Only Half Way to Domesday; Hamblencounty History

In 1898 the gigantic task of comprehensively recording the history and geography of England’s ancient counties was begun. Philip Howard discovers the compilers approximately half way through their undertaking, with the publication of the 200th volume of the Victoria County History.

History is becoming too serious to be left to historians. In the past generation people all round the world have started to search for their roots. And, in England at least, we are uniquely fortunate in having the great-grandmother of local history to turn to for help.

The Victoria County History is about to celebrate its centenary with volume 200 in a long march to record the comprehensive past of every place in the ancient counties (i.e., those that existed before the brutal re-drawing of boundaries).

Everybody in the country is affected by the VCH, even those who have never heard of it, or opened one of its big red books. It is our modern Domesday Book, expanded and diversified to include all aspects of the history, geography and ownerships of our habitations and settlements.

It is one of those Victorian encyclopaedic giants, like the OED, designed to trap all human knowledge between hard covers. The founders, Laurence Gomme, the folklorist and antiquary, and Herbert Doubleday, the publisher, launched it in 1898 on a tide of historical enthusiasm. The old Queen Empress allowed the history to be dedicated to her, as each succeeding volume has been, but was sticky about consenting to be called a patron.

When the massive task is completed, the history of all the places in the 41 historic counties will be recorded. Ignoring flibbertigibbet political trendiness (because you are concerned with 30 centuries of history), the East and North Ridings of Yorkshire are counted as separate counties, but Montgomeryshire is excluded, reluctantly, as Welsh.

Each county gets a thick volume or three of general chapters, dealing with such matters as the Domesday Book, the landscape, prehistory, county administration, and other matters that are best looked at from an overall vantage point. Then come the topographical volumes for which the VCH is famous: up to 20 for a big, heavily-settled county, tracing in detail the history of every parish and settlement. Historiography follows the VCH, which was recording industrial archaeology and oral history nearly a century before those fashionable phrases were invented. If you want to research the history of any place in England, you must start with the VCH, which works from original documents, and gives you the signposts and bibliography of where to look next.

So far 12 counties have been finished. Twelve are in progress: Cambridgeshire, Cheshire, Essex, Gloucestershire, Middlesex, Oxfordshire, Shropshire, Somerset, Staffordshire, Sussex, Wiltshire, and the East Riding. Most other counties have a volume or two to their credit, usually the general ones, which are easier to write and sensible to start with. Only Westmorland and Northumberland are still terra incognita. Eventually the huge history will consist of at least 400 volumes.

The first volume, Hampshire I, was published in 1901 (a somewhat sensational chapter on Rubi and Rosae by the Rev.W.Moyle Rogers, FLS), and Doubleday reckoned that the whole enterprise could be completed in six years. Apart from wishful thinking, there were other similarities with the infant OED. There was a constant struggle for money, and pressure to get on with the job. At first the VCH was financed by private subscribers and benefactors, notably successive Lords Hambledon (W.H.Smith). There were continual negotiations with the Palace to secure a baronetcy for somebody who would endow the history properly. The Palace was willing, but historically-minded millionaires proved elusive.

As with the OED, there was a great founding editor, William Page, a London record agent whose life was gradually taken over by the monstrous publication. When he had to move from Hampstead to Bognor to devote himself full time to the VCH, he took 14 tons of documents with him, and had to build himself a scriptorium, like James Murray, founding editor of the OED, in the garden. Page eventually ended up owning as well as editing the big baby, and he made it over to the University of London in 1931. The VCH then fell asleep like Rip Van Winkle, as the OED did at about the same time, and was revived only in the enthusiasm to build a brave new world fit for heroes after the war. The new editor, Ralph Pugh, greatly expanded the scope of the history to include new topics such as economic history, and to take into account the vast new range of private records that was becoming available. He cut back on the Victorian obsessions with heraldry, field sports, and natural history and he went into partnership with the county councils, who started to raise money to pay for research into their history.

Today the VCH is edited by Christopher Elrington, a distinguished historian with a special interest in Wessex. His publications include Divers Letters of Roger de Martival, Bishop of Salisbury in two volumes, and Wiltshire Feet of Fines, Edward III. He is a tall, scholarly, shyish, endearing man with a dry sense of humor, who has become a bit of a whizz at the VDU, computers, PR, raising money, and other untidy manifestations of the 20th century. But his heart belongs to the past, at the grass-roots, around the old counties.

At headquarters in the Institute of Historical Research he has a staff of six historians, including an architectural specialist, most of whom are concentrated on the next Cambridgeshire volume, due out this autumn. In the field, he employs 25 post-graduate historian researchers, paid for by the counties. In addition there are part-timers, volunteers, local history buffs, and distinguished outside contributors who write for the glory and honor of keeping the old lady going.

