotland to Essex, it felt like we were almost home. Almost but not quite…

I’m only partially joking when I tell people that the Hitcher from The Mighty Boosh is my ideal man.

Oh no, wait, EELS!

Elements of the past and the future combining to make something not quite as good as either…

I should make that my motto.

I will now use this unusually insightful Mighty Boosh quote to clumsily lead on to the main CRUX of this already tiresomely rambling post, while simultaneously saving face by pretending that this is some sort of post modern meta conceit. Or something.

Due to all of the above, I couldn’t resist reading a book about Jack the Ripper’s London – especially as I am currently supposed to be writing a novel set in that time of dank misery and pea souper fogs but don’t get me started on that or I’ll get all angsty and you wouldn’t like that. Being the innovator that I clearly am, I decided to give it a whirl on my Kindle despite it having illustrations, which is something I have hitherto failed to encounter in a Kindle book.

The Ten Bells pub on the corner of Hanbury Street. To be honest, the Ten Bells has undergone quite a transformation in the many years since I first saw it.

To my surprise, the pictures were still clear and easy to look at although I suspect they are somewhat smaller than the printed versions and also in black in white whereas I think some of the printed ones may be in colour?

Whitechapel today – elements of the past and future that actually, to my eyes, look pretty good together. I’m irreverent and love the element of surprise though.

Anyway, mechanics aside, this is a great little book and one that anyone interested in the Ripper murders would find pretty fascinating not least because it doesn’t just cover the so called Canonical Five but also features several other murders that have on occasion been ascribed to the Ripper including Emma Smith, Alice McKenzie, Frances Coles and the Pinchin Street Torso.

Hawksmoor’s Christ Church looming over Commercial Street.

While there is a very basic explanation of the crimes and a brief biography of each victim, the real emphasis is on the area itself with fascinating photographs of the crime scenes and places (some rather obscure) associated with the murders as they were in Victorian times and how they appear now.

I was completely enthralled by this but moved too as just as the Ripper murders themselves open an unusually vivid and detailed window into the lives of abandoned women in Victorian times, comparing photographs of the east end as it was in 1888 and how it is now is an eye opening experience when you realise that whole streets have been swept away like so much detritus not just in the aftermath of the Blitz but as the result of urban planning. Saddest of all, I suppose is the demise of Dorset Street, dubbed the ‘Worst Street in London’ and considered so terrible a locale that it was demolished and replaced by well, nothing much at all.

View from the top of White’s Row car park looking down at what used to be Dorset Street and the approximate spot of the entrance to Miller’s Court. Mere moments before taking this photograph I accidentally smacked my car door on a concrete post while opening it and enraged my husband so much that there was almost another murder on that site…

Maybe I’m just annoyed because all of the development in Spitalfields makes it more difficult for me to imagine what it must have been like in 1888 when my ancestor was on his beat or the 1930s when my great grandfather worked at Truman’s on Brick Lane. It’s not all bad though as it is still possible to catch the odd glimpse of the old Whitechapel – just take a stroll down Artillery Lane, Hanbury Street or Gunthorpe Street at night.

Artillery Lane.

In summary therefore, I’d recommend this book not just to those who want to know more about the Ripper murders but also anyone interested in the changing face of London.

Check it out:

The London of Jack the Ripper: Then and Now — a bargain at £2.87 if you have a Kindle.

The Worst Street in London: Foreword by Peter Ackroyd — a SUPERB book if you’re interested in the social history of London’s east end and now available for Kindle for £5.93.

Kensington Palace

21 Mar

Evening campers. I have something very exciting for you all today as I spent most of today drinking in the delights of the newly remodelled Kensington Palace and have returned with a multitude of photographs for your perusal. Of course, photographs are not really comparable to the real thing so I hope that if you are ever in the London area you’ll go and see for yourself!

I am ashamed to admit that the first time I went to Kensington Palace was last year when I went to view the Royal Ceremonial Dress Collection and the Enchanted Palace installation. It was a bit of a building site at the time and it was hard to see what it was going to look like when completed. I’m amazed though by how different it is though to my expectations – it’s a really unique, bright and modern space that sacrifices none of its historical gravitas.

