Lost London (15 page)

Hockley-in-the-Hole’s popularity waned as a more enlightened attitude to its ‘sports’ spread through society. Nonetheless, the squalid, tumble-down street remained until the
widening of Farringdon Road and a programme of improvements to the Clerkenwell area in 1856–7 swept it away.

That same year the venue was extended and redecorated, and a decade later a Lieutenant-Colonel Newnham-Davies described eating there in his
Dinners and Diners
:

In the many-coloured marble hall, with its marble staircase springing from either side, a well-favoured gentleman with a close-clipped grey beard was standing, a sheet of paper in his hand,
and waved us towards a marble portico, through which we passed to the grand saloon with its three galleries supported by marble pillars.

The restaurant offered a choice of locations to eat, including the Grand Salon, Duke’s Salon, Ladies’ Salon, Grill Room or Lincoln’s Inn Buffet, as well as private dining
rooms. Although clearly approving of the service and décor, Newnham-Davies was nonetheless somewhat scathing about the food: ‘The cutlet of mutton that was brought to each of us was
small, and had suffered from having to journey some way from the kitchen.’

An enduringly popular venue for reunions and annual suppers, the Holborn closed in 1955, in an asset sale prior to being demolished, it listed some 960 chairs for sale.

Minories, Tower Hill

F
OUNDED IN
1108
BY
M
ATILDA
(Henry
I
’s queen), from the late 13th century
Holy Trinity served as a convent for an order known as the Poor Clares or Sister Minoresses (hence the street name, Minories).

It was granted papal exemption from the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Canterbury and even after the dissolution of the monasteries, the church claimed the right to marry
people without the calling of banns.

In the late 16th century, London’s first great historian, John Stow, remembered as a child buying milk from the farm attached to the convent:

Near adjoining to this abbey, called the Minories, on the south side thereof, was some time a farm belonging to said nunnery; at the which farm I myself (in my youth) have fetched many a
halfpenny worth of milk, and never had less than three ale-pints for a halfpenny in the summer, nor less than one ale-quart for a halfpenny in the winter, always hot from the cow, as the same was
milked and strained.

Having escaped the Great Fire of 1666 unscathed, Holy Trinity fell into a state of dilapidation but was rebuilt in 1706. Sir Isaac Newton worshipped here when Master of the
Mint from 1699 to 1727. The church’s tiny graveyard often overflowed with the dead and was emptied twice, in 1689 and 1763, though no one knows what happened to the bones. In
1852 a rather macabre discovery was made in the crypt when the head of Lady Jane Grey’s father, the Duke of Suffolk, was found. Despite his having been beheaded on Tower Hill in 1554, his
head remained well preserved and was displayed in a glass case by the pulpit for some time. Holy Trinity’s long history only came to an end when it was destroyed by enemy bombing during the
Second World War.

Charlton

T
HIS FAIR
,
WHICH STARTED FROM
C
UCKOLD
’
S
Point in Rotherhithe, was always a
raucous and drunken affair, as might be expected of a celebration of illicit sexual relations.

Though disputed, the story of the fair’s origins tells how King John, who reigned from 1199 to 1216, was hunting one day around Blackheath and Shooters Hill. Growing
tired, he entered the house of a miller but no one was home except the miller’s lovely young wife. Being a lusty young chap, John successfully set about wooing the lady but they were caught
in flagrante by the returning miller.

Swearing to kill the interloper, the miller drew his dagger
and prepared to dispatch the unfortunate king, who was forced to reveal his identity to save his life. To placate
the furious miller, John promised him all the land he could see on condition that he forgave his wife. Cuckold’s Point marked the western limit of the miller’s vision.

The people of the area were keen to tease their new overlord so held a celebration of the event on its anniversary, 18 October, the feast day of St Luke. They started their parade from
Cuckold’s Point, marked by a post bearing a pair of horns, and marched to Charlton village, where the real fun began.

The symbol of the horns had long been associated with those jealous and cheated in love, so the fair-goers all carried, wore or blew horns. Trinkets were sold (all made of horn, of course) and
the fair became notorious for its drunken flirtations, with cross-dressing a far from unusual sight. In the early 18 century, Daniel Defoe described the goings-on at Charlton:

A village famous, or rather infamous for the yearly collected rabble of mad-people, at Horn-Fair; the rudeness of which I cannot but think, is such as ought to be suppressed, and indeed in a
civiliz’d well govern’d nation, it may well be said to be unsufferable. The mob indeed at that time take all kinds of liberties, and the women are especially impudent for that day; as
if it was a day that justify’d the giving themselves a loose to all manner of indecency and immodesty, without any reproach, or without suffering the censure which such behaviour would
deserve at another time.

Completely at odds with Victorian mores, the fair was suppressed in 1874. A somewhat pale imitation of the original was reintroduced in the 1970s, providing a nice family day out rather than
anything more ribald.

A pamphlet was written claiming that the waters were holy and had been famed for their healing powers until the knowledge of their properties was lost. Analysis conducted by
the eminent scientist, Robert Boyle, showed the waters to be similar to the those at Tunbridge Wells.

The spa was soon attracting hypochondriacs from across the capital and by 1700 was quite the place to go. George Coleman gave his take on it in his 1776 farce,
The Spleen; or, Islington
Spa:

Gout hobbled there; Rheumatism groaned over his ferruginous water; severe coughs went arm-in-arm, chuckling as they hobbled; as for Hypochondria, he cracked jokes, he was in such high spirits
at the thought of the new remedy.

In 1733 the Princesses Amelia and Caroline visited daily to drink the waters, and on their birthdays, as tradition dictated, they were saluted by 21 guns in Spa Fields as they passed. By now the
business was attracting 1500 people daily, taking £30 per morning alone. A poem lauding the restorative qualities of the spring was hung in a local lodging house:

For three times ten years I travell’d the globe,

Consulted whole tribes of the physical robe;

Drank the waters of Tunbridge, Bath, Harrogate, Dulwich,

Spa, Epsom (and all by advice of the College);

But in vain, till to Islington waters I came,

To try if my cure would add to their fame.

In less than six weeks they produc’d a belief

This would be the place of my long-sought relief;

Before six weeks more had finished their course,

Full of spirits and strength, I mounted my horse,

Gave praise to my God, and rode cheerfully home,

Overjoy’d with the thoughts of sweet hours to come.

May Thou, great Jehovah give equal success

To all who resort to this place for redress!