Many of the best English historians started work as post-graduates on the VCH. At the present rate they will be finished in around 70 years with about 400 volumes. Then they need to think about Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland, as well as revising and updating the earlier editions. By definition, a historian’s work is never done.

Where does the money come from? Pounds 150,000 a year from the University of London. Pounds 550,000 a year from the various local authority committees, ranging from Pounds 10,000 from Cambridgeshire to Pounds 80,000 from the boroughs that make up the mythical county of Middlesex. County contributions have stayed loyally steady, in spite of the cuts in local authority funding; but the implications of the community charge or poll tax threaten what materialists might deem inessential spending. Historical roots are, of course, essential, pace our contemporary anti-historical, anti-culture Visigoths. Proceeds from sales of the volumes are recycled straight back into the VCH, and there is a certain amount (not enough) of spin-off from popular guides and histories.

To mark the centenary and the 200th volume, an exhibition is being mounted at the British Library. It is called Particular Places, and vividly illustrates different topics from 24 places on which the VCH is at present working. The Queen will visit it to meet the historians on May 10, demonstrating the keen interest that her family has always taken in the great survey of its kingdom. She will see, for example, a section on Tewkesbury examining the subject of “work in town” down the centuries, and Wolverhampton as an example of urban sport, i.e., the Wolves and much more.

There are parish chests, and oak charity chests four centuries old, both prime sources for the VCH, and all the ancient documents and other materials of our tangled roots. Parishes and small towns suit the methods of the VCH better than megalopolis, because big cities are redeveloped to look like Wimpy bars (or upended matchboxes, or whatever the craze of the moment) every few years, whereas villages tend to enjoy more continuity. But the VCH is developing new approaches to record the local history of urban sprawl, in which most of the population live. These days the VCH is more interested in the local factory than the local hunt.

The exhibition book, Particular Places: An Introduction to English Local History, by Christopher Lewis (British Library, Pounds 8.95) explains the vast cottage industry of local history that has grown out of the VCH.

Whether or not one of the volumes published this year will be precisely the 200th depends as usual with the VCH on how you do the counting; some of the early volumes were published in two or more fascicles.

But taking scissors to the Gordian knot, I deem that Middlesex IX, published on May 11, is the 200th. It deals with Hampstead and Paddington, two famous places to the northern edge of London, with the scholarly rigor and devotion to original sources for which the VCH is famous.

You can follow in great detail the growth of Hampstead, from Dark Age mud huts, to medieval manor, to bracing village, to spa fashionable for its waters, to vast suburb. It is another piece of the great jigsaw of English history set in place by the VCH. It may not be sexy (in the narrow cant of the tabloids), or immediately cost-effective. But in the eye of history it is some of the most important work being done this century.

Summoned by Belles in the Deep South

It is not Rhett Butler who draws up in the horse and carriage this spring evening in South Carolina – but with just a little imagination, how easily it could have been.

White muslin curtains tied with pink satin sashes flutter freshly at a window looking out on a green wisteria and tea olive. I pour a second glass of red wine from the crystal decanter and wonder whether it is this heady brew or the Deep South’s own distinctive cocktail of nostalgia and romance that is conspiring to transport me to the era of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind.

Suddenly I am Miss Scarlett and Mammy is busying herself in the room behind me, laying out my evening frock on the four-poster bed and chiding: ‘T’ain’t fitt’n’ Miss Scarlett’ as I stand in my slip at the open window.

Charleston’s historic inns are still one of America’s best kept secrets. The 18th-century Swordgate Inn (no dearer per night than the Sheraton) is one of 80 ‘olde worlde’ houses which offer bed and breakfast in a setting far removed from eight-lane freeways, fast food drive-ins and air-conditioned tower block sites.

All of them seem to be run by charming down-homey couples who will cook your breakfast to order and serve it on polished Queen Anne tables far too grand for bacon and eggs; who will, when you order a cab, magically produce the horse-drawn variety; and who, when you flop gratefully into that four-poster at night, will have left chocolates on your pillow and a lot of brandy.

Charleston is a picture-book southern town on the east coast of South Carolina, looking out on to the Atlantic. It was the first in America to set an example and preserve its heritage. It now has a vast 789-acre historic district with 3,000 protected homes, most of them privately owned and occupied.

Most of the year, frustrated tourists can be seen peering through windows, wishing they could have a proper look round. If only they had been in Charleston in the spring.

During the last week in March and first two weeks in April, Charleston celebrates its Festival of Houses, and becomes a living museum. The local historic society has persuaded some of the owners to throw open their homes to a curious public for daytime and candle-lit evening tours, and even gala dinners where guests feast in stately drawing rooms while the Charleston Symphony Orchestra plays.