I’ve never actually been to a press day before so had no idea what to expect but oh my, it was so much fun and I met some really lovely people including the truly superb Lucy Worsley who has been a heroine of mine for quite some time now. If you haven’t already read them, I really recommend all of her books – Courtiers and Cavalier have recently held me entranced with their descriptions of scandal, intrigue, domestic iniquity and derring do in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Uncannily, it turned out that we both fell in love with history after viewing the Blue Peter special about Marie Antoinette back in the late 1970s!

Upon arrival at the palace, we were split into two groups and I went off with mine to take a look at the refurbished royal apartments which were once home to Mary II, Queen Anne and various grumpy Hanoverian. They really are absolutely sumptuous – full of rich colour, beautiful paintings and really interesting and thought provoking interactive pieces and installations such as the one in the Queen’s bedroom (which houses the actual bed that poor old Mary II died of small pox in with her devoted husband at her side) which shows each of the claimants to the English throne after the death of Queen Anne.

What I really love about the state apartments at Kensington Palace is the way that although you are clearly walking in the footsteps of Queen Victoria, George I, Queen Anne and their families and courtiers there is absolutely nothing stuffy about the way that they are presented. In fact there are really beautiful and whimsical touches everywhere that give it a dream like feel. In every room there seemed to be something unexpected and quirky, which immediately makes it a much more engrossing and thought provoking experience than most stately homes.

In the Queen’s Apartments, the focus is on the dying embers of the Stuart dynasty with the tragic sisters Mary and Anne and the latter’s young son, William who died at the age of eleven after dancing himself to death. The rooms are rich and beautifully decorated but there is a touch of gloom in the panelled chambers it is clear that sad events unfolded in them over the years. This is a women’s world of whispers, tears and intrigue – as claustrophobic in its way as a harem.

For instance, it is known that in the Queen’s closet, Queen Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough had an epic bust up that resulted in the two women never speaking to each other again. Mind you they both seemed to fall out with pretty much everyone…

The King’s Apartments on the other hand are glitzy, bright and spacious with a beautiful cupola room, a masterpiece of gilt and flamboyance as their centrepiece. There’s also a lovely gallery, presided over at one end by George I’s unfortunate cousin, Charles I and a sumptuous drawing room, where in October 1742 one of the court ladies decided to play a prank on George II’s mistress, the Countess of Deloraine and pull her chair out from under her while she was playing one of the grimly boring card games that they were so fond of back then. George II thought this was hilarious and keeled over laughing, at which point, the infuriated Countess pulled HIS chair out from under him, sending him sprawling on the floor. He was not amused and dumped her. Tsk.

There’s also some beautiful clothes on display in this part of the palace, including these splendid robes and dresses.

I think that is really amazing and a credit to everyone who has worked so hard to bring the palace up to date – their aim was to make it a place that was open to everyone and for all to enjoy and I think they succeeded admirably.

I loved having the King’s Staircase to myself. Isn’t is gorgeous? The paintings depict actual members of George I’s court and they eye you disdainfully, interrupted in their gossip and flirtations as you pass. It’s pretty eerie actually.

The late Stuarts and early Hanoverians are all too frequently ignored by posterity, probably because they are considered to be a tiresome, squabbling, pop eyed lot with not much to say for themselves and lacking the verve and dash of their more interesting predecessors and successors. I mean, come on, Charles II is a bit of a hard act to follow. I think that’s a bit unfair though – there’s something so intriguing about the sister Queens, Mary and Anne and their glum Hanoverian successors and I really love that the apartments at Kensington Palace are devoted to their stories and do a great deal to evoke what a den of iniquity court life was probably like at the time.

After this I paid a visit to a display devoted to the late Princess of Wales, one of Kensington Palace’s most famous residents, which was decorated with the most amazing wallpaper, which is a bespoke design created by artist Julie Verhoeven. I want it for my house.

It’s amazing though to witness the effect that Diana’s name still has – as soon as it was mentioned that there was a display of some of her dresses, people were off like a shot, me among them, to have a look!

They have five of the Princess’ dresses on display, including the in/famous black taffeta one designed by David and Elizabeth Emanuel that she wore in March 1981 on her first official public outing as the Prince of Wales’ fiancée. It’s pretty gorgeous up close, with some lovely sequin detailing and a real flounce to it. I covet it very much.

We then went on to the Victoria Revealed exhibition on the first floor, which evokes the reign of Queen Victoria, who was born in Kensington Palace and spent her childhood there via the medium of several different themed rooms, complete with interactive fun and really innovative installations and displays that utilise more than three hundred beautiful and rarely seen before items from the Royal collections, which bring Victoria to life in an unprecedented and almost intimate way. Oh dear, is it okay to say the word ‘intimate’ in conjunction with Queen Victoria?

The display begins with the young Queen’s first ever council meeting on her first day as a monarch and this is wonderfully evoked in a large room full of shadowy figures, sound and imagery. The high point is, of course, the tiny flounced dress Victoria wore on this historic occasion, which used to be profound mourning black but has lightened over the years to a very becoming pale copper.

After this there are rooms devoted to the young Queen, her romance with her very own handsome prince Albert (he was a bit of a looker by any standards), their growing family, the Great Exhibition and then her subsequent widowhood. It’s really brilliantly done.

I was amazed by some of the items that were out on display, which included Victoria’s wedding dress.

Albert looked pretty dashing too!

Prince Albert sketched this portrait of his Victoria in the first bloom of their love for each other.

Queen Victoria’s baby shoes!

The famous doll collection. She gave her dolls some fabulous names, which sound just like Harry Potter characters! Victoria was clearly a Hufflepuff.

They had some amazing portraits on display too, including this lovely one of the Princess Louise.

I love the Victoria rooms – they are really light and cheerful and stuffed full of really amazing objects.

Of course, the mood darkens when the displays focus on the Queen’s widowhood and I was especially touched to see the book that was being read to Prince Albert during his final illness, complete with a piece of mourning paper marking the spot they had reached when he died.

There’s also one of Queen Victoria’s mourning dresses, which was lent to an artist who was working on an uncompleted painting of her family shortly after the Prince’s demise.

There was even the famous bust of Prince Albert, commissioned by the Queen after his death and which was to take a prominent place in several royal family photographs after the event.

I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Victoria Revealed. I’ve always had a fondness for Queen Victoria and it was a real treat to see so many rarely seen paintings and things that actually belonged to her. It’s also nice to see some attention paid to the young Queen as well as the rather forbidding black clad widow that she was for the majority of her reign.

She loved dancing!

Pretty dresses!

She also liked going to the opera in a LOT of jewellery – decked out like a Christmas tree in fact and why not?

This post is just a taste of the delights that now await at Kensington Palace when it officially opens to the public next Monday. The palace has always seemed to me to be a bit forgotten in the general fuss and pageantry of the London tourist trail but I’m certain that from now on it’s going to be a jewel in its crown and rightly so.

Recommended reading:

Cavalier: A Tale of Chivalry, Passion and Great Houses

Courtiers: The Secret History of the Georgian Court

Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion: A Biography

Becoming Queen

The Diana Chronicles

A Dress for Diana

Soulless – Gail Carriger

11 Mar

I’ll be honest – I may be a card carrying (okay, the card is imaginary) long time goth, Victorian Prostitute re-enactor and Ripperologist but I’ve always been a bit wary of the whole steampunk thing. I think it’s the excessive amounts of BEIGE that I find a bit offputting – or perhaps it’s the way that steampunkers (is that right?) seem to take themselves so seriously.

Steampunk is what happened when goths discovered khaki‘ – someone on Live Journal, circa 2007.

Therefore, the idea of reading a steampunk novel wasn’t really all that appealing as I assumed it would be full of goggles, more BEIGE than anyone under the age of sixty should ever be asked to cope with and a lot of frippery about waxed moustachios and God only knows what else.

Well, I was WRONG as I just finished reading a steampunk book and I BLOODY LOVED IT.