Most visitors spend two to three days in Charleston – time enough to stroll along a seafront, refreshingly devoid of ice-cream parlors and slot machines, to take a sunset harbor cruise across the bay to Fort Sumter where the first shot of the Civil War was fired, to tour the sprawling cotton plantations where visitors are invited to help dip candles, grind corn and milk a cow. But not time enough to visit all of Charleston’s cozy little restaurants or to sample all the ethnic dishes – boiled creek shrimp, oyster pie with sweet potatoes, she-crab soup (mother and her eggs).

Kuoni is one of the few operators which feature Charleston – as part of an eight-day tour – and will tailor-make itineraries for people wishing to change the tour or extend it.

The set tour takes clients on from Charleston to nearby Kiawah Island, an unspoilt beach resort which makes Miami look like an American East Croydon-on-sea.

A whistle-stop tour of Hilton Head Island – farther south – is included, but if a suntan is the object and money is not, this is the place to rest up for a few days. Hilton Head is a boot-shaped island over a bridge from the mainland and into a different world.

There are eight different self-sufficient resorts, all with a choice of deluxe hotel rooms or villas looking out over the ocean. Palmetto Dunes resort has its own marina and offers every outdoor sport imaginable – at a price.

Savannah is another slice of old colonial history – peaceful and sedate – where Spanish moss hangs decoratively from giant oaks in shady squares. River Street on the harbor front is cobbled with the original ballast stones brought over in the first settler ships from Gravesend. Savannah is mentioned in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island and on most tours a visit to the Pirate House is obligatory. It is now a restaurant which has suffered from over-the-top attempts to ‘authenticize’ it – Talking Long John Silver, simulated tropical storms and lavatories called Davy and Daisy Jones locker.

The most convenient international airport from which to start a southern tour is Atlanta – Delta Airlines and British Caledonian both fly there direct from the UK.

There is more than enough to attract the passing fancy of anyone just passing through this ultra-modern plate glass and concrete city which has risen, like its emblem the phoenix, from the ashes of the Civil War. There are air-conditioned shopping malls, theatres, cinemas – all the trappings of a cosmopolitan metropolis – and there’s also Sweet Auburn, the district which became the first thriving black business community and raised the champion of all civil rights leaders, Martin Luther King.

From this hub, the very best of the Deep South is accessible – the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina; Nashville and Chattanooga, Tennessee; New Orleans, Louisiana, even Florida.

Who says America’s heritage has gone with the wind? There is a charm and a welcome waiting for visitors in the Deep South that will take more than a hundred civil wars to change.

The Revival of an Age of Elegance; Spencer House

An 18th century stately home in the center of London has been restored by Lord Rothschild. But Spencer House will be expected to pay its way, Eluned Price reports.

Few of the great mansions which once lined the avenues from the Mall to Piccadilly survive. Fewer still enjoy anything like their former splendor. When Lord Rothschild’s company RIT Capital Partners took over the 125-year lease of Spencer House five years ago, he embarked on a heroic venture to restore the house.

The interior designer David Mlinaric was responsible for restoring the decoration inside the house, and now the scagliola pillars and pilasters gleam, gilded Corinthian capitals glitter and once again the Great Room is as Young beheld it: “… the cieling (sic) which is coved, is in mosaic’d compartments, green and white and gold; gilt medallions are let into it. The door-cases exceedingly elegant, their cornices supported by pillars, finely carved and gilt.”

The anteroom is back to biscuit, gold and white, the hangings are a red and gold brocade shot with turquoise. Santi di Tito’s Knight of Malta and Family, from Lord Rothschild’s collection, survey the rejuvenated rosettes in the apse. The dining room will be hung with the five Benjamin West paintings commissioned by George III for Buckingham Palace but never until now hung together. The Royal Doulton company is making 4,500 pieces of china and the damask for the curtains has been especially woven to the original designs.

Spencer House opens officially on November 19, as a glorious mix of museum, art gallery and formal entertaining rooms.

Henry Wrong, who retired as general administrator of the Barbican Centre last November, took over the running of Spencer House a week later. He said: “I have moved from the ugliest building in London to the most beautiful.”

The house had been let go somewhat over the years. The first Earl Spencer married his sweetheart Georgiana Poyntz in secret on the evening after his coming of age in 1755. They processed in state from his home at Althorp, Northamptonshire, to London and the following year acquired the site in St James’s Place. Within months the ground floor was finished, and when the house was completed it was as much a paean to their connubial bliss as a celebration of the finest art, architecture and craftsmanship which the 18th century could afford. As the diamond buckles on Spencer’s honeymoon shoes were worth then Pounds 30,000, we may assume that, whatever the couple’s problems, they would not have been typical first-time buyers.