I’d been vaguely drawn to Soulless by Gail Carriger anyway because I really liked the cover and also have a very soft spot for anachronistic bad ass wayward Victorian girls. I’m rather less keen on the paranormal (yes, I know, just what sort of a goth am I?!) but I thought I could handle it in small doses so long as it didn’t get all Twilight.

I can assure you that this is NOTHING like Twilight although there’s plenty of the paranormal here.

Soulless opens in dramatic fashion with the heroine, Alexia getting fed up about the lack of food laid on at a fashionable London ball and taking off to the library, where she commits the etiquette FAIL of ordering tea and cakes for herself only to be assailed by a lisping vampire in an embarrassingly outmoded shirt. This would all be AWKWARD enough, only the vampire doesn’t appear to realise that la belle Alexia has no soul, which in this re-imagined and re-ordered Victorian England means that she has the ability to neutralise supernatural powers and render their holders momentarily mortal…

What ensues is a wonderfully amusing romp through Alexia’s London, a world of dirigibles, batshit hats, science, lofty vampires, cake and oddly attractive werewolves. I really loved this completely mad imaginary upside down world where supernaturals and humans live alongside each other; Queen Victoria likes to pay chatty visits to subjects and handsome young fops are capable of creating the latest Parisian hair styles with just a few twists of wire.

I loved it so much that I was sad to leave so it’s pretty lucky that there’s four more books in the series for me to enjoy really! I may even have to buy the graphic novel version as well.

I definitely recommend this one. Okay, I’m not QUITE ready to festoon myself with beige, artfully broken fob watches and goggles but I definitely dig the soulless Alexia Tarabotti.

Soulless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book 1

Palace Circle – Rebecca Dean

4 Mar

I’ve been longing to read Palace Circle ever since it first came out but for various reasons have only just managed to do so. To be honest, I kind of wish that I had left it on my wish list and not bought it as I feel a bit let down and by far preferred the clearly imaginary book that I had convinced myself that it would be, which was a sweeping tale of passion and posh doom in pre Second World War London and Cairo with lots of frolicking about, scandal and iniquity.

I suppose that part of the reason that this book annoyed me so much is that I’d just had my own knuckles soundly rapped for doing too much telling and not enough showing in the first draft of my Minette novel (that’s how I write in the third person, I’m afraid – lots of narrative at first that I later cut out and replace with my by far preferred chatter once I’ve got a handle on the characters) and this book was pretty much entirely made up from a vast profusion of TELLING. It made me furious in a sort of ‘how come this writer gets away with it and I don’t?’ sort of way.

Well, truth be told, okay it may have slipped past an editor but they haven’t actually got away with it because it’s pretty obvious and also really infuriating. I really hated the way that the action jumped several years mid paragraph, that scenes that should have been explored fully (didn’t we deserve to see one of the main characters getting married rather than a sentence devoted to their nuptials?) were treated as asides while other scenes that bored the pants off me went on for pages and pages and, oh God make it stop, pages.

I loved the descriptions of Cairo in the first half of the twentieth century but found myself skipping vast tracts of the book towards the end because all the lecturing about tedious political stuff really bored me. Sorry. I just wanted more about the characters and their personal dramas!

I also felt very let down on the iniquity and scandal front – in fact the characters seemed to be tiresomely opposed to such things and a lot of effort was made to avoid such ripples of drama and excitement. Some tension was thrown in with the Big Secret, which was pretty obvious right from the start and only caused more annoyance because it could have been avoided had two of the main characters actually bothered to have a rational conversation with each other rather than just getting all dewy eyed and scampering off to the bedroom together.

It wasn’t all frustrating though – I very much liked Davina and her story up until she returned to Cairo and it all went a bit political. I’d have preferred that the whole book moved a bit more slowly and was entirely from Delia’s point of view to be honest – maybe cutting out the earlier stuff about her marriage and starting it from the point that her daughters were almost ready to come out? I don’t know. I’m not an editor but there was something a bit off with the pacing here, which I don’t think was the author’s fault to be honest as she’s a good writer and there was lots here that was really fun to read. I just would have preferred more of the fun and lovely descriptions of places and clothes and a LOT less of the politics and stiff upper lipped determination to avoid scandal.

Anyway, I absolutely loved Rebecca Dean’s The Golden Prince and am VERY MUCH looking forward to her novel about Wallis Simpson (who appeared in Palace Circle and was rather ace, which was nice) which is coming out soon and looks great so I think this one is just a bit of a blip, at least as far as I am concerned any way. You may well love it!

Palace Circle

Wallis

The Pleasures of Men – Kate Williams

22 Jan

Catherine Sorgeiul lives with her Uncle in a rambling house in London’s East End. She has few companions and little to occupy the days beyond her own colourful imagination.

But then a murderer strikes, ripping open the chests of young girls and stuffing hair into their mouths to resemble a beak, leading the press to christen him The Man of Crows. And as Catherine devours the news, she finds she can channel the voices of the dead, and comes to believe she will eventually channel The Man of Crows himself.

But the murders continue to panic the city and Catherine gradually realizes she is snared in a deadly trap, where nothing is as it first appears.
And lurking behind the lies Catherine has been told are secrets more deadly and devastating than anything her imagination can conjure …

The Victorians were really keen on microcosm paintings, panoramic views of their society crammed full of faces, stories and activity like so many over dressed ants all busying themselves at the same time. William Powell Frith’s amazing sprawling The Derby Day and The Railway Station are perfect examples of this particularly Victorian genre, where the viewer is invited to greedily observe everything, their eyes scanning the myriad of different faces, pausing here and there to ponder what their story is.

In recent years, the ‘Victoriana’ novel has gained popularity and almost become a genre in its own right. Like the microcosm paintings of Frith, there are rules to this genre, certain period set pieces that must be included, descriptions and observations of a more contemporary nature that must be made and they are invariably populated by a vast cast of characters, mostly incidental but who must be described in great and lurid detail.

The Pleasures of Men by Kate Williams is one such book. I was very much looking forward to reading it, anticipating something akin to Michel Faber’s brilliant The Crimson Petal and the White. Now, The Pleasures of Men is very similar to The Crimson Petal but only in so far as most other ‘Victoriana’ novels are – there’s the usual description of dirt, decay and damp. The wails of unfortunate babies follow the characters wherever they venture. People drink gin like it’s about to run out. There’s an awful lot of prostitutes.

There are other similarities – like Faber’s Sugar, Catherine, the heroine of The Pleasures of Men is damaged by her past and keen on feverishly writing down fantasies that involve violence, death, murder and destruction. Fascinated by a serial killer, known as The Man of Crows, she writes lurid accounts of his murders and eventually decides to venture out into the city at night to walk in his footsteps, believing herself ‘protected’ by the evil that she has always been told dwells inside her.

This was a complex and often deeply unpleasant book. I’ve seen complaints that it is over written and I’d be inclined to agree with that assessment but I believe that it is intentionally so. The writing is full blown, lavish, feverish and often over wrought, creating a really horrible, almost suffocatingly intense atmosphere of heat, dust and dirt as observed by a sexually obsessed, disturbed Victorian teenager who has spent time in a lunatic asylum.

The narrowness of a young Victorian girl’s life is well described here – not just that of Catherine with her peculiar circumstances but those of her over dressed acquaintances, who sexually torment their maids and fantasise about serial killers while slyly keeping watch for suitable young men.

At times though, the plot, which when you think about it isn’t really all that complicated (you’ll be disappointed when you discover the identity of the Man of Crows) veers not so much into confusion as into vague slapdashness, almost as if the writer herself lost interest about a hundred pages before the end (which was a bit of a damp squib all things considered) and decided that she didn’t care who the Man of Crows was or who he murdered any more. I can’t blame her for that – I didn’t really care either.

Would I recommend this book? Well, yes and no. If you are in the mood for a dip into the revolting iniquity of London’s east end in the 1840s and have a thing for Victorian asylums and the deranged meanderings of cooped up young girls as well as splendid Victorian set pieces like visits to pie shops, trips to gin dens and a splendidly disastrous visit to the vaudeville theatre then you’ll almost certainly love this. Otherwise you’ll probably start to feel a bit queasy and long for something a bit less histrionic.