The house, designed by John Vardy and re-modelled by James “Athenian” Stuart, expresses the contemporary preoccupation with classical antiquity. Columns of every order, Greek and Roman friezes, reliefs of Venus, Bacchus and Apollo abound. “The carving and gilding is unrivalled,” Young wrote: swagged with laurels and festooned with flowers, no surface is untouched.

Whether the house’s 20th century tenants have appreciated their lodgings is a matter of surmise. In an unlikely succession, the stalwarts of the Ladies’ Army and Navy Club preceded the British Oxygen Company, who in turn ceded to the intelligence unit of The Economist.

Lord Rothschild and his company have taken five years and Pounds 18 million to restore Spencer House. The advisory panel was chaired by Colin Amery, the architectural historian, and included John Harris, keeper of drawings at the Royal Institute of British Architects, Gervase Jackson-Stops of the National Trust, and John Martin Robinson, then with English Heritage. Joe Friedman was commissioned to research the history of the house, which runs to two volumes.

While the rear wing of the house is given over to offices, all the principal, or “fine rooms” as Mr. Wrong calls them, have been restored in the 18th century manner, and will be used to much the same purposes as the originals. The state rooms will host official banquets, some royal functions the fiftieth birthday party of Constantine, the former Greek king, was held here in September and corporate entertainment.

Spencer House will be open to the public for six months of the year, two days a week. The aim is not to recoup the cost of restoration, but to finance the running costs of the house as a gallery, with pictures on loan from, among others, the Queen’s Collection, and as a museum, with furniture from the Victoria & Albert Museum.

The most magnificent feature of the house is the carving. From the gilt-brass handles and escutcheons, enscrolled with the Spencer “S” in acanthus arabesques, to the marble chimney pieces which he will replicate when he has found sufficient fine marble, it is the work of Dick Reid, Britain’s foremost master carver. He made the waterleaf door and window architraves, the overdoors with their console brackets on either side and the fluted dados.

The Palm Room is his piece de resistance. Working from old photographs and Vardy’s original designs, he has reproduced the pillars carved as palms in the blend of theatrical and oriental popular with the later Georgians.

The barrel vaulted ceiling above the stairwell, the arches of the anteroom, the ribbed and coffered coves of the Great Room are studded with rosettes picked out in gold leaf.

The Painted Room, trailing blue convolvulus over a green ground, was refurbished under the British Oxygen Company’s tenancy. The first neo-classical painted room in England, it celebrates love and marriage, with Venus, Hymen, Cupid and putti surrounded by birds and flowers.

Unfortunately the exuberance of nature does not extend to the garden, which adjoins Green Park. In 1772 Young found nothing “more pleasing than the park front, which is ornamented to a high degree, and yet not with profusion”. Only a few lone clumps of white nicotiana, a stunted mahonia and some scrawny box edging the lawn remain.

Flag That Cushioned Dying Lincoln Found in Village

A tiny museum was mobbed by television crews and flooded with national newspaper calls yesterday over a gem displayed for 42 years.

Polk County Historical Society in the village of Milford, Pennsylvania, has always boasted that its bloodstained American flag was used as a pillow for Abraham Lincoln’s head the night he was assassinated but no one took the museum seriously. Now it has been vindicated.

Joseph Garrera, a Lincoln buff from neighboring New Jersey, heard of the claim last year and began to investigate. He discovered the flag had been given by Paul Struthers, a local man whose grandfather, Thomas Gourlay, and mother, Jennie, were acting at Ford’s Theatre in Washington on the night of April 14, 1865 when Lincoln was shot.

The President’s entourage pulled the flag from the front of Lincoln’s box to cradle his head. After the President was removed, Thomas Gourlay, also the theatre’s part-time stage manager, bundled up the flag and took it home.

He died in 1885 and left it to his daughter who married and moved to Milford in 1888. She, in turn, bequeathed it to her son, Paul Struthers. Mr Garrera produced a hefty report summarizing his hundreds of hours of research. He sent it to leading Lincoln scholars, who found his conclusions irrefutable. “I’m just about convinced it’s the flag that was in the theatre,” said Michael Maione, historian of Ford’s Theatre, now run by the National Park Service.

The flag was one of the most significant Lincoln finds in decades and a “touching symbol”, said Wayne Temple, chief deputy director of the state archives in Illinois, Lincoln’s home state. “Here his head was lying on a folded flag of the Union that he gave his life for.” Mr Garrera called his discovery “the most exciting thing I’ll ever be involved in”. He said the museum’s claim was dismissed only because no one could believe such a national treasure was not in a great institution.

Barbara Buchanan, the Historical Society’s president, was thrilled to be vindicated, but apprehensive. The modest museum, run by volunteers, opens three days a week, charges $2 (Pounds 1.30) admission and attracts about 1,500 visitors a year.

That is likely to balloon to 150,000 unless Ford’s Theatre museum tries to reclaim its stolen property.