Personally, although I did, I think, rather enjoy myself while reading it (and also feel slightly alarmed as I have written about similar themes in my own Victorian effort), I went off and had a long bath when I’d finished reading and splashed the water about a bit while muttering ‘A MILLION POUND ADVANCE? A. MILLION. POUNDS?’ over and over again until I felt like booking myself in for a nice restorative stay at Catherine’s lunatic asylum, the lovely sounding Lavenderfields.

Having said that, I fully expect this to be made into a film at some point in the near future…

Ps. Where is the woman’s right hand in the cover photograph? Haha, now that I have made you look, you will never be able to UNSEE.

Cross Bones graveyard

20 Jan

I have heard of ancient men, of good credit, report that these single women were forbidden the rites of the church, so long as they continued that sinful life, and were excluded from Christian burial, if they were not reconciled before their death. And therefore there was a plot of ground called the Single Woman’s churchyard, appointed for them far from the parish church’ - John Stow, Survey of London, 1598.

One of the saddest spots in central London, a few minutes walk away from the busy, thriving Borough Market in Southwark, Cross Bones graveyard is the final resting place of around 15,000 Londoners, mostly women and infants who were denied a proper burial in consecrated ground, either because of profession (prostitutes and, for a long time, actresses were banned from proper burial) or because they died before they could be baptised.

The earliest burials at the site were of local prostitutes, who were also familiarly known as Winchester Geese as they had been licensed since 1161 by the Bishop of Winchester to work the streets and alleys of the Liberty of the Clink area of Southwark, which was well known to be a squalid den of vice, iniquity and crime. In Medieval London, ‘goose bumps’ was a charming and somewhat alarming term commonly used to describe the first signs of venereal disease, most probably caught in the stews of Southwark around the notorious Clink prison.

Photo – Inspector Juve.

Denied proper burial thanks to their trade, the prostitutes of the area were instead buried without ceremony in the Cross Bones graveyard, where the bodies were piled in an undignified heap on top of each other. Excavations have revealed that most of the skeletons in Cross Bones belong to either women or infants who had either been born dead or tragically expired shortly after birth. Later on in its long and miserable history, the euphemistically named ‘Single Women’s Graveyard’ was used as a general pauper’s cemetery for the poor of the area. It was also a favourite hunting ground for bodysnatchers, seeking out specimens for the teaching hospitals of London and after all, who would miss the poor, sad souls of Cross Bones?

In 1853, Cross Bones was closed due to overcrowding and being a risk to health and would have been built over had not the local residents, fiercely protective of the final resting place of so many of their own, strongly resisted any attempts to develop the spot. Nowadays it is a strange place, loved by locals and strenuously defended by them against the occasional attempts to gain planning permission for office blocks and car parks on the site. The gates to the burial ground are constantly festooned with tributes and flowers left by visitors, turning it into a makeshift shrine to the lost and forgotten women and children of early modern London.

Since 1998 it has become traditional for hundreds of people to gather at Cross Bones with candles, songs, gin and flowers on Halloween night to pay tribute to the ‘outcast dead’ of the graveyard. It’s my intention to join them this year with a bottle of gin to sprinkle in tribute. It’s interesting that when I first visited the grave of Mary Jane Kelly in St Patrick’s, Leytonstone (where it turns out members of my own family of dispossessed Irish Catholic immigrants are interred, although I didn’t know it at the time), I instinctively took along a bottle of gin to leave on her grave. It now seems that this is the right and proper thing to do when honouring a dead lady of the night, which pleases me rather.

Photo – The Centre of the World.

For tonight in Hell

They are tolling the bell

For the Whore that lay at the Tabard,

And well we know

How the carrion crow

Doth feast in our Crossbones Graveyard.’ — John Crow’s Riddle, John Constable.

 

Thanks to Lucy Fur Leaps for alerting me to Cross Bones! I’ve been thinking about it ever since…

(Originally posted last year, but I was thinking about it this morning and thought I’d share it with you all again.)